It Started With a Kiss (37 page)

‘What I’m after is something that will look as if my husband has bought it for me. Like I said, I need something romantic.’

Ava blinked, momentarily baffled by such a curious statement. Was the woman buying something that she wanted her guests to believe she had had bought for her? The way she was now avoiding her gaze suggested this was exactly what she was doing. For a second the awkwardness
hung in the air between them. Then, just as suddenly, the tension left. Ava thought no more of it – if she were to spent her life trying to second-guess people’s reasons for buying flowers, she would be quite mad by now.

‘Edmund, do stop that!’ the woman said with resignation, leaning to take her child’s chubby hand. Squealing, he ran across the shop, where he hid behind Matt’s legs. ‘Darling, behave!’

After rummaging around in her handbag for a scrap of paper and a pen, the woman glanced up at Ava. Leaning on the back of an expensive-looking navy blue wallet, she wrote a name and number.

‘Super. It’s very charming in here so I’m sure you’ll do something appropriate. Why don’t you call the house later and talk to Mary about delivery and sorting out payment.’ She half-handed, half-threw the piece of paper to Ava, while grabbing her son and attempting to strap him wriggling into his buggy seat.

‘No problem,’ said Ava. ‘So, two dining table centrepieces and something romantic, and I’ll speak to – Mary, was it?’

‘Yah, Mary.’

Once again the woman avoided eye contact and then, at twice the speed they had arrived, the family were gone.

As the door closed behind them, Matt looked up with a smile.

‘Told you,’ he said.

‘Told me
what
?’

‘Roses on a Monday – they never go anywhere happy.’

‘Oh, you are
such
a cynic!’

But deep down Ava felt a prickle of uneasiness as she wondered what was going on in the woman’s life. Seemingly she had it all, yet she was bristling with tension.

‘Just you wait, we’ll have a romantic in before long!’ she added lightly, causing Matt to roll his eyes at her.

She walked over to the twine and started rolling.

As Ava returned to her heap of Monday morning paperwork, Matt put together some of the arrangements that they created for local businesses, occasionally stopping to take payment from some passing trade. Ava noticed that he was selecting some elegant lilies and arranging them with some of the greenery he had prepared earlier. It was for Ruston’s then – the hairdresser on the corner of the high street. Ava was very fond of Sarah, the manageress there, and the two would sometimes go for a glass of wine after work to discuss business (and end up talking about anything but).

She still felt slightly unsettled by the brittle woman who had been in earlier. Though she had been treated far worse in the past, especially in London while working for Nigel, there was something about the pure invisibility that the woman had caused her to feel: she was so sure of her place in life, so glossy and confident. Ava imagined how sophisticated her dinner party that weekend would be, and imagined her husband thanking her for it afterwards, before they headed upstairs. Someone like Ava was of no interest at all to this woman – there was barely any respect there at all, and certainly no admiration.

Ava made a start on the invoicing, while making sure that her suppliers in Holland and London, as well as locally, were paid, and checking that she had invoiced her clients in the nearby hotels, restaurants and private homes. These were the jobs that brought her financial security, but it was the passing trade that interested her most. She enjoyed feeling like an agent for romance, helping men to make that special gesture, or creating bouquets to celebrate births and weddings. So often it was up to her to sprinkle the magic on a situation, or to encourage communication at moments of extreme emotion for those who otherwise said little of importance to each other. She pushed Matt’s conviction that a percentage of her flowers were merely props for cheating hearts to the back of her mind. Yes, she was an agent for romance, not an aide to the unfaithful.

The filing complete, she shuffled through the junk mail that had gathered over the weekend. Pizza delivery, cheap cable TV deals and local taxi companies … She shoved it all into the recycling bins beneath her feet, thinking of the weekend she had bought the bins with Rob, shortly before the shop opened. They had still been friends then, yet to turn their relationship into a romantic one. Not that they were a particularly romantic couple these days. After all, a courtship spent hunting for recycling bins would never lead to too many sparks flying. But Ava loved Rob – kind and consistent, he might be attractive in a catalogue kind of a way, but he was everything Mick hadn’t been. She looked down at the recycling bins again and saw that in with the pizza leaflets was the flyer for the local arts centre. Sarah
had mentioned it the last time they met – she was thinking of taking some classes.

