44 - Say It With Flowers

[8:10 AM]JON: Where the hell are you?

Delaney smiled at the text over her steaming cup of coffee.  Before responding, she instructed her floral wholesaler, “Yamir, make sure you give me green Queen Anne’s lace, not white – and some echeveria.”

“For you, Delaney, anything.  I was starting to think I’d never see you again, my best customer.”

Shooting him a lopsided grin, she admitted, “I’ve missed you, too, but Ireland says you’ve been taking good care of her.”

Chocolate brown eyes sparkled with humor, and white teeth flashed inside a caramel face.  “Only because I know she comes for you.  The girl isn’t shrewd.”

“Well, thanks for not indirectly screwing me over.”

[8:12 AM]DELANEY:  Flower district.  If you’re going to tie up my afternoon and night, I needed to get SOME work done.

[8:13 AM]JON: I don’t like you fucking sneaking out of bed.

She snorted under her breath as Yamir brought an extra two dozen lemonade roses to go with the rest of her order.  Those would be nice for the project she was putting together this morning.

[8:14 AM]DELANEY: No point waking you up just because I have a day job.

[8:15 AM]JON: What am I supposed to do with my morning wood?

Men were all alike, and Delaney smirkily shook her head even as she bloomed with warmth on the inside.  It was a little thrilling to know he’d woken up reaching for her.  That feeling plus last night’s crazy physically emotional episode cemented what he’d already said – this was more than a one-night stand.

That meant her plan for this morning made even more sense than it had during her daybreak visit to the potty.

[8:16 AM]DELANEY: Save it for tonight?

That earned a scowling emoji that made her laugh out loud, but it was quickly followed up by another, less irritable text to confirm their apartment search schedule.

[8:17 AM]JON: Pick you up at the shop at 1?

[8:18 AM]DELANEY: Errands to run, so I won’t be there.  Meet you at Warren St. listing at 1:30.  You still have the address?

[8:18 AM]JON: Yeah.  Have a good day, Mou.

[8:19 AM]DELANEY: GOOD day, not NICE day, right?  ;)

[8:19 AM]JON: You figure it out. Haha.

She put the phone away with a soft chuckle, looking up to find that Yamir had finished loading the van and was now watching her.  His eyes were scrutinizing and held the shrewdness he accused Ireland of lacking.

“What?”

“Whatever has been keeping you away from the Flower District is good thing,” he offered casually.  “Five years you have been coming here.  I always think you are happy woman, until today, when I see true happiness shine.  May you always keep this joy, Delaney.” 

I don’t know about always, but it feels good for now.

“Thanks, Yamir.”

{{{

A couple of hours later, Delaney was in the shop’s back room, placing the finishing touches on her piece.  It was earthy with the green array of Queen Anne’s, hydrangea and echeveria, but there was also an air of chic thanks to the lemonade roses and hydrangeas that were the soft white of a cloud.  The small arrangement’s eclectic mix suited its intended recipient.

“Pretty,” Marilee admired, leaning on the design table.  “I don’t remember getting an order that fits this bill, though.”

“Sometimes I just like to create.”

That catty eyebrow of the store manager found its way over the rim of her glasses.  “Sometimes you do, but you’ve got a purposeful gleam in your eye today.”

“Mm.”  She wasn’t getting into this today.  “Don’t you have something to do out front?”

“Nope.  Katya’s got it covered so we can dish about your new boyfriend.”

Was Jon her boyfriend?  It was a stupid term for a mature man, so Delaney decided to reject it.  “Not my boyfriend.”

“I don’t care what you call him, I wanna know what he does to make you glow when you’ve obviously been ridden hard, put away wet, haven’t got on a lick of makeup and are wearing a rat’s nest in place of a hairstyle.”

It was difficult scowling through a smile, but somehow Delaney managed as she twirled the glass cube to inspect the flowers.  “Since you’ve been sporting a pixie cut for ten years, you probably don’t know that messy buns are all the rage.”

“When you’re twenty-five, messy buns are cute.  On a woman your age, they’re a rat’s nest.”

“Bite me.  I now have a better sex life than most twenty-five-year-olds.  That earns me some hair leeway.”

“Ooh!”  Marilee’s blue eyes went big.  “So, he lives up to the hype?”

The floral piece was perfect, so Delaney lifted her gaze from it and grinned naughtily.  “Let’s just say we’re very compatible.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to give up more than that!”

