My favorite part, besides the beauty, is probably the customers. I don’t just love being a florist, I love being a small-town florist. I know almost everyone who walks in the door. I get to be a part of their lives. I have this one customer in particular—this ninety-year-old man named George. He comes in every single Monday morning to buy his wife a bouquet. He always has a cute, funny anecdote to tell me too. On the adorableness scale, this man has Audrey beat. My least favorite part would be the bridezillas. Thankfully, I haven’t had to work with many of those. A week ago I met with Bridget and William to go over flowers for their wedding. It went well. She’s not a bridezilla.
I agree with you about the time. I wish I had a magical hour glass that could make everything slow down, especially in the fall. October is a beautiful month in Mayfair. The leaves will peak in color in a week or two. The air is crisp and the town square is decorated in pumpkins and hay bales. We have this darling little chapel that sits kitty-corner across the square from my shop—all white clapboard with a steeple that rises up over the trees. It’s where my parents married, and it’s where Bridget and William are getting married too. There’s this place called Sawyer Farm. Maybe you’ve heard of it? Along with a pumpkin patch, they have the biggest corn maze in Wisconsin. Every year William and I go. My parents used to take me, so now I take William. This year he’s bringing Bridget. I kind of feel like the third wheel.
What’s your favorite and least favorite part about writing? To me your job sounds romantic. Clacking away at the keyboard in some cabin in the woods, the fire crackling in the fireplace, inspiration flowing from your fingertips, espresso at the ready. Lunches with publishers. Book signings and book tours. Impromptu trips to New York City. Am I close? Travel writing sounds even more romantic. Here’s my confession. And you have to promise not to laugh. I’ve never traveled anywhere. Unless you count Iowa. Or the Upper Peninsula. Most people don’t.;)
What about your family? You haven’t told me anything about them, except that your sister is married. I’d love to know more.
24 . . . your age when you set up your e-mail account? The number of your favorite sports player? The most postscripts you’ve written in one e-mail?
Affectionately,
Amelia
PS: It’s not that I don’t like to dance. It’s more that I simply don’t do it. I do like watching people dance though.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Thu, Oct 8, 2015 12:33 a.m.
Subject: Re: The Shop around the Corner
Dear Amelia,
Points for making me laugh. Out loud actually. I’m not a fan of LOL, but it would be true if I wrote it here. The most postscripts I’ve written in one e-mail happens to be four, and they were all to you. The other two guesses were wrong. Better keep trying.
In other news, it makes me sad to read that you don’t dance. Just think of all Cinderella would have missed out on had she watched the prince dance at the ball instead of joining him on the floor. Maybe Drizella would have ended up as the princess. That would have changed the entire feel of the story.
Your father sounds like a great man and you sound like a great florist. Your understanding of a writer’s life, however, is not so great. Trips to New York City aren’t nearly as exciting as they sound. Book tours are mostly a thing of the past, and book signings are mortifying affairs wherein most authors sit at a table by themselves, often mistaken as store employees. I haven’t had the pleasure of experiencing this, thankfully, since I’m a ghostwriter. But I’ve heard horror stories from my author friends. Mostly my job involves me banging my head against the keyboard and seeing what comes out. No crackling fire or cabin in the woods. My favorite part is being finished, and my least favorite is sitting down and typing. (I jest. It’s not that bad.)
My family’s pretty run-of-the-mill. My parents are still married and live out east in Pennsylvania. That’s where I grew up. The only reason I’m up north is because of my grant-writing job. After I quit, I never bothered moving. My mother bemoans the fact that I’m not yet married. Every year she’s more and more desperate to be a grandmother. Thankfully, with my sister newly hitched, she’s transferred her pleading elsewhere. They’re good people—my mom and dad. We’re a close family. My sister is four years younger than me. Fun fact? The day we met was the day of her wedding. That’s why I was dressed up so fancy. I was one of the groomsmen. She and her husband just got back from their honeymoon in California. She’s always had this obsession with touring a vineyard. They live fairly close to you. I think you and my sister would hit it off. Maybe we can all meet up someday. Grab a bite. Or tour that corn maze. You have me wanting to visit your town.
What do you say?
Best,
Nate
“There are far, far better things ahead than any we leave behind.”
—C. S. Lewis