If there is one ubiquitous, universal object of aesthetic and emotion, it is most certainly the fascinating product of angiosperms — flowers. Name an occasion in existence and flowers have a place in it.
Florists like me, therefore, never had a lull in activity, not even when my sinuses screamed rebellion and my head throbbed in protest. Because the month was February and Valentine’s Day was around the corner.
I looked at the wall clock. The hands were ticking closer to four but the bell over the door jingled yet again. Taking a painful breath, I turned to greet the customer. It was Mrs Castellanos, a stocky, put-together woman who always dressed like a Gouldian finch. She bustled in with a sense of urgency, her accentuated blue eyes scanning the shop from under the wide brim of her fascinator. I knew what that look meant: she had something special in mind, something that would take more than five minutes. Slowly, with my feet feeling like they were stuck in wet cement, I approached the counter.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Castellanos,” I said. “What can I do for you today?”
“Missy, darling,” she began, her fuchsia lips curving into a Cheshire grin. “I need something absolutely exquisite to welcome our special guest at the fundraising gala tomorrow evening. You know, the one at the museum. It’s a black-tie affair, and I want to make a splash.”
With a nod, I led her to a display of orchids, their petals like velvet under the soft glow of the accent lights.
“How about these phalaenopsis?” I suggested. “They’re elegant, sophisticated, and will surely stand out among the usual roses and lilies.”
Mrs. Castellanos gasped. “Perfect!” She clasped her hands together. “Just what I was thinking. You always know what I want before I do, Missy.”
The bell above the door chimed again, letting in a gust of cold air. Mrs Castellanos turned her head to look, and I glanced over her shoulder. My heart, so long barely beating, suddenly did a somersault.
“Hi, Missy.” Kurt sauntered in, his backpack slung across his shoulders, his hair damp from the shower he had taken after his swimming class. Before I could find the words, he flipped the counter and made his way in, gave me a quick hug around the waist, and proceeded to open the door that led up to my apartment without explanation. The bell chimed yet again.
Sam, tall and purposeful with wind-ruffled hair, crossed the threshold and let the door shut behind him. I stared as he came in, lifted the counter to make his way to the other side, and leaned in to kiss my cheek. The scent of his skin breached my congestion to fill my nostrils, the warmth of his lips against my skin making my stomach clench in sudden anticipation.
“You don’t look any better than you sounded last night,” he noted, his soothing baritone a rumble in the quiet shop. “Did the medicine help at all?”
“I didn’t know you were coming,” I said, willing my heart to stop skidding like a rabbit in a vegetable garden. We had last seen each other on Saturday evening when he took me out to wine and dine, followed by a romp at my apartment. But the sight of him always made me giddy and excited regardless of how often I saw him.
Sam was already heading for the stairs. “We’ll handle dinner.” He raised the bag of groceries in his hand. “Close up and join us, will you?”
It was not the first time they had been to my house unannounced, but seeing Sam with reinforcements and Kurt with his boundless cheer on a day when I was barely hanging on seemed nothing short of a miracle. I was staring at the door that had just closed when Mrs Castellanos cleared her throat. She was the kind of person to never shy away from poking her large nose in everybody else’s business, and I was sure she had heard the rumours of my relationship. But she knew better than to ask me questions.
After she had finalised the bouquet for the gala and promised to pick it up by noon, I flipped the sign at the door and locked the shop. Some quick tidying later, as I climbed the stairs to my apartment with a bunch of lillies from the shop, I heard Sam’s patient directions to his son and Kurt’s giggles every now and then.
A bittersweet pang constricted my chest. In his father’s loving hands, away from his mother’s cold, calculating ways, that boy was visibly morphing into a young Samuel Fischer, full of his disarming positivity and sparkling intelligence. Not for the first time, I wished he were my own.
“Missy!” Abandoning the stack of plates in his hands, Kurt came running up to me as I entered the house. I leaned in to give him a tired hug, wishing I were not hurting everywhere. “Your nose is so red,” he observed with concern. “Your eyes too.”
“Pollen is probably not the best for you when your sinuses are revolting.” I closed the door behind me and trudged into the living room to find obvious signs of tidying– the blanket folded, the cereal bowl and the coffee mug removed from the table, and the stale flowers discarded. In the kitchen, Sam was cooking dinner, though my stuffy nose had no sense of smell.
“Why didn’t you say you were coming over?” I asked as Kurt took the flowers from my hands and put them in the empty vase. Sam emerged from the kitchen with a cup of tea and my allergy medication, and motioned for me to sit.
“It wouldn’t be a surprise then.” He handed me the tea and the pills. “You’ve been working yourself to the bone, even when you’re sick. I wanted to take care of you.”
“But you’ve got work tomorrow and Kurt has school and—”
“Missy,” he intervened. “It’s Friday.”
