Laney spends the early morning hours on Friday cutting greens from her yard and the extensive gardens around Love-Struck. When she’s finished, she parks behind the barrel building and unloads the buckets from the back of her Suburban. She’s filling the buckets with water when it suddenly dawns on her. If she divorces Hugh, she’ll no longer be able to take advantage of the vineyard’s grounds and facilities. Her life will be less comfortable and convenient. She’ll be excluded from family festivities at Love-Struck—Easter brunches and Thanksgiving dinners. She’ll be forced to share the girls with Hugh on the holidays, which will make for lonely times for Laney. Living on a strict budget, she’ll have to cut coupons for groceries and buy less expensive skin care products. This seems like a high price to pay for her freedom.
She’s so caught up with her concerns, she doesn’t hear Bruce approach until he’s looming over her. “What’s all this?”
Laney straightens, one hand on her aching lower back. “Greenery to go with the flowers for tomorrow’s wedding.”
Bruce chuckles. “Did you leave any greenery on the bushes?”
“Ha ha. I left plenty.” She opens the door to the barrel building’s cool storage room and begins dragging the buckets inside.
“Can I help you?” Bruce asks, following her into the storage room.
She eyes his business attire—blue and white windowpane shirt and khaki pants. “Thanks for offering, but I’d hate for you to mess up your clothes. You can hold the door open for me, though.”
“Sure thing!” He leans against the door with arms folded. “You seemed preoccupied when I walked up. Is something on your mind?”
She can’t very well tell him she was contemplating her divorce. But she would appreciate his opinion on her opening a floral design shop. “I’m contemplating a new business venture, but I have no clue what I’m doing.”
“I’m intrigued. I can offer an ear if you need a sounding board.”
“I’m sure you have more important things to do,” she says, reaching for another bucket.
“I can spare time for a budding entrepreneur. I’ll fetch us some coffee and meet you in the cafe in a few minutes.”
She looks up from her task. “Coffee sounds wonderful. I prefer mine black.”
“Black it is.” Bruce sets a bucket in front of the door. “That should hold it open,” he says and disappears around the side of the building.
Ten minutes later, when all the buckets are neatly stored away, she joins Bruce in the cafe. Servers are preparing for tastings behind the wine bars and the tables around them are set for lunch for the hordes of customers who will soon arrive.
Laney tells Bruce about her history with Sylvia and how Sylvia has grown increasingly difficult lately. “I’ve found a small storefront on Magnolia Avenue to lease. I’d have enough money to start the business if not for the high cost of the fixtures and refrigeration.”
“Have you considered applying for a loan?”
“I’ve written my business proposal, and I have excellent credit. Because of the amount, I’m worried the bank will ask for collateral. The only thing I own of value is my house, which is jointly titled with Hugh.”
Bruce shrugs. “So get Hugh to co-sign on the loan.”
“I’d rather not involve him. I prefer to do this on my own,” Laney says, and is relieved when Bruce doesn’t press her with questions about her husband.
“Okay, then. Let’s see.” Bruce crosses his legs and strokes his clean-shaven chin. “I assume you’ve gotten cost estimates from more than one source.”
Laney holds up three fingers. “They’re all about the same. Outrageous.”
“Do the fixtures and refrigeration have to be new? Maybe you could find used equipment.”
Laney’s gray-blue eyes grow wide. “That’s a brilliant idea, Bruce. I’ll investigate it right away.”
“I understand your desire to tackle this project on your own, but have you even told Hugh about this venture?” Bruce asks, his intense gaze making her squirm.
Laney shakes her head as she stares down at her coffee. “Not yet. He’s not exactly the supportive type. He’s worried my career will interfere with my responsibilities as a wife and mother. My goal is to build something that belongs only to me, that I don’t have to share with Hugh or the girls.”
Bruce gives her a nod of approval. “I admire your independence.”
With a sad smile, Laney says, “That’s part of the problem. I’m not at all independent. But I’m taking baby steps to branch out.”
“You’ve gotta start somewhere. How old are your children?”
“I have two girls, Ella and Grace. They are twelve and thirteen.” She shows him her phone’s screensaver, a recent picture of the girls in their field hockey uniforms.
Bruce takes the phone from her and studies the picture. “They’re beautiful like their mother. And on their way to being self-sufficient. They’ll be going off to college soon. The flower business will occupy your time when your nest is empty.”
Laney’s life is lonely now. She can’t imagine what it will be like when Ella and Grace leave. “Exactly. Things will be crazy for a couple of years, but once the girls start driving, I’ll have even more time on my hands.”
He hands her back the phone. “Talk to Hugh. He might surprise you. Doesn’t every man want his wife to lead a fulfilling life?”
