She was hard at work on a gorgeous arrangement for the resort in Bandon, one of her best customers. They had ordered four extra-large floral sculptures with large rock bases inside a clear glass oval bowl, calla lilies, orchids, birds-of-paradise, curly willow and a fine green fern that was almost like moss. They had a very big weekend coming up at the club. A large fall wedding was taking over one of the restaurants and they wanted to put two arrangements in their reception area and similar arrangements in the restaurant where the bride and groom would host over a hundred guests for a seven-course dinner.

A far cry from the way Grace had married Troy, on the beach with their neighbors present, as well as people from town who just felt like crashing the party. Most of the guests were barefoot within an hour.

The bell on the front door jingled and she stood, pasted a friendly smile on her face to greet her customer, then froze. “Mr. Germain,” she said, not feeling at all welcoming,

“Mrs. Headly,” he said, giving his head a nod. “Do you have a moment?”

“I sent you an email in response to your interview, Mr. Germain...”

“It was received,” he said.

There was no posturing or sniffing this time. Of course she had declined to hire him. His attitude just wouldn’t cut it here.

“You were very polite, thank you,” he said. “I wonder if you have time to talk?”

“The job is no longer available,” she said.

“Still...”

“Come back to the workroom,” she said, questioning her own judgment in this. She did not want to endure a lot of time with him. Plain and simple, he was a snooty pain in the ass. “Have a seat while I finish up. What’s on your mind?”

“Well, I wasn’t myself the day I came to interview with you and I’d like to apologize for that. I think I was...” He lifted his chin. “I was superior. I’ve been accused of that before.”

She tilted her head. “Oh, have you?”

“Once or twice,” he said. “Look, I’m an excellent florist. My shop was in demand. I had a great business.”

“But what did you tell me? The economy had you upside down?”

“The economy didn’t help but that wasn’t what went wrong. It was a number of issues that converged like...” He took a breath. “The perfect storm.”

She listened but he had stopped talking. “Apology accepted. Of course.”

“There I go, being vague again. I had a breakup. My partner was also my partner in the store. She’d been pilfering for some time, I learned. I guess in the big leagues we call it embezzling, but I couldn’t prove anything since she was doing the bookkeeping. It looked like we were losing money for the first time when in fact she was skimming. Taking money, cheating on me, the store, everything. She didn’t pay taxes that were due and left me a pot of bills that should’ve been paid.” He rubbed his shiny forehead. “And I had other things distracting me or I might’ve caught it. My mother was sick, my sister was in need, my profits had become low when they’d always been excellent. I really am a good florist. Then there were some medical bills in addition to taxes due...”

She? Grace thought. She’d taken him for gay. Apparently not. He was about forty, a little too old to be delusional or closeted. Straight, she decided. With some affectations?

“And the partner?”

“Gone. I looked into a forensic audit, an attorney, a detective, that sort of thing, but in the end I’d be throwing good money after bad. She got away with about a hundred thousand dollars that I’ll never get back and I had to let the store go. You obviously didn’t do a background check or you’d know—I lost it. That simple. I filed bankruptcy.”

She had looked at him, for as much as internet research could do. She’d noted the bankruptcy. After meeting him, nothing more seemed necessary. “Would you like a cup of tea, Mr. Germain?” she asked, surprising herself.

“That would be so welcome,” he said, sighing with relief.

“Let me put the water on,” she said. She didn’t have to go far; she had a little electric kettle on her desk. She rinsed it, refilled it and turned it on before going back to him. “I have chamomile, Earl Grey, peppermint and green tea.”

“Peppermint would be great,” he said. Then he raised a brow and glanced at her round middle. “Stomach issues?” he asked.

“From time to time,” she said. “And your mother?”

“She passed a little over a year ago.”

“I’m so sorry. And your sister?”

“Melanie is a special-needs adult and my mother took responsibility for her. We’ve had a little bit of a struggle since my mother died.”

“I see. You’re right—the perfect storm.”

She went back to her desk and fixed him up a cup of tea. She put it in front of him and took her seat again.

“This is lovely,” he said, admiring the arrangement that took up a great deal of her worktable.

“Thanks. Listen, Mr. Germain,” she began.

“Ronaldo, please.”

“Ronaldo, I appreciate your courtesy in coming back, apologizing, explaining, but...”

“I know. You don’t need me now. Well, the thing is, whoever you hired might not work out and you’ll be looking again. If that should happen, I’ll probably still be available. My shop wasn’t the biggest or most important shop in the business, but we did well. And I loved working with flowers.”

“How are things going for you now?” she asked.

He took a sip of his tea. “Getting by pretty well actually. I had to sell my house but I’m living in my mother’s house. My sister is in a group home right now and she wants to come home so much. My hours at the coffee shop are crazy and she needs some supervision. She’s very functional, but she can’t live on her own. She will never live on her own. She needs routine, however, and I can’t keep her with me, change her schedule every week and expect her to adjust. And she calls me,” he said, adding a laugh. “And calls me and calls me and calls me.”

“Tell me about your shop,” she said.

And he did, from the day he bought it until the day he closed it. He talked about his biggest jobs, some of his regular customers, pictures of his work that had been published, whether purposely or because they happened to be in the photograph of a grand opening or wedding or other major event. When he’d been up and running for a couple of years his sister began to work for him. She was a wonderful organizer and helped him keep the shop clean. His customers loved her.

His sister had been the victim of a near-drowning accident when she was a young child, been without oxygen for too long and suffered serious brain damage. He was clearly devoted to her, if he was to be believed. Finding a good job in a flower shop didn’t materialize, but when he saw the ad for a manager, he thought he might be able to get back to flowers.

“I miss it,” he said. “I miss designing, unruffling the hysterical brides, placating the matrons whose parties I provided flowers for, the churches that came to me first, even the funerals that hoped for something special. I delivered and staged my own flowers...”

“So do I!” she said.