‘Open the card.’
Plucking the small white envelope from inside the bouquet, Juliet ran her finger along the paper, opening the flap. Inside was a florist’s card – from Simeon’s Flower Shop – with four simple words written in blue ink.
Because you are strong.
‘No name,’ Lily murmured, reading it over Juliet’s shoulder. ‘Still, I bet if I call them they’ll tell me who sent them.’
‘No, don’t,’ Juliet said hurriedly. ‘I don’t want to know.’
‘Why not?’ Lily’s question reminded her of Poppy. They were simple words and yet the answer was much too complicated to form. But there was something wonderful about everything that had happened since they’d arrived home last night. Something miraculous in the flowers and the meanings behind them. She didn’t want to spoil it by confirming her suspicions.
She was going to do this his way.
‘Because I don’t want to know.’
‘If you say so.’ Lily shrugged, her eyes still narrowed with suspicion. ‘I want to know, though.’
Juliet smiled, looking down at the flowers. They really were beautiful. Strong, vibrant, the kind of structural flowers she’d use to build up a bouquet. On their own, though, they were magnificent.
She grabbed a tall glass vase and filled it with water and sugar solution, clipping the bottom of the gladioli to make them fresh. Then she arranged them in the vase, putting it on the counter in front of her, happy to have something lovely to look at as they worked on their orders.
As it turned out, the gladioli weren’t the only delivery she had that day. They came in fast and steady – one every hour – from seven different florists in Shaw Haven and the surrounding towns. And with each delivery she made up another vase, until all eight were standing in front of her, covering the counter completely.
Purple gladioli for strength. Pink and white hibiscus for beauty. Red poppies for pleasure. White orange blossoms for fertility. Pink carnations for gratitude. Sky blue forget-me-nots for memories, pink camellias for admiration. The final two, brought in just before they were due to close, were full of red tulips and even more red roses – meaning true and undying love. She stared at them, these flowers that must have cost him a small fortune, so many of them out of season, and he
r heart felt full with the message he was trying to convey.
‘You must know who it is by now,’ Lily said. ‘It’s not Thomas, is it? Are you two getting back together?’
‘Oh, they’re definitely not from Thomas. He wouldn’t know an orange blossom if it hit him in the eye.’
‘But you do know who it is?’ Lily prompted.
‘I’ve got my suspicions.’
Her assistant perked up. ‘Come on, you have to put me out of my misery. I’ve been trying to work it out all day. Hey, it’s not Fred Simpson from the florist’s in Mayweather is it? He’s always had a thing for you.’
‘No, definitely not Fred,’ Juliet said. ‘He’s way too tight to order from any other store. If it was him, they’d have all come from Simpson’s.’
‘True story,’ Lily agreed. ‘So you’re really not going to tell me who you think it is?’
Juliet took pity on her assistant. ‘Look, once I’ve confirmed my suspicions, you’ll be the first to know, I promise.’
‘Okay. But you better tell me fast, because I can tell I’m going to be losing sleep over this.’
‘Me too, Lily. Me, too.’
Juliet turned the ignition off and unclasped her seatbelt, leaning back against the car seat while she stared out of the window. The house was empty – Thomas had wisely agreed to pick Poppy up for the weekend straight from school, avoiding an encounter between him and Juliet. And thank God he was sensible enough to know she didn’t want to see his face for a while.
Walking up the porch steps, her eyes were drawn to the mat, and she wasn’t disappointed. Perched upon it was a small, china teapot with an image of London painted across it, depicting Big Ben and Tower Bridge along with red buses and telephone boxes. And planted in the top were delicate pink and purple flowers. Viscaria, or Sticky Catchfly.
An invitation to dance.
She picked the teapot up by its handle, lifting the flowers to look at their delicate blooms. They weren’t expensive – she usually used them as fillers in the shop, but they were beautiful, nonetheless.
And they meant everything.
‘They reminded me of you.’