Every man except Hugh, Laney thinks.
She pushes back from the table. “I should get going. I have much to do to prepare for this wedding.” They stand together and exit the cafe. “Thanks for the coffee. And for the advice.”
Bruce’s fingers graze her forearm. “You bet. Any time.”
Laney feels an emptiness inside when they part. She enjoys his company. He’s easygoing and supportive and sensible. All the things Hugh is not.
She spends the rest of the day in a daze, weighing the pros and cons of confiding in her husband about her floral business. After much deliberation, she decides the process will be easier and their lives will run smoother if he blesses her venture.
She rehearses her speech as she’s driving the girls to their respective sleepovers. But when Hugh comes home from work in a foul mood, she puts off telling him until later.
After dinner, Laney retreats to the guest room with her laptop and stays up late searching the internet for used equipment. She hits the jackpot when she discovers a post on an online marketplace from Kelly Cobb, a recently retired floral designer in Charlotte.
Laney quickly types out an email requesting more information about her offerings. Kelly’s response is waiting in her inbox when she wakes a five thirty the following morning.
Laney sits straight up in bed as she reads the message. Kelly’s floral design business failed due to a flooded market in Charlotte. She needs to unload a large worktable, several display fixtures, and two small refrigeration units. Kelly includes the age and dimensions of the units along with her asking price.
Laney responds. Thank you for this information. I need a few days to work things out. I’ll be back in touch soon.
Laney showers, dresses, and stops by the kitchen for coffee to-go before hitting the road to Hope Springs. Reed Wholesale Florist is bustling despite the early hour. A sales associate, the name tag on her black apron identifying her as Cindy, leads Laney to the back corner of a refrigerated room where her prepared order awaits.
Cindy gestures at the buckets of pale pink lilies. “We couldn’t get orange. You’ll have to make do with pink.”
“Are you kidding me? The bride’s entire color scheme is based around citrus-colored flowers, which means orange and yellow lilies. Pink will not work.”
Cindy lifts a shoulder. “Sorry, hon. That’s the best we can do. You’re not obligated to purchase them.”
Panic grips Laney’s chest. This can’t be happening. Not today. Not for the Coleman wedding.
A petite young woman with a mop of blonde corkscrews wanders over. She looks down at the lilies and up at Cindy. “Why didn’t you call your customer in advance to let her know you couldn’t fill her order?”
Cindy’s face beams red. “I . . . um . . .”
“That’s crappy customer service, if you ask me.” The curly-headed woman turns to Laney. “Don’t worry. I can sell you all the orange lilies you need.”
“Are you a wholesale florist?”
“Better. I’m a flower grower.” The woman hands Laney a business card. “I’m Claire Davis, and my farm, Flower Fanatics, is just outside of town. I’m going there now. Tell me how many stems you need. You can stop by when you leave here, and I’ll have them ready for you.”
Relief floods Laney. “You’re a godsend. You just saved this bride’s wedding day.”
Laney charges the flowers, minus the pink lilies, to Sylvia’s account and loads them into the back of her Suburban. She punches the directions into her phone, and Siri guides her to the opposite side of town. She turns off the main highway and drives down a dirt road until she comes to a charming farmhouse. Under a covered area on the side are bins of flowers of every variety. Beyond the house, blooming fields stretch as far as the eye can see.
As promised, Claire has the lilies ready, packed in several large cardboard boxes for safe transport. “These are gorgeous, the prettiest I’ve ever seen. And you grew them yourself.”
Claire nods, her corkscrew curls bouncing around on her head. “In our greenhouse. It’s at a different location, further outside of town.”
Laney fishes her credit card out of her wallet and hands it to Claire. “I’m from Lovely. I work with Sylvia Campbell, who usually purchases the orders for our weddings. Has she done business with you before?”
“The name doesn’t ring a bell,” Clair says, as she processes the charge. “Two years ago, my partner, Katherine, and I started this business for the sole purpose of supplying flowers for events at Hope Springs Farm. As we’ve grown, we’ve taken on a few select clients. Our goal is to make use of the flowers we don’t need. We have no interest in becoming a wholesale florist.”
“I’m considering starting a floral design business in Lovely. Would you consider taking me on as a client?”
“We would certainly consider your application,” Claire says. “We like to vet our customers. I noticed your name on your credit card. Are you any relationship to the Love family at Love-Struck vineyards?”
“Yes! My husband, Hugh, is one of the owners.”
“Cool. We usually start out on a trial basis. It’s nothing personal. We want to make certain we don’t grow beyond our means.”
“I totally understand,” Laney says. “I would be grateful for the opportunity to work with you. Reed Wholesale does not impress me. Their flowers are subpar, and what happened today with the lilies could’ve been a disaster for my bride.”
