83 - Ready or Not

“So what did you do?” Delaney asked, putting another centerpiece in the cooler. 

It was number four of five that had come in as a last-minute order this morning from some socialite luncheon crew that knew Petra.  Denying them – or evening passing it off to Ireland – made her a potential target to her sister’s snark for the next ten years.  That left her cramming together dahlias and lilies and Jon recounting this morning's encounter until they could leave for the airport. 

“What the fuck could I do?” he groused from the stool beside the work table.  Both elbows stayed planted against its surface while wide-spread hands lifted helplessly.  “We found a bench and talked.  Turns out she has a community college degree in urban studies but hasn’t been able to go onto a university.  She’s working full-time at some consignment shop just to pay the rent on a shitty walk-up in Jersey City.”

“And?”

“And…”  He sighed.  “I told her she could work for the Soul Foundation.  At least it’ll let her afford a decent apartment while she goes to night school.”

God, she loved this man.  The girl had effectively destroyed his life, yet he was making a way to help her because she had no one else.  Who did that?  Nobody she knew, except for him. 

“You didn’t come up with some mysterious scholarship program to cover the cost of that night school, did you?”

He cut eyes in her direction that wanted to be icy but couldn’t quite freeze.  “It’s called tuition reimbursement and happens to be standard for all Foundation employees.”

Okay, that was it.  If they were five minutes late, so be it.  Delaney had to drop the greenery and turn him on the stool to palm both cheeks. 

“S’agapo,” she murmured against his lips and delivered a kiss borne of adoration that grew stronger every day.  Both arms slithered around his neck so that she could step between his knees and just hold him.  Yeah, he could be a little jerky sometimes.  Yeah, he was the crown prince of attitude on occasion, but seven times out of ten, Jon Bon Jovi was just a genuinely good guy.

Maybe even nine.

“Love you, too,” was the muffled response into the shell of her ear before he bit it.  “But I’m gonna bust your ass if you’re not ready to go in five minutes.  I don’t know why you have to be the one to do every single one of these.”

Speaking of jerkiness…. That wallop on her back pocket was a little heavy, and she rubbed it with a scowl.

Definitely not nine.  Firm seven. 

“Because it’s for Petra’s cronies, