Page 7 of The Nook for Brooks (Mulligan’s Mill #6)

I glanced up and down the riverside promenade and noticed the bright blossoms filling the buckets out front of the store next door— Bud’s Blooms .

I paused on the footpath. Flowers weren’t my usual impulse buy, but after my friendly pat on the shoulder sent Brooks slamming into his own bookshelf earlier in the day, I figured I owed the poor guy a peace offering.

A bouquet seemed more dignified than an “oops, sorry mate” scrawled on a Post-it note and stuck to his front door.

As I stepped inside the flower shop, the scent of roses and lilies washed gracefully over me.

Not so graceful was the voice that bellowed from behind a tower of carnations.

“Mrs. Cuthbert, you stupid old cow! If I told you once I’ve told you a thousand times! Ten o’clock is my first lunch break. If I don’t eat, my blood sugar levels come crashing down like a hot air balloon on fire and my always polite demeanor takes a turn for the—”

The short, sturdy woman who stepped out from behind the carnations—a chocolate éclair in one hand and a bowl of some kind of cereal in the other—gawked like a galah when she saw me, mouth slightly agape, her mouthful of half-chewed food on full display.

“Ah… g’day,” I said, equally wide-eyed, I’m sure.

“G-what?” she muffled through her food.

“G’day.”

“No need to be rude,” she said.

“I wasn’t, I was just saying hello.”

“In what language?” She narrowed her eyes. “What are you, Russian?”

“No, I just walk really fast.” I laughed at my own joke. “Get it? Russian… rushin’…” My laugh faded fast. “You don’t get it.”

She squinted at me even more suspiciously. “You’re weird. Lucky for you you’re also hot. So I won’t kick your ass out the door just yet.”

“That’s nice of you.”

“Nice would be you telling me what the fuck you want so I can get back to my puppy chow.”

I screwed up my nose. “You’re eating dog food?”

She screwed up her nose. “Of course not. Ew! Jesus, maybe that’s normal in Russia, but not here in the good old US of A.”

“I’m not from Russia.”

“You just said you were a fast-walking Russian.”

“No, that was… I was trying to be funny… You know what, forget it. I’ll just be on my way.”

I turned for the door when a male voice came from behind the woman. “Oh, hey there, welcome to Bud’s Blooms .”

I pivoted back to see a friendly fella with a beard and bright bubbly eyes and one of the biggest smiles I’d ever seen.

He was making his way into the store from a workroom out back, wiping his wet hands down his apron.

“You here for some flowers? Come in, come in. Welcome to Bud’s Blooms .

” He held his hand out to shake mine. “I’m Bud.

This is Maggie. Don’t mind her, you just interrupted first lunch break. Her blood sugar dips sometimes.”

“Dips?” she contested.

“Okay fine, it crashes like a—”

“Hot air balloon,” Maggie finished for him. “On fire. People screaming and then… splat! Time to bring in the shovels.”

Bud changed the subject like he was a pro at it. “So, you’re new in town?”

“He’s a Russkie,” Maggie answered for me, whispering loudly to Bud. “Don’t trust him, he might be a spy. There’s probably a camera inside the compass around his neck.”

“Actually, I’m Australian.”

“More lies,” Maggie whispered.

Bud ignored her. “Wow, you’re a long way from home. Where abouts in Australia you from?”

“A tiny piece of paradise in North Queensland called Magnetic Island. Or as the locals like to call her… Maggie.”

Maggie—the person, not the island—instantly plonked her bowl and half-eaten éclair on the counter, eyes wider than ever.

“Shut the front door! Are you kiddin’ me? There’s an actual island named after me? ”

“Well, I’m not sure it was named after you, technically speaking. But yes, I come from an island called Maggie. Beautiful beaches, coral reefs, palm trees.”

She drew in such a big excited breath I was positive several chunks of cereal ended up in her lungs. “An island ! There’s an island named Maggie! Not a street corner, not a dumpster, a whole dang island . I knew I was destined for bigger things.”

I think it was fair to say her blood sugar levels were on the rise.

“Maggie Island! I gotta get me a T-shirt. Do they have T-shirts that say ‘Greetings from Maggie?’”

I shrugged. “I guess so. I don’t really buy souvenirs from the place where I live.”

Maggie looked at me, confused.

Bud explained. “Maggie’s a lot more restrained these days, but she likes to collect things no matter where they come from. You should see her collection of Mulligan’s Mill shot glasses.”

Maggie lit up like someone just plugged her into a power socket. “Shot glasses. I need Maggie shot glasses. I’m gonna start making a list.”

With that she bolted into the back workroom and started rattling through drawers like a possum in a kitchen.

Bud’s sigh of relief was almost as big as mine. His smile returned as he said, “Now, what can I get for you… sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

“Cody. Cody Cameron. I’m a freelance travel writer and I thought I’d like to do a piece on Mulligan’s Mill. Unfortunately, I think I made the wrong impression on the guy from the bookstore this morning.”

“Brooks? Everyone makes the wrong impression on Brooks. He once refused to sell me a bookmark because I dog-ear my pages. He said it’d be like handing car keys to someone who drives into trees for fun, then mumbled something about ‘learning some respect’ and walked off.”

“Oh good. I don’t feel so special now.”

Bud leaned back against the counter. “Truth is, Brooks is a good person. He just files people the same way he files books. You’re either in the right section, or you’re outta place. Give him a day or two, he’ll figure out which shelf you belong on.”

“Well, in the meantime, I thought some flowers might be nice. To apologize for getting off on the wrong foot. Any recommendations?”

Bud rubbed his beard. “For Brooks? Go with something simple, neat. Nothing messy or loud. He hates mess.”

I grinned. “So, no flashy bouquets or a box of red roses?”

“Hell no. He’d break out in hives.” Bud plucked a few tall bright stems from a bucket by the counter. “Sunflowers. Clean, cheerful, not too complicated. Says ‘sorry’ without screaming it.”

Just then Maggie came barreling back in, a pad of paper clutched in her hand.

“Okay, here’s my list so far. Shot glasses, coasters, magnets, key chains, and maybe a snow globe.

Do they have snow globes? Wait, no, it’s a tropical island, duh.

What about a sand globe? Yes!” She scribbled out snow globe and scrawled “sand globe” on her list, underlining it twice.

Bud groaned softly, but his smile never faltered. “See what you started?”

Maggie shoved the list at me. “I’ll see what I can do,” I told her.

She jabbed a finger at the paper. “Good. And throw in a jar of Vegemite while you’re at it. It looks just like Nutella. Should be delicious on a batch of puppy chow.”

Bud wrapped the flowers and handed them to me. “On the house. Consider it a welcome to Mulligan’s Mill—and good luck with Brooks. You’ll need it.”