My brain clicked into place. “Oh.”
“And Valentine’s Day is coming up,” Kurt announced excitedly, snuggling into my side. “Dad said he wanted to do something special for you.”
“This indeed is special.” I managed a smile through the pressure in my cranium. “You didn’t have to,” I said to him. Sam shook his head.
“This isn’t the special something,” he explained, returning to the kitchen. “Take the medicine. Dinner will be ready shortly. Kurt, you left the plates on the shoe cabinet.”
“What’s on the menu?” I asked, swallowing the pills with a swig of tea.
“Dad’s cooking dumpling soup, and lamb chops with orzo,” Kurt announced with flourish, bringing the plates back to the dining table. “We also made mille feuilles for the first time.”
My eyebrows rose. “Mille feuilles?”
“Yes, with caramel,” he nodded. “Dad says it’s your favourite dessert.”
A painful lump suddenly formed in my throat. After all these years and all that happened, he not only remembered but also took the trouble of preparing it. I stared into the cup, the rising steam alleviating some of the congestion. “Sam, do you mind if I take a quick shower?” I called out.
“Of course not,” he answered from the kitchen. “Food should be on the table by the time you’re done.”
“Thank you.” Putting down the cup on the end table, I dragged myself to the bathroom. As the hot shower washed away the exhaustion of the day, Kurt’s little exchanges with his dad floated into my ears, filling me with relief and gratitude to have them there. Not just in my house, taking care of me, but in my life, bringing me the love that I had dared not hope for.
With the medicine taking effect and the shower leaving me fresh, I felt slightly more human. Donning a pair of lounge shorts and an oversized sweater, I returned to the dining table, where Kurt was neatly laying out napkins. As I leaned over to set a few tea lights across the table, Sam came out carrying the soup. From the corner of my eye, I noticed him surreptitiously ogling my derriere and my legs on his way back to the kitchen. I bit my cheek to prevent a blush from spreading across my face.
“This looks so pretty,” Kurt declared, hands on his hips, surveying the warm glow of the room in the candle light. Sam brought the remaining dishes to the table and we sat down to eat the sumptuous meal. My unfortunate affliction had robbed me of the ability to tell the flavours apart, but the soup warmed me from the inside, the lamb chops melted in my mouth, and the cheesy orzo felt comforting. Kurt talked about his day at school, the gripping game of chess he played with his father last night, and his friend at swimming class, Chloe.
Sam took a sip of his water. “Chloe, yes. The one with the, shall we say, discerning taste in follicular arrangements?”
“Dad…” Kurt protested lightly, pushing his glasses up his nose. “She doesn’t just like my hair. She thinks it’s cool. Like a storm cloud. But a good storm cloud.”
“A good storm cloud, huh?” Sam chuckled. “She’s clearly a woman of exceptional judgment. Did she also comment on your devastating intellect? Your athletic prowess?”
Kurt blushed, fiddling with his fork. “She… she likes my diving style. She said I look like a cute little otter when I come up for air.”
Sam and I burst out laughing. “She seems to be a connoisseur of compliments,” he said playfully. “Maybe tell her that you built a whole pirate ship all by yourself. I’m sure she’ll appreciate your engineering skills too.”
“I don’t want to brag or anything,” Kurt giggled. I watched them, the tender unit of father and son, and ached with a happiness I had never known before.
After the main course, Sam brought the dessert to the table. The slightly imperfect mille feuilles were like a burst of creamy goodness on my tongue, and I was so busy licking the caramel from the spoon that I neglected to notice Fischer senior and junior gawking at me, proud and amused.
By nine o’clock, Kurt was dozing off to one of his favourite stories called Gossamer Grove. While I indulged him – over sneezes and sniffles – with the elaborate tale about an enchanted forest of blue and purple where the sun never rose and the moon never set, Sam used the opportunity to take a shower.
“Kurt…” I murmured hesitantly, closing the book. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yes.” He yawned. “What?”
“Why are you so good to me?”
“I like you,” he said at once. “You’re my friend. And you make Dad happy.”
He looked up at my face, but only fleetingly. “He’s been very sad, you know,” Kurt rued. “He tries to hide it, but I can tell. Mum broke his heart. She’s always so mean to him. But Dad’s good to everyone. I never like to see him sad.”
“Do you miss your mum?”
Kurt rubbed his eyes. “It’s better with Dad. He’s my best friend.”
Putting the book on the night table, I tucked him in. “I wish you lived with us,” he smiled, pulling up the blanket till his chin. “That would be so great. I’m sure Dad wants it too.”
