Keith rolled his eyes. “Elly, I bet you dance beautifully.”
“No. You are completely off course there. I know you’re just being sweet, but let’s clear this up. Elly Jordan does not dance. Not in public, anyway.”
Keith frowned. “Okay. No dancing. Got it.”
“I have more bad news about Valentine’s Day. Let’s see, how do I explain this?” She paused, tucking her blond waves of hair behind her face. “What are your busiest times of the year at the deli?”
He scratched his bare head and Elly felt her heart give a tiny knock. “Uhh … Super Bowl Sunday. Or the day before the Fourth of July. Memorial Day Weekend. Graduation weekends.”
“Okay, well, combine all of those together, and that is Valentine’s Day for florists.”
Keith nodded and they continued walking through some pale-green bushes, the withered stems defensively closed against the chill air.
“Valentine’s Day is a juggernaut. It’s both the worst and most profitable day of our year.” She paused. “Well, except for last year. Last year’s most profitable day was the Kepke wedding….” They both laughed, taking in the complete awkwardness of that moment. “Let’s not go there.”
“Agreed.” Keith coughed. “So what you are saying is maybe we should celebrate the weekend after Valentine’s Day.”
She gave his hand a light squeeze. “That sounds perfect.” Please do something romantic anyway, she thought. The guilt behind that thought came instantly. Women were crazy, and she was one of them.
As predicted, Valentine’s Day was a hellish blur of last-minute phone calls and red roses. It was 5:45 p.m., and Elly was about to cut off the orders when the phone rang again, rattling her nerves. Elly kept frantically designing with one hand and answering the phone on the other. A snide and bossy husband was on the line, “I sure hope I’m not too late to order flowers for Valentine’s Day for my wife.”
Elly rolled her eyes and gestured to Snarky Teenager, who was arranging fuchsia heather into a giant heart. She glanced at the clock. “Well, sir, it’s almost six p.m. on Valentine’s Day, so I would say you are cutting it a little close.” She heard a dissatisfied grunt. “Sir, are you there?”
“Well, what can you do for me?”
“We are open until seven p.m. tonight. I’ll be happy to put something beautiful together for you, but we cannot do any more deliveries. Oh, and it will not be red roses, as of noon today we were all out, but may I suggest some pink ranunculus and—” The man hung up the phone.
Elly slammed the receiver down. Kim and Snarky Teenager looked up at her. “I hate this holiday.” She picked a thorn out of her thumb. “And I hate red roses.”
Anthony, her other designer—a dapper black man in his mid-fifties, and Snarky Teenager gave each other a secret smile and turned back to their arrangements. They had always been chummy. Elly wasn’t feeling the love and tried to rectify her mood. Keith hadn’t even been in the store today, whereas Sean, Kim’s husband, had already brought by a cookie bouquet plus a bottle of wine for everyone and surprised Kim with tickets for a weekend in Paris. Seriously, a weekend in Paris? Who does that? Sean Creeden, that’s who. What a tool. She knew she shouldn’t be jealous, but she was. The rest of the day, Elly had been in a designing delirium, putting together one order after another until they all blended together in her mind—a giant mass of red and pink roses, mixed tulips, gerbera daisies, and blooming plants.
Kim poked her head around towering buckets of pink gladioli. “I just got an email order, can you do one more?”
Elly gave a weak protest. “Honestly, I’m very busy with this moss sculpture. He wants it in the shape of Cupid and I’m pretty sure this looks like a dinosaur.” She lowered her head onto the table and looked sadly at her best friend. “Kill me now.”
Kim raised the Post-it note to shield herself from Elly’s glare. “It’s designer’s choice.”
Elly raised an eyebrow. “Really? It’s never my choice. Ever. The only arrangements that I ever do that are designer’s choice are for … um, you.”
Kim grinned and raised her arms mockingly. “Perhaps someone has realized your genius at last! The glory of it all! How about I’ll finish the cupid and you do the designer choice? Go nuts! You have two hundred and fifty bucks to play with.”