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CHAPTER 1

Michele

M onday’s are insanely busy. Not only do I have my flower shipment coming in, but the customers always seem to call needing flowers for an occasion they happened to miss over the weekend. Funerals I can understand as they aren’t planned. Birthday’s and anniversary’s get me, though, they fall on the same date every year. Maybe plan ahead?

Calendars do exist. Heck, I even had some made one year and gave them out to every customer from October to December for the new year. Write the dates on the calendar, repeat the process each year, and boom it’s easy to call ahead and order gifts. I love my job, but the stress of working alone can be overwhelming. It’s a lot to juggle and Monday’s seem to be the peak of the week.

For a while, I opened on weekends trying to keep my stress level down on Monday’s. I quickly learned, people are forgetful. No matter that the occasion is recurring like a birthday, the everyday average person is too preoccupied in the day to day to keep up with dates. Yes, I did have those random walk-ins or phone orders, but it wasn’t enough to justify the cost. The return on investment simply isn’t there to be open seven days a week.

Plus working that much, I get snippy. That isn’t good for customer service.

Also, people have serious expectations.

I am a floral designer, not a magician.

I can’t magically throw the custom orders together and deliver in thirty minutes. This isn’t a pizza delivery. Unfortunately, that would kill business for me to tell anyone exactly how I feel about last minute orders. Therefore, I answer the calls friendly and eager to take the order. Even though, I usually hang up just to immediately freak out. Composing myself and getting right back to work has gotten easier over time. I guess it’s a practiced talent to juggle last minute stuff. This business gives me plenty of practice.

I’m a one woman show. Owner, designer, delivery person, inventory clerk, accounting, and everything in between. While business is steady, I can’t yet afford to hire an employee, or trust one. Maybe one day, maybe not. It isn’t my goal to have employees or some huge business. I want to live comfortably doing an art I love, this is it.

Bows and Blossoms Boutique is a passion project.

I told myself when I left New Jersey to come to south, I was embracing everything I couldn’t back home. Especially solitude. Five years ago, I packed my Volkswagen Jetta with my clothes, my grandmother’s jewelry and never looked back. At first I settled in South Carolina for about a year, but it didn’t feel like home. On a random weekend trip, I stopped here in Creekdale, Alabama for gas and fell in love with the small town charm.

There isn’t much here, a gas station, library, fire department, small mom and pops diner, a Piggly Wiggly grocery store, and these classic almost from a movie type of main street shops. Stores like mine, the pharmacy, the pet shop, and the smoke shop selling all the vapes anyone could dream up. We are all in a row on Main Street. The vape shop is the newest addition to the strip mall style building I’m in. I have to admit traffic is at a larger volume since the tobacco store came in. I hoped the increase would trickle in on my cash and carry orders, but I have yet to see a real consistent boost.

I love that the closest big city is Huntington, Alabama and it’s an hour away. In fact, I love most things about Alabama altogether. Growing up in the hustle and bustle of city life, I absolutely find myself enjoying the slower pace here. Once I left New Jersey, I spent a year in South Carolina where I worked at a grocery store in their floral department. A hobby I had growing up making flowers for my grandmother’s table every week became my career. Sometimes I wonder if she’s an angel watching over me now and is she proud that I have created this new path in my life?

When I arrived in Creekdale, there were no flower shops, and Piggly Wiggly, as much as I love shopping for my food there does not have a floral department that is staffed. Instead a person can buy a premade silk grave piece from on top of the produce coolers and that is about it. Needing a job, I went to work there as a cashier with a long term goal in mind.

Seeing the need for a shop, I lived frugally until I had enough saved to rent my space, purchase a cooler, get inventory, and begin. It took me a year being here, but yes, three years ago, Bows and Blossoms Boutique was born. I didn’t do it alone. My cousin helped me get the business side of things set up since she’s good at all of that. The idea, though, it’s all mine. As for owning the business, it’s all mine too. She did the leg work of the corporate side of things and registering with the secretary of state.

From the very first month I opened, I have had one customer come in to order without fail. He wears a leather vest that says Rogue on the left side of his chest with Sgt at Arms above that. There are multiple patches all over the vest including the back where there is a skull wearing a crown and bandana that takes up most of the material. The words Kings of Carnage MC, Alabama complete the back. While he’s been my most consistent customer, I have no idea who he is.

Not his actual name.

Not his occupation.

Not even the name of the person he’s giving flowers to.

Whoever it is, they are obviously important to him. I don’t want to assume it’s for his girlfriend or wife, but I do find myself curious. Working in the grocery store, I quickly learned people buy flowers for others for a variety of reasons and making assumptions does nothing to help with the design. Keep things simple and focus on each individual design.

I had been open just shy of one full month when he came in on a Thursday. All rugged and rough. For some reason, every detail of our first encounter sticks with me.

“Welcome to Bows and Blossoms,” I greet the man entering. His face is chiseled in such a defined way he should be a sculpture. He has on jeans, a navy blue t-shirt, a leather vest, and some serious boots. His hair is cut military style but with a little more on top, so shaved sides and hair on top.

He doesn’t smile at my greeting instead he struts up to my counter. “Tiger lilies?”