I chose to not indulge him. “Goodnight, buddy,” I said, kissing his hair. Kurt mumbled a sleepy response in kind. As I turned out the light and left the room, Sam was clad in a bathrobe and pottering about in the kitchen in the glow of the cabinet lights. He looked over his shoulder when I blew my nose into a tissue.
“How’s the nose?” he asked, putting a saucepan on the stove. I took in a long sniffle and approached him.
“Certainly not winning any award,” I groaned. “What’re you doing?”
“Since grownup time has begun,” he smiled. “Thought I’d make us a drink.” From the cabinet, he fetched the Scotch and the honey, then squeezed the juice of a lemon, and sliced fresh ginger. “Dad taught me this long ago. Hot penicillin.”
Hugging his arm, I watched him work. My head felt lighter and the pressure behind my eyes had lessened. He glanced down at me.
“I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable by turning up at your shop in front of your customers,” he said quietly. I sniggered in response.
“It’ll give them something to talk about.” I looked up at his face. “That was the best meal of my life.”
“Because you couldn’t smell it and hardly taste it?”
The jab made me smile. “No, really,” I said. “It was very kind of you to surprise me like this when you’re so busy.”
“Let’s see— the dumplings were from the freezer, we made the mille feuilles two days ago with store-bought puff pastries, and I think the lamb chops were slightly overcooked.” He poured two mugs of the amber liquid. “As usual, I followed recipes for all of them.”
I chuckled. “You do know how to sell yourself short.”
“And you know how to make a man feel proud.” Leaning in, he kissed my lips. I breathed him in, tasting the caramel on his tongue. “But thank you. I’m glad to have been of service.”
“How was your day?” I asked.
“Not bad.” He carried our drinks to the coffee table and turned out all the lights except the lamp at the end of the sofa. I opened the blanket to cover our legs. “Took classes on entrepreneurship and new venture finance, gave a talk on positive business communication, and made up my mind about getting tenured here.”
The announcement caused a small flutter in my stomach. “Do you like the place enough to make that commitment?” I asked cautiously.
“Well, I’ve taught at London Business School, Aston University, and INSEAD among various other schools, so if you’re hinting at prestige or eminence, Aldlake doesn’t quite compare.” He pulled me close and I instinctively nestled in his embrace. “But if you’re asking if it makes me happy, gives me security and contentment, and allows me to be close to the people who matter, then yes, it is absolutely worth that commitment.”
I considered his response. “Would you still be doing it if I weren’t here?”
“That’s the point, Missy. Your being here changed everything.” His face suddenly darkened. “When I told you that I would do anything to make it right, I meant it.”
The shadow lifted just as quickly, a smile entering his eyes. “Besides, Kurt has been doing very well here. He’s been able to make friends for the first time, which has strengthened my faith in this school. Plus, this is a smaller town, less overwhelming than everywhere else I’ve lived so far, and I’m at a stage where I crave a slower rhythm.”
After how harrowed the battle with his former wife left him, I could understand his need for an unhurried life. “Your university is lucky,” I said, relishing the warm beverage. “A big-shot professor chose them over London Business School to be tenured.”
“I’m not a big shot,” he chuckled, sipping his drink. “And I like this university. Smaller classes, capable administration, intelligent students, excellent pay.”
“Don’t be surprised if you’re running for dean in a few years.”
“And you’re going to run yourself to the ground if you keep doing this.” He straightened himself, removing his arm from me. “Your business keeps getting busier and you’re still managing it all by yourself.”
“No, I have people for supplies and deliveries.”
“You know what I mean.” There was a hint of irritation in his voice. “You need another person to assist you, to at least let you catch your breath, have a sick day when you’re unwell. You’re teetering on the edge of burnout.”
“Valentine’s Day does get crazy. A red monster breathing down my neck.” Bringing the mug to my lips, I paused. “Kelly and Graham sometimes help me after school when things get crazy, but they’re busy with the sea of activities that they’re involved in.”
“You need an actual assistant,” Sam spoke sternly. “Someone professional and capable.”
“I’ve been planning to hire someone,” I admitted. “Only for the weekend to begin with, so I can spend those days entirely with you and Kurt.”
“Oh, good. I was about to offer to help you out during the weekend.” His vexation was replaced with interest. “Have you talked to people?”
I nodded. “Also created an advertisement to put online and in the newspapers. Would you take a look at it before I post it?”
“Sure, anytime.” Leaning back again, Sam kissed my hair. “I don’t know if it’s any solace, but as hectic as things get with your shop, a corporate career would be much worse and far less fulfilling.” He squeezed my hand. “Still, I hate to see you pushing yourself all the time.”
“That’s why I have you to pamper me,” I smiled, tilting my head to reach his lips. “This will be our first proper Valentine’s Day together, can you believe that? What is that something special you had in mind?”
I felt him tense momentarily. “Do you mind if I put some clothes on?” he asked, setting down his mug on the table. “I’ll be quick.”