“No, I don’t.  I kind of like keeping my amazing sex life private.  Crazy me.”

Her friend blew an annoyed breath out her nose and huffed, “Damn right it’s crazy!  We’ve been friends for years, Laney.  Give me something, for God’s sake!”

What could she tell that didn’t feel like revealing something too personal?  She’d never been one to share bedroom tales, mostly because it meant admitting her desire for things that were a little edgy.  Nobody other than the man in her bed needed to know those fetishes, and nobody needed to know that Jon peeled away all her layers last night, exposing her to the core.

She’s waiting.

Delaney opted to share something personal yet not intimate. 

“His pet name for me is ‘Mou’, because it’s Greek for ‘mine’.  And,” she tacked on as an afterthought as a slow leer bloomed over Marilee’s mouth.  “Last night, he called me his beautiful fighter.”

The memory of that episode still carried a physical impact, which was revealed when Marilee looked pointedly at Delaney’s forearm.  “Hell’s bells, woman.  You’ve got goosebumps! I guess we can safely say you won’t be going out with the Hugo guy.”

The hand that had been resting lightly on the work table came to cover her face, fingertips pressing between closed eyes.  “Oh, freep.”

Her manager’s knowing chuckle didn’t make the sick feeling in her stomach go away.  “You forgot to call him, didn’t you?” 

“What was your first clue, Sherlock?”

“That would be his appearance in the shop yesterday, saying, ‘She never called’.” 

The hand dropped from her face and closed lids flew open for a split second before she sighed, “Son of a motherless goat.  What did you tell him?”

“That you’d been very busy and I was sure you’d contact him in your first free moment.”  A look of utter indifference cloaked her features. “I wouldn’t worry about it.  He gives off a weird vibe.  You’re better off keeping your distance, in my humble servant’s opinion.”

“Weird how?”

“Overly charming – like, in a serial killer kinda way.”  When Delaney’s jaw fell open in horror, Marilee dismissed it with a laugh and careless wave of the hand.  “I’m exaggerating.  Some.”

Great.  Whereas Delaney truly had forgotten about contacting him – that was partially Jon-induced, since he didn’t seem thrilled about the whole scenario – now she was reluctant to call the guy at all.  Not that she really thought it was personal, anyway.  Pearl and Marilee were both nuts in thinking that he wanted to ask her out, because that was just… nuts.

Serial killer kind of nuts?

It was probably something of an official nature.  Maybe she dropped something from her pocket, or – she took inventory of her hands and noted that her pinky knuckle ring wasn’t there.  Unable to pinpoint exactly when she’d last seen it, she identified that as a viable option.  He had one of her rings, because it fell off in the ambulance.

“I’ll call him tomorrow.”  Today was already too full, and she picked up the arrangement.  Between this, apartments, the gym, dinner and whatever else Jon dreamed up, Delaney’s calendar was booked for the day.  “Ireland should be here in about an hour.  I’m going to make a delivery and do some personal stuff.  I have my phone in my pocket.  Call if you need me.”

“Jesus.  It’s awful early for an afternoon delight.”

Not in the least bothered by the teasing, she winked at Marilee.  “Who says delight is only meant for afternoons?”

{{{

An eerie sense of déjà vu settled over Delaney as she entered the foyer of Greenwich Lane.  Her last visit to this building – to Dorothea Bongiovi – had not ended well, and she had to shake away the yucky feeling her subconscious was radiating.  The fact that it was only short-term amnesia was a blessing that she appreciated.  Good things had even come as a result, but it wasn’t something she wanted to repeat.

“Hello.”  A cheerful two-dimple smile accompanied her greeting to the same doorman who was on duty the last time.  “I’m here to see Dorothea Bongiovi.”

The thirty-something man took in her fading violet bun, plain face and flowers before his head tilted ever-so-slightly to one side.  “I remember you.  You got hit out front a couple weeks ago.”

“That’s right,” she confirmed amiably, twisting the ball of her sneakered foot on the marble floor.  He’d been easy enough to get past last time, so there was no reason to believe he wouldn’t wave her on up again.  “A bike messenger wiped me out after I came from seeing Dorothea.  I’d like to take these up to her as a token of my thanks for her kindness that day.”

