I didn’t know where to put my hands while he kissed my neck and thought it was natural to run them through his hair. I had been dying to do this since I saw him on the side of the road. I hesitated, fingers poised above his scalp, before burying them in his hair carefully. It was soft and thick, and I swear my fingertips came across a dozen cowlicks. I giggled.
“What?” he asked, pulling away to look down at me.
“Your hair is a mess.”
“I know,” he said. “Nothing I can do about it.”
“I don’t want you to do anything about it. I love it.” I ran my fingers once more through his hair slowly, verbally counting the cowlicks.
“One, two, three,” I said. “Oh, there’s four. Five. Six. And seven . . .”
“Yes, Cadence,” Mark said patiently. “I have many cowlicks.”
I laughed, and my stomach growled.
“Oh, good grief!” I huffed.
“Did you eat lunch today?” he asked, sliding off of me and helping me up to a sitting position.
“No.”
“I thought your appetite was back,” Mark said.
“Not for school cafeteria food,” I replied.
Mark smirked. “I fear this’ll be one expensive relationship.”
Relationship? I guess up until he said that word I thought it was a ridiculous fantasy—one I would wake up from at any moment.
I watched him walk to the kitchen. He paused and turned around.
“Well? You coming?”
“You don’t mind feeding me again?” I asked.
“Cadence, I don’t mind doing anything for you.”
I used to work at Mildred’s Flower Shop before I got in trouble with the law. I didn’t think Mildred would take me back after my release from juvie. Who wants an ex-con working at her business? I was surprised when Dad mentioned it that night at dinner.
“Cadence?”
“Hmm?”
“Millie called my office this afternoon,” Dad said.
“Who?”
“Your old boss.”
“Ohh. How is Ms. Millie?” I asked, glad to be talking instead of eating. I pushed lima beans around my plate.
“She’s doing well. She asked about you,” Dad said.
Don’t get your hopes up, Cadence. But I did anyway.
“Uh huh.”
“She wants to know if you’d be interested in returning to work. Just a few days a week.”
“Yes!” I screamed it.
Dad smirked. “That’s what I told her.”
I practically danced around in my seat.
“I told her you have tutoring on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and that you have church Wednesday nights, so it looks like you’d work Mondays and Fridays after school and on most Saturday mornings.”
I nodded enthusiastically.
“So it also means you’ve got your driving privileges back,” Dad went on.
I squealed.
“You’ve been good, Cadence, and your mother and I are proud of you,” Dad said.
I looked over at Mom who smiled. I wanted to laugh out loud. Now I was good? Now when I was lying about my whereabouts and kissing my math teacher and hanging with the most deceitful girl on the planet? Now I was good? It was ridiculous, and I couldn’t care less. I got my car back—all the way back!—and I wanted to go somewhere.
“Um, Dad? I know it’s a week night, but could I drive over to see Avery? We were going to study together for our history exam,” I lied. “It’d be much easier and less expensive in person than over the phone.”
Dad considered my request. Before, he would have automatically said no before I finished asking the entire question. But this was Avery: good, sweet, wonderful influence Avery.
“Be home by ten,” he said.
I kissed his forehead and dashed out the door.
***
My first day back on the job was like I never left. Ms. Millie greeted me warmly with a hug and kiss on my cheek, then insisted I drop the “Ms.”
“You’re practically an adult, Cadence,” she said. “And we’re work colleagues.”
“You’re my boss, Ms. Millie,” I replied.
“Oh, it’s casual around here,” she said, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “And I insist.”
I wouldn’t argue with her about it anymore, but I confess that the first few times I called her “Millie,” I felt guilty.
“You’re delivering today,” she said, and I groaned. “Hey, you’re an ex-con. Did you think I was going to welcome you back with the fun jobs?”
I grinned. The fun jobs were arranging the bouquets, of course, and I had to admit that I was really good at it. And she knew it, too. But she saw fit to “punish” me with flower deliveries until I earned the privilege of arranging flowers again. We packed the back of her van in order of the delivery list, and I stopped her before she closed the trunk.
“Wait. I promise to never get high and rob a convenience store again,” I said, holding up my right hand while my left hovered over a bouquet of roses. I didn’t have a Bible, so I figured the roses were the next best thing.
“That’s right, you won’t, or you’ll be on permanent delivery duty,” she said. “Now here are the keys,” and she dropped them in my hand. “Get going. Today’s a busy one if you hadn’t noticed.”
I loved Millie’s organizational skills. She mapped out my drive to make it the easiest and most efficient. I hopped into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition, feeling genuinely happy to be back at work in an environment that smelled so good. That was one of my favorite things about working in a floral shop (and van): the delicious, sensual aromatic atmosphere.
I’m not a planner by nature, so I didn’t bother to look over the entire delivery list before I started my route. I just checked off houses as I went, completely oblivious to my next stop after the Petersons: Gracie’s house. When it finally occurred to me, I wondered if Gracie’s mom would even open the door when I knocked. Then I tried to figure out why they were having flowers delivered. It wasn’t Gracie’s birthday. I wasn’t sure about her mother. The more I pondered it, the more anxious I grew until my hands were shaking, pulling the bouquet out of the back of the van, walking to Gracie’s front door with terror written all over my face. I hadn’t been to her house in more than a year.
I rang the doorbell.
Gracie answered. She was stunned, and then she took the flowers I held out to her.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hey.”
“Whose birthday?”
She looked over her shoulder for a brief second then back at me.
“No one’s.”
“So what’s up with the flowers?”
“Mom and Dad’s anniversary,” Gracie said.