How I became a writer isn’t nearly as good of a story as how you became a florist. It was always something I was good at—writing. At least that’s what all my English teachers and professors told me. After I graduated college, I had a severe case of the travel bug. And so I tried making a go at travel writing. I was dirt poor, but happy. I had to take on a lot of odd jobs to supplement my income. My parents convinced me that it was long past time to settle down and get a real job, so I entered into a little phase of life I refer to as the “dark” years. I sat in an office and wrote grants. For two years. I still shudder thinking about it.
This particular celebrity, it turned out, was a fan of my travel articles. His agent contacted me about writing his first book, which makes many of my writer friends want to murder me in their sleep. Opportunities like this don’t typically fall so decidedly into a person’s lap. This is the third book I’ve written for him. He gets crankier with each one. And no, I can’t tell you who it is. Not even if you guessed correctly.
So tell me what it’s like running a flower shop. What’s your favorite and least favorite thing about what you do? I have this whole picture in my mind of what it’s like. It seems like a romantic job. I’m willing to bet you’re laughing at me right now. It’s probably not at all how I imagine it to be. Things rarely are.
I live in Crystal Falls, which according to MapQuest, is a two-and-a-half-hour drive from Mayfair. And as far as the 24 in my e-mail address, I’d love to hear what you think it means.
Your parents sound wonderful. Tell me more about your father. What did he do for a living? I love the dancing story. Do you like to dance? And are you as alarmed as I am at how fast this year has gone? Somehow it’s already October. I love fall, but I’m not ready for winter.
Best,
Nate
PS: How’d you like the movie?
PPS: Nice Audrey Hepburn quote at the end of your last e-mail. You’re turning out to be every bit as adorable as she was.
PPPS: The Shop around the Corner? Arguably the most romantic movie of all time. Excellent choice. And, I might add, the two wrote letters to one another. Maybe we’ll be the next Alfred and Klara (minus the hating each other in person bit, I hope).
PPPPS: How many postscripts do you suppose are acceptable in one e-mail?
“There are far, far better things ahead than any we leave behind.”
—C. S. Lewis
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Fri, Oct 2, 2015 8:23 p.m.
Subject: Oh my goodness!!!!
He emailed me back. The cute man I hit with my car emailed me back. He called me adorable. He compared me to Audrey Hepburn! Supposedly, he had to take an impromptu trip to New York to meet with a publishing house, and according to him, he thought about me the whole time?!?
Seriously, Rachel, this guy is too good to be true. He’s smart and witty and absolutely charming. He quoted Mr. Darcy! He knows all the classic movies even better than I do. He listens. He asks good questions. He’s not even intimidated by my neuroses.
Okay, deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. I’m giddy. Beyond giddy. I’m hopping around in my seat. Baxter isn’t even sure what to do with me. I want to e-mail him RIGHT AWAY, but I’m going to wait. I’m going to play it cool. Heaven help me, I really like this guy.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Tue, Oct 6, 2015 9:31 p.m.
Subject: Re: The Shop around the Corner
Dear Nate,
Yes, I did enjoy The Man Who Knew Too Much. But then, I’ve yet to watch a Jimmy Stewart movie I haven’t enjoyed. I completely agree about The Shop around the Corner. I smile like a fool every time I watch it.
My father was a carpenter. When I was a little girl, I thought this made him as good as Jesus. He was a good man. A quiet man. A hardworking, Wisconsin-to-the-bone fellow who loved to hunt and bled green and gold. He was building a house in Green Bay when he met my stepmother. Things happened pretty quickly after that. I don’t blame him. He was a working man with a very sad six-year-old daughter and a newborn son on his hands. He wanted me and William to have a mother. I can understand that.
As far as running a flower shop being a romantic notion. Well, some days it feels that way. And some days it feels like I’m a chicken running around with my head cut off. Case in point. My first year on the job, I had this very large wedding. I brought all the beautiful bouquets, which I’d slaved over, to the chapel the night before. Put them in the cooler. And discovered the next morning that the setting was all wrong on the cooler and they’d all frozen. Every single one. The next morning was one giant, panic-stricken scramble with plenty of tears (all from me). It didn’t feel romantic at all.