Not really, but it was the right thing to say.  He was already nodding and, as she predicted, waved her toward the elevator.  “She’s a nice lady.  Sorry to hear about her and her husband.”

Delaney made a noise that sounded like sympathetic agreement, but she was in a unique position that made it difficult for her to feel sad about the dissolution of Jon and Dorothea’s marriage.  Maybe tonight would be a good time to ask him about the details, she thought while punching the Bongiovi doorbell.

It wasn’t long before the door swung open to reveal the lady of the house, whose eyes went immediately flat, even though she forced herself to smile.

“Delaney.  What a surprise.”

“Hi, Dorothea.  I was hoping you had a couple of minutes to talk?”

The smile slipped a bit, but she dipped her head in assent and took a step back.  The woman was classy with a capital C.  “Please.  Come in.”

Delaney did so with only a quiet murmur of thanks and, when the door closed, turned to extend the flowers.  “I was rude enough to show up unannounced, but not to come empty-handed.  Based on what Jake picked out for Mother’s Day, I put together something I thought you might like.”

“They’re lovely.”  Accepting them with a subdued smile, she gestured to the living room and walked that way, leaving Delaney to follow.  The hydrangea arrangement found a spot on the coffee table and the soon-to-be-former Mrs. Bongiovi found a spot on the chocolate sofa behind it.  “I’m leaving shortly for a fundraiser, but we can chat in here for a few minutes.  Have a seat and tell me what brought you here today.”

Perching on the adjacent armchair that was a complementary shade of brown, Delaney adjusted the teal throw cushion behind her.  She rubbed both palms over the worn denim covering her thighs and met the other woman’s eyes.

“I’m not quite sure I ever really expressed proper thanks for your help that day in front of the building.  In this city, those kinds of acts are more the exception than the rule, so I appreciate your kindness more than I can say.”

Dorothea’s face remained neutral as she crossed her own denim-clad legs.  The white t-shirt she wore bunched at the waist and rode up on arms that were also folded. 

“You’d just given me the greatest compliment a mother can receive in saying I did a good job with my kids.  After that unsolicited praise, I couldn’t very well walk by and pretend not to see you.  I was simply returning the kindness you’d shown me.”

“Then we’ll consider ourselves even,” Delaney agreed pleasantly.

“Now why are you really here?” Jon’s wife still watched with expectancy, proving that she was not dumb and there was no point in pretending otherwise.

“To look you in the eye and say that I don’t fool around with married men.  I found out Monday afternoon, along with the rest of the world, that you were getting divorced.  Before that, there was nothing between me and Jon but friendship.  Honest to God.”

“Why do you think I care?”

The question and her gaze weren't cold nor warm.  Curiosity was the prevailing tone, and Delaney lifted a shoulder.  “Maybe you don’t, but I do.  I’ve met two of your kids, and Jon’s mentioned my meeting the other two.   Yes, I know half of them are adults, but still… as a mother, I need you to believe that I’m not some skankalicious ho-bag without morals.  I understand the timing isn’t ideal, but I’m a decent person pursuing an attraction to another decent person.”

Whiskey brown irises had been receptive up until that last part, at which they narrowed slightly.  “Has he told you why we’re divorcing?”

“No.  Not yet.”

Nodding slightly, her attention slipped off to the side before returning to Delaney.  “I know you're not ‘some skankalicious ho-bag’.  Instinct tells me you’re actually better than just ‘decent’, too.  It takes someone of character to make two completely unnecessary trips here – both today and when personally delivering those Mother’s Day flowers.  That’s why I’m going to give you a little advice.”

“Okay…?”

Again, Dorothea’s gaze slid away for a beat, and this time it slid back and locked.  It might be Delaney’s imagination, but she thought there was a touch of sadness there – or maybe resignation.  Whatever the case, the other woman was matter-of-fact in stating, “Jon is a performer.  First, foremost and always.  He’s mastered the art of charm and a disarming smile to sell whatever he wants to sell, and he’ll use it on anyone.  The only place you can separate fact from fiction is in his eyes.”

“His eyes...”

This felt like one of those Yoda or Mr. Miagi moments that held underlying meaning, because Delaney felt like looking at someone’s eyes was obvious.

“Yeah, I know.  Sounds simple, right?”  Dorothea’s laugh was dry and without humor.  “The trick is convincing yourself to look, even when you don’t really want to know the truth.”