‘You all right down there?’ asked Matt.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ she replied, absentmindedly. ‘What time would you like to take lunch?’

‘Ooh, I don’t mind, whenever suits. Soon?’

‘No problem, and while I remember – I don’t have to get to the supermarket tonight as Rob’s said he’ll cook at mine, so I can lock up.’

‘You’re kidding? That would be great – I offered to give Amy another driving lesson tonight.’

Ava forced herself not to flinch at the mention of Matt’s airily optimistic plans to teach his girlfriend to drive.

‘Yeah, it’s fine. Honestly.’

‘Great stuff, we’re both happy! Amy gets her lesson and you get a romantic dinner for two.’

Ava smiled at the memory of Rob promising to make her favourite pasta dish tonight. She had been very proud of the roast she put on yesterday, but hadn’t expected him to make such a sweet gesture in return. Cooking wasn’t a strong point for him, so she knew the offer was heartfelt and was secretly a little smug about it. Romance didn’t have to be all champagne and roses. An image of herself pointing in a mirror and mouthing ‘You’ve still got it, gal’ floated through her mind. Obviously there was the mild anxiety about what he might do to her kitchen, left unattended, but she had chosen to overlook this and focus on the loveliness of a meal cooked for her.

‘Look at you – all flushed with excitement!’

‘Oh, behave,’ she muttered, blushing at having been caught out in her daydream. ‘Go for your lunch now, then, or I might change my mind about tonight.’

Within minutes of Matt heading out to get his sandwich there was a sudden lunchtime flurry: a cheerful woman of a certain age who spent ten minutes looking at each of the bunches of Dutch tulips to check she had chosen the best, a retired gentleman after a bay tree for his garden, an unnervingly over-familiar woman who seemed to relish telling Ava exactly how much she knew about each and every one of the bunches on offer, and a brisk, housewifely type who seemed furious that daffodils were no longer in season and out on the pavement for a pound a bunch. Ava did her best to keep everyone happy, while leaning back once or twice to take the odd phone call. Just as she said goodbye to the final customer, she heard the shop door go again. She turned around, mildly frustrated that a Monday lunchtime had turned so chaotic, and saw the back of a man’s head already bent over the lowest row of flowers.

‘Hi there, can I help?’
Fake it till you make it
, she told herself.
He’ll be gone in a minute
.

‘Yes, please – I’d like some roses, please. The most gorgeous you’ve got …’

Smiling, he turned to face her. His eyes naturally turned down on the outer corners, lending them an air of gentle sadness despite his broad smile. Dark brown, the irises melting into the pupils, they were hard to look away from. He was wearing a cornflower blue shirt – un-ironed, but expensive-looking – and navy blue trousers; he also had on
a smart pair of brown brogues, well worn but good quality. Ava walked towards him, one hand held to her lips in thought. Once she was standing next to him she realised even over the scent of the flowers in the shop that he smelled of a combination of leather, expensive soap and perhaps a hint of vetiver. She took a deep breath.

‘Well, we have some wonderful ones in today,’ she began, pointing at the red roses Matt had been discussing earlier.

‘No, red’s a little … Well, it’s a little Argentine Tango for me.’

Ava blinked. She knew exactly what he meant. For an inexplicable reason she suddenly imagined herself, her fair hair mysteriously dark, tied back in an elaborate, glistening bun. She was wearing a dress the same deep red as the roses, split to the thigh. In between her rouged lips was one of the roses.

‘What else do you have?’ he asked, staring at her curiously.

‘What else do I have?’ Ava nodded seriously, playing for time.
Wake up, woman, you’re serving a customer!
‘Well, we have all sorts.’

‘What would you recommend?’

