“Someone might stop by.”
“If they do, I’ll handle them,” Hope heard Aunt Verna say as the older woman walked up from the orchard with a basket of pears. “Go and have fun. While it’s beautiful today, it is October and the weather we’ve been enjoying lately could disappear in a snap.”
Hope chewed on her lip, stalling. No doubt John would want to discuss their situation. She hadn’t had time to fine-tune her list, to prioritize, to practice the exact words to use. “I’m sure John needs to work.”
“I do,” he admitted. “But I’m still waiting on a couple pieces of equipment. They’re supposed to arrive later today. Until they do . . .”
“While you’re out, I’d really appreciate it if you’d stop by Petal Creations. Take a few minutes to pick out the flowers for the wedding.” Verna’s tone implied everything was settled. “If you get hungry, I’d love it if you’d check out Fatbellies, a new place that opened on Elm. My bridge club is thinking of meeting there, but I’d like an unbiased review of the food first.”
Hope cocked her head, her spidey-sense tingling. It was almost as if her aunt were sending them off on a date. “What about your dinner?”
“Don’t worry about me.” Verna tossed John a pear. “I have book club this evening and it’s Mexican night. I’m bringing my guacamole salad.”
John caught the fruit easily and glanced at Hope. “Looks like it’s just you and me, babe.”
Chet would never call her “babe” or have such a devilish twinkle in his eye. Hope discovered there was something about being the focus of all that male energy that had blood sliding through her veins like warm honey.
In her mind she’d assumed their talk—whenever it occurred—would take place in the parlor. Still, if the bistro wasn’t too crowded and they could chat without being overheard, a public place might be better than having her aunt in the next room.
She turned to John and smiled. “Where’s my helmet?”
Hope had to admit that riding on the back of a motorcycle was an experience. Before they left home, she changed into jeans and boots. Worried she might get chilled, she’d slipped a jacket over her long-sleeved shirt.
When John told her to put her arms around his waist and hold on, Hope was unprepared for the intimacy of the action. After a few minutes she relaxed and let herself enjoy the closeness. They’d almost reached the business district when her thoughts drifted to the list, the one she’d left sitting on her dresser.
Drat. Drat. Drat.
She desperately tried to recall what she’d written down. Perhaps when they stopped to look at flowers she’d have a chance to jot down a few quick notes and put them in some semblance of order.
But when they reached Petal Creations, there was no time for notes. The clerk looked confused when they explained they were picking out flowers for the wedding of “friends,” but quickly rallied.
They agreed Laura would carry a cone-shaped bouquet of deep red amaryllis blossoms interspersed with ruby berries of hypericum and delicate bits of arborvitae. What did it matter they’d have been Hope’s first choice if she’d been the bride? The colors were perfect for a Christmas wedding. Vases scattered throughout the parlor would contain other seasonal favorites. Hope was sure Laura would be pleased with arrangements overflowing with blooms of hydrangeas and cattleya orchids in icy white.
John agreed the combination was “lovely” and “festive.” She decided she may have gone a bit overboard with her effusiveness over the arrangements when she found him staring at her with an odd expression.
“I wish every couple could agree so easily on flowers for their wedding.” The pretty young clerk smiled as she wrote up the order.
Hope thought about reminding the clerk the flowers weren’t for their wedding, a fact that the girl seemed determined to forget, but didn’t see the point.
“Hope and I share similar tastes,” John told the girl. “And interests.”
Hope nodded. He’d spoken the truth. While she’d never been as adventurous as John, they both enjoyed hiking and movies and dancing.
Unlike with Chet, who was happiest entertaining a houseful of people or socializing with a group, it had been the dates with other couples or quiet evenings at home watching movies that she and John had cherished.
Hope signed the order form and frowned. How had she forgotten everything they had in common?
“Is there something wrong with the price?” the clerk asked, two lines creasing her brow. “I gave you the standard discount since Harmony Creek sends business our way.”
Hope shook her head. “No, no. I was thinking of something else.”
“I’m getting hungry,” John said when they exited the shop. “Shall we check out Fatbellies? It’s just down the street.”