He left the sofa and headed to my bedroom, returning a couple of minutes later with his shirt and trousers on. “I know it’s only been six months since we reconnected,” he murmured, reoccupying his space beside me. “But they’ve been the best six months of my life.”
“They’ve been the same for me too,” I smiled, reflecting on the surprising ease with which Kurt had taken to me and the quickness with which we had become sort of a family, sharing home-cooked meals, weekly outings, highs, lows, and laughter, and indolent Sundays whenever my schedule allowed. Sam and I had also had a romantic getaway over Christmas at the Claremont Hotel in London, where we had enjoyed the most regal hospitality and indulged in the kind of carnality we could never manage with a child in the house.
I set my mug aside and put my head on his shoulder. “Every time you and Kurt come and stay over, or when I stay over at your apartment, and I get to wake up in your arms and make you a nice breakfast… it’s the most glorious feeling in the world. I wish we lived together so I could do it every day.”
“Yeah. About that.” He gently cleared his throat. “Remember when I wondered, hypothetically, what you’d say if I asked you to marry me…”
My heart tumbled against my ribs at the memory. “I said it would always be yes.”
“And if it’s no longer a hypothetical question?”
My eyes darted at his face. “I never said my answer was hypothetical.”
He held my gaze, his hands reaching for mine. “It’s not easy, given the mistakes I made. Terrible mistakes. I never got to do anything for you, Missy. Never had the chance to fight for you, to defend you, to flaunt you and worship you. I could just dwell on the lost years and the pain we suffered, but now that I’ve found you again and by some undeserved grace you still love me, I don’t want to waste the chance I’ve been given.”
Sam slid down from the sofa, onto his knee, still holding my hand, my gaze. “Melissa Catherine Connor…” he breathed. “Will you do me the honour of being my wife, my partner, my family?”
The question swirled in the room and hit me in the middle of my chest.
Sam’s wife. The designation I had for the longest time associated with the woman who destroyed my life, would be mine. The little boy used as a pawn in a cruel game of lies and deceit would be my son. The man I had always loved would finally be my own husband, not one that I had stolen from someone else.
Holding his face with both hands, I tugged him close, kissing him with a ferocity that refused to let my sinuses win. He kissed me back with equal passion as we tangled on the sofa, unconcerned about the possibility of Kurt sleepily wandering out and walking in on us.
“Is that a yes?” Sam half-laughed against my lips.
“Of course it’s a yes, Samuel Bernard Fischer,” I forced a laugh to ease the tightness of my throat. “Thought you’d remain stuck at the hypothetical question and never actually ask.”
“Well, then…” He managed to pull away from my onslaught. “Let’s make it official.”
From the pocket of his shirt, Sam produced an octagonal, blue box, no bigger than an inch in size. He flipped open the top to reveal a dainty gold band with a little pentamerous flower in the centre, each of its petals a tiny garnet— my birthstone.
I could not breathe. When he picked the precious circlet from its bed and slipped it onto my finger in a perfect fit, my hands were cold and trembling.
There was much to sort and devise — our living arrangement, his family and their reaction to our history, my long hours with flowers, the looming shadow of Norma-Jean. But at that moment, with Sam sealing his pledge with a kiss to my knuckles, none of it mattered. We had come so far after losing each other once. Our history was complicated but we had risen wiser from the ashes of the past. Our connection, once born of reckless passion, was now open, tested, weathered, and filled with a fierce determination to never let go again.
“I love you so much, you wonderful woman.” Sam kissed me again, trailing his lips down my throat. “The way you make me feel, the way you bond with Kurt, the way you fit perfectly into our lives…” When he looked into my eyes again, his blue gaze was watery. “I may not be much, but even in my limitations, with every thread of my being, I am yours.”
My eyes stung. My nose, already congested, burned from emotions bubbling inside me. “You’re pretty amazing yourself, professor.” I curled my fingers in his hair, blinking back the tears clouding my vision. “And I love you just as much.”
I held his face again. “You know what else I love?”
“What?”
My bottom lip slipped between my teeth. “Mille feuilles.”
“Yes, I know. I was afraid you were going to burn a hole in the spoon.” He glanced at the kitchen table with a raised eyebrow. “How about a late night snack? To celebrate.”
Fueled by adrenaline, with the agony of aggravated sinuses and the pressure of Valentine’s Day forgotten momentarily, we snuck into the kitchen, giggling conspiratorially like teenagers caught in a secret. “We’ll save the last piece for Kurt,” I whispered, grabbing spoons for us and digging into the creamy, decadent dessert. Sam nodded, kissing me again, as we shared the sweet taste of forever.
The flowers could wait. Tonight, my heart was finally in full bloom.