“I will,” she said. “It was nice of you to text him. Thanks.”

“Of course I would. You’re friends of mine. Bye, then.”

Eleven

Grace was putting out her fall sidewalk displays, though the first holiday, Halloween, was weeks away. September was growing ripe, football season was in full swing, leaves on the surrounding hillsides were changing, fall rains were cold and unpredictable and people had begun to decorate their front doors with stalks of Indian corn and fall wreaths of colored leaves and pinecones.

Grace and Troy had each begun winter projects. Troy had hired a stonemason to finish the outdoor hearth. It wasn’t too complicated because the foundation and gas pipe were already installed. It was too complicated for Troy, however. Between Grace and Winnie they had convinced him not to play with gas or electricity. So the fireplace man was called.

Putting a metal frame over the base and building around it with the stone Grace and Winnie selected appeared to be a simple process, though time-consuming, and work stopped for rain because of the outdoor location of the fireplace. There seemed to be activity around that project every day.

During the construction of the fireplace, Grace couldn’t stay away. She closed the shop twice a day to check on the progress; Troy used his lunch hour to drive home and look things over. The mason was an older, seasoned man in his sixties who had told them to expect at least ten days for the construction, did not show up every day and was not open to suggestions. His name was Keebler, like the cookies. It was never clear whether that was a first name, last name or only name. And he was highly recommended and grumpy as all hell.

“But what if I don’t like it?” Grace asked him.

“You’ll like it,” he said. “Everyone likes my work.”

“And if it doesn’t seem to fit? The appearance of it, I mean.”

“You picked the stone. I reckon you can start over. My schedule is a little tight.”

It was obvious if they didn’t like the work, they’d be buying a second fireplace. But he’d done Cooper’s and it was beautiful. They all held their breath and watched the slow evolution of the outdoor hearth.

Meanwhile, Grace was trying to find a manager for the shop. She interviewed a few women from the area and it was taxing. She came close to hiring one just based on her enthusiasm, but in the end her lack of experience just wouldn’t do. Even though the best assistant money could buy had been Ginger, a woman with virtually no experience other than a love of flowers and other beautiful things and a fierce desire to be useful.

She was having an interview that afternoon and she was very hopeful. Ronaldo Germain had owned his own shop in Grants Pass, which he lost to the woes of recession. The last thing she expected was a slim blond man named Ronaldo. But it was rare for a man she didn’t know to come into her shop, so when he entered she stood from her place at the worktable and said, “May I help you?”

“Ronaldo Germain, here to see the owner,” he said. And he looked around her shop, his nose definitely in the air. As if her adorable little shop was somehow inferior!

For a second it occurred to her to say the owner wasn’t available today. She didn’t have a good feeling.

“I’m Grace Headly, Mr. Germain,” she said. “This is my shop.”

“Lovely,” he said insincerely.

“Come into the back,” she said. “I’m working on a piece and we can chat while I finish. I’ve already read through your very impressive résumé.”

He followed her and when they were in the back room he said, “Call me psychic, but I think I see the reason you’re in the market for a manager. You’re not one of those modern mothers, planning to bring the baby to work, are you?”

“You don’t like children? Babies?” she asked.

“Not in the workplace, no, but it’s your business, not mine.”

“Right. Well, I saw in your cover letter that you owned a shop that fell on hard times and had to sell. Are you employed as a florist now?”

“I am a barista,” he said, again the lift of the chin.

It was really at that point that Grace realized she’d struck out again. So, Mr. Lovely had lost his shop and now worked in a coffee shop yet looked at her shop with obvious disdain. But she continued with the conversation, now a little out of curiosity and a little out of fun. She wasn’t going to hire him but she wasn’t forgiving him for commenting first on her pregnancy and second on her plans for child care. It was her business, after all.

“Tell me, Mr. Germain, what led to you working in the floral industry?”

He sat down at an angle to her and folded his hands on the tabletop. “It was sheer luck,” he said. “I started to work with flowers through a friend who owned a shop and then, a few years later, opened my own. I discovered there’s a need for more creative designs, particularly for formal weddings. You do create for weddings, don’t you?”

“Of course. I won’t be serving weddings in December and January unless I find a skilled and talented florist, however. For obvious reasons. And then, of course, I will often be bringing my baby to work. Because I want to.” She smiled indulgently.

He glanced at her arrangement. He sniffed. “You might want to trim the stems on those mums and find a better color for the orchids. Is it supposed to be a birthday arrangement or something for the house?”

She ground her teeth and narrowed her eyes. “The customer was very specific. It’s for an open house—anniversary. Fall-themed anniversary, thus the rust and gold mums, yellow oncidium, dried maple leaves, curly willow and larkspur.”

“Hmm,” he mused, taking a slanted view. “I’d opt for some coral Asiatic lily. And Queen Anne’s lace. Maybe miniature gerbera.”

“That would be very pretty,” she said. “And not what the customer asked for.”

“I’m sure the customer would like it,” he said. “I can assure you, after ten years in the business, I can make a decent bouquet.”

“Of course,” she said. “I have a digital program that shows the price of each stem and stalk and illustrates their images on a computer screen. That way I don’t have to guess when the customer says, ‘Oh, just give me something pretty my wife would like.’ Though sometimes, depending on the customer, something pretty at the right price is safer.”

He stiffened. “No one has such a program.”

“I do. I helped design it with a programmer when I started out in flowers in Portland. The software writer was a friend of mine. We worked on it together. It’s wonderful. And it’s patented.”

“And you use this for events? Weddings? Funerals?”

“Not funerals. People either have specific desires or are too emotional to listen to a lot of explanation. I use the program for weddings mostly. Sometimes for event centerpieces or arrangements for businesses. I can email images to the prospective client along with a bid. It’s very convenient.”

“Are there a lot of business events in this, ah, Thunder Point?”

“Not so many, no,” she said. “I’ve been known to cover much of Coos County and beyond for specialty arrangements and accessories. Bandon Dunes plays host to many business meetings and special events and they seem to like my work.”