What a request? I don’t keep many lilies in stock regularly yet as they tend to be a higher priced bloom versus getting something like daisies or carnations in. They also aren’t as hardy and tend to die quicker. If I order lilies, I have to be able to sell them within a few days, otherwise it’s a loss. In this business, having perishable items likes flowers, those losses add up.

“I don’t right now, but I can order some for my next shipment if you would like. I know it doesn’t help you for today, but I can get them if I have notice. My wholesale supplier will be by tomorrow if you can wait one more day.”

“Yeah, get ‘em in. Gotta go out of town. I’ll be back Monday to pick them up.”

“Okay,” I reply grabbing my notepad.

He speaks before I can get out my next questions, “Every Monday.”

His tone is clipped. I know I blink five or six times before I can get my words together. He wants tiger lilies every Monday? They aren’t the most affordable of flowers and hard to care for to make them last. “Okay, do you have a specific design idea or a price range you want to stay in.”

“No,” he replies still standing in place expressionless.

Okay, so I learned my time working at the grocery store, while some people expect me to be a mind reader, I am in fact not one. It is imperative I ask questions to get a better idea of what he is seeking.

“Are you wanting the tiger lily blooms by themselves or arranged in a vase?” I ask as I fill out my sales slip. I don’t have a computer here, yet. One day I hope to, but just starting I need to save where I can.

“No vase,” he mutters low.

“I can do a nice hand-wrapped bouquet for you, sure. Would you like greenery and filler flowers or just the tiger lilies?”

“Has to be small so it fits in my saddlebags,” he explains as he gestures to the front windows of my shop. I look out and behold a bright yellow Harley-Davidson motorcycle is parked at my front door.

I nod my head understanding.

“Don’t need fill flowers or greens, just tiger lilies.”

“Okay, I can do a nice bundle that will fit in your saddlebag for twenty dollars plus tax. If you pay by card, there is a three percent processing fee.”

He reaches in his back pocket pulling out his wallet. Tossing a fifty dollar bill on my counter, I retrieve it.

“Just a moment and I’ll get your change from the back.”

“No need,” he mutters, “keep the change and I’ll be back nine am on Monday.”

He turns around to head out my door.

“Sir, I need a name to put the order under please.”

He looks over his shoulder at me, “call me whatever you want.” Then he turns back around and strolls out leaving me shaking my head.

What have a learned in three years? He goes by Rogue. For some reason that is his nickname. When he goes out of town the few occasions he does, another man in a leather vest picks up the flowers. He goes by Havoc.

Menacing doesn’t begin to explain the look on that man’s face. Luckily, it doesn’t happen often that Rogue can’t get his flowers personally.

In my time here I have learned about the Kings of Carnage MC from other people. They are pretty much everywhere in Creekdale. You can’t go anywhere without seeing one of them around. While they aren’t overly friendly, I have yet to have an encounter where any of them have been rude or violent or any of the common misconceptions of a biker gang.

That said, I don’t get out much so maybe they are full blown maniacs bringing destruction everywhere they go. I can only judge by my encounters and while I wouldn’t call them pleasant, they haven’t been bad. Cut and dry, to the point, I have the flowers ready, he drops his money, and leaves. The same process is rinse and repeat every week.

Moving to my shop front door, I unlock it to face the Monday crazy. I have been in the shop for an hour listening to my messages from the weekend and organizing my day into time blocks based on my deliveries already scheduled before even going to that door. It’s eight fifty-five in the morning when I turn the lock.

Three minutes later, I hear the rumble as it approaches and then stops in front of my shop. One minute after that, he is standing by his ride looking at his watch. At exactly nine am he struts in my front door.

Lifting his sunglasses up as he approaches, I fight back my smile. Why I want to smile when he comes in is beyond me. It’s like this weird subconscious reaction I have to him. I guess I like his loyalty to my shop. I really don’t know.

“Wrapped bundle of tiger lilies,” he states like he does every week while dropping a fifty dollar bill on the counter.

No matter how many times I tell him his total is only twenty-one dollars and eighty cents, he always gives me fifty.

“Got them ready for you,” I reply while turning to the display cooler behind me to retrieve the wrapped bouquet. “Would you like a card?” I ask swinging back around to him and waving my hand at my small enclosure card rack on the front counter.

“Nope,” he remarks taking the flowers from my hand. Our fingers briefly brush and this shock wave shoots through me at the contact.

I seriously need to get a life and a man. It’s been too long if a simple touch can light a fire inside me.

He steps back, turning to exit and like usual I call out, “Rogue, do you want your change?”

“Nope.” His last words before strutting right out of my shop and over to his motorcycle.

“I hope you have a great day,” I call out to the empty space around me.

Really, I do hope he has a good day. I don’t know what it is about him, but he never cracks a smile. Nothing about his demeanor or our interactions ever change. In three years I haven’t even gotten the tip of his lips in a semi-smile.

There is a sadness to his eyes that calls to me. For just a moment, I wish I could crack this solid exterior and learn something, anything about the man who apparently appreciates flowers as a gift for someone.

Once again, he leaves and my curiosity about the man only grows more with every passing week.