‘
Me
? Well …’

‘Yes, you don’t look like you really do tacky bouquets …’

‘Thank you.’ Blushing. Again.

‘So why don’t you put together something you’d like to receive.’

‘
Me
?’

‘Well, I don’t know what I’m doing and clearly you do, so why don’t you choose something you think someone like you would love to receive.’

The thought of this man bringing her flowers made Ava bite her lip very hard.

‘But it’s my job – no one brings me flowers. Bit of a busman’s holiday, I suppose.’

‘Oh, come
on
! Surely someone presents you with a bouquet from time to time?’

‘Not really.’ She was blushing again, remembering the delicate and awkward conversation that she had once had with Rob, where he firmly explained that he could never buy her flowers as she would always know better than him what she liked – and get a better price. Suddenly being an agent for the romance of others seemed less enchanting.

‘In that case I’m going to have to rely on your imagination.’

All Ava wanted was for her imagination to slow down a little …

‘Okay, what’s your budget?’

‘Ooh, £40?’

‘I’d choose something less formal than roses – perhaps more rural, local flowers?’

‘That sounds perfect.’

‘Softer …’ Ava’s eyes seemed to have locked with his again.

‘Perfect.’

She smiled, then began making up the bouquet. The man stood against the wall opposite her and watched as she
plucked a selection of gentle late-season tulips and sweet peas, some of the gorgeous cabbage roses that had arrived earlier in the day, then various foliage, and tied them together with plain, straw-coloured twine. Both were silent during this process, Ava doing her best to concentrate on her task, all the while conscious of his gaze on her hands and the back of her neck. He seemed comfortable in the quiet, unlike a lot of her customers who so often wanted to talk about the weather, the latest celebrity gossip or how business was going. When she was finished, Ava lifted up the bouquet to show him.

‘It really is perfect. I can’t thank you enough.’

‘It was nothing – I’m so glad you like it.’ She glanced at him again, then quickly dropped her gaze to the floor, suddenly shy. The man took two £20 notes from his wallet and passed them to her. She put them in the till before presenting him with the flowers.

‘I do hope you receive the bouquet you deserve soon,’ he told her.

‘Honestly, I’m more of a chocolates girl,’ she replied, suddenly tiring of his constant gaze on her, flustered by his assumptions about her life. ‘I am surrounded by flowers all day.’

‘It’s not so much the flowers as the gesture, though, is it?’

He was at the door now and turned as he said this, before winking and heading outside.

Smug
, thought Ava. She wondered what sort of man goes to buy romantic flowers and can’t help but flirt with the florist? As for the assumptions he had made about her lack
of romance … Charmless. She reminded herself of her romantic Monday-night dinner as she swiped the trimmings from his flowers into the bin:
Flowers aren’t the only way to express yourself
. As she slammed the bin lid shut, the image of herself dressed for the Argentine Tango once again flashed before her.

Miranda Dickinson has always had a head full of stories. From an early age she dreamed of writing a book that would make the heady heights of Kingswinford Library. Following a Performance Art degree, she began to write in earnest when a friend gave her The World’s Slowest PC. She is also a singer-songwriter. Her first novel,
Fairytale of New York
, was a
Sunday Times
top ten international bestseller.
It Started with a Kiss
is her third novel.

To find out more about Miranda visit www.mirandadickinson.com. If you want to know just what goes into the making of Miranda’s novels, including exclusive book extras, deleted scenes and details about Miranda’s newsletters, her blog is the place to visit. Coffee and Roses is also the home of Miranda’s popular blog,
It Started with a Kiss
– a video diary that follows the progress of her novel and gives you a unique insight into the life of a writer. Visit Coffee and Roses at www.coffeeandroses.blogspot.com

Fairytale of New York

Welcome to my World

This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

AVON

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IT STARTED WITH A KISS
. Copyright © Miranda Dickinson 2011. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

Miranda Dickinson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN-13: 978-1-84756-167-1

EPub Edition © OCTOBER 2011 ISBN: 978-0-00-738708-3