As they transport the boxes of lilies to Laney’s Suburban, Claire explains, “They have their product flown in from all over the world. By the time the flowers arrive, they’re usually past their prime. We grow most mainstream varieties. When we need something exotic, we order straight from the grower.”
“Good to know.” They store the boxes in the back and Laney closes the rear door. “I don’t have my business cards yet.”
“No worries. I’ll remember you. Come back when you’re ready to do business.”
“Will do. Thank you so much,” Laney says with a wave as she climbs behind the wheel.
Laney wrestles with guilt on the way back to Lovely. She is plotting to steal business away from Sylvia. But that guilt turns to anger when three o’clock rolls around and Sylvia has yet to return from Charlottesville.
Laney is fastening a bouquet onto a white chiffon-draped arbor when the step ladder tips over. Bruce’s strong hands grab onto her, preventing her from falling off as he straightens the ladder.
“Are you okay?” he asks, holding her arm as she climbs down off the ladder.
“Thanks to you, I am,” Laney says, on the verge of a meltdown.
Bruce furrows his brow. “You seem flustered. Did something happen?”
She swipes at her eyes. “Sylvia was supposed to be here at noon. I’m way behind. I haven’t even started on the bridesmaids’ bouquets. It’ll be a miracle if I finish in time.” Laney climbs back onto the stepladder, and with Bruce’s help, she fastens the bouquet onto the arbor.
“What time is the wedding?” Bruce asks.
“At six. But the photographer will start taking pictures at five.”
“I know nothing about flowers, but I can offer a set of hands,” he says, raising his big paws.
Laney gives him a skeptical look. “I’m desperate enough to accept your offer. You can help with the groomsmen’s boutonnieres. I’ll show you how to make them. They’re easy,” she says, and they walk together back to her makeshift workshop in the barrel building’s storage room.
Laney shows him how to wire and tape the boutonnieres before starting on the bridesmaids’ bouquets. While they work, they slip into easy conversation. He talks about his job of rebranding the Love-Struck’s varietals, and she tells him about finding the used equipment at the florist in Charlotte.
“Thanks to your suggestion, I can start my business with no loan. Things will be tight, but I can make it work if I’m careful.”
The conversation soon turns personal. Bruce speaks of his painful divorce several years ago, and Laney describes her life with two adolescent daughters. When she notices him watching her, she says, “What?”
“Your face radiates when you talk about your daughters. But then your expression darkens like a storm cloud when you speak of Hugh. I can see you’re not happy in your marriage. Because I’ve experienced Hugh’s mean streak, I feel justified in asking if you’re in trouble. Is Hugh hurting you, Laney?”
Laney looks away, unable to meet his gaze. “You may know Hugh, but I don’t know you well enough to discuss my marriage.”
“Fair enough. But sometimes it’s easier to talk to a stranger, and I’m here for you if you need anything at all.” He pulls out his phone. “I want you to have my number. Give me yours and I’ll text you mine.”
Laney recites her number as his thumbs fly across the screen. He’s pocketing his phone when the door swings open and Sylvia sashays in.
“Yoo-hoo! I’ve arrived.”
Laney glances at her watch. “Four hours late. You were supposed to be here at noon.”
“My daughter’s flight was delayed.”
Laney gestures at her phone on the worktable. “I’ve called you a dozen times. Why didn’t you answer? You could’ve at least texted to let me know you would be late. I’ve been busting my butt here. This is the largest wedding we’ve ever done, Sylvia.”
“And it shows. I walked through the tent on my way over. The table arrangements are gorgeous.” She opens the large wine cooler where Laney has stored the completed bouquets and boutonnieres. “Looks like you’ve taken care of everything.”
“With my friend’s help.” Laney’s gaze travels to Bruce and back to Sylvia. “I’m tired of you taking advantage of me, Sylvia. I think it’s time for us to part ways.”
Sylvia’s body goes rigid. “What do you mean by part ways?”
“I mean, I quit.” Laney slips her apron over her head, tosses it on the table, and heads toward the door.
Sylvia hurries after her. “Wait! You can’t leave now! We have to hand out the bouquets and boutonnieres. And what about the takedown after the wedding?”
“I’m sure you can manage,” Laney says, motioning for Bruce to follow as she exits the storage room.
They barely make it outside before bursting into laughter. Bruce offers her a high five. “Looks like you’re on your way to starting your own business.”
Laney slaps his hand. “No turning back now.” She gets in her car, starts the engine, and rolls down her window. “Thanks again for helping me today. I would never have made it without you.”
“Anytime. I’m not a stranger, Laney. Think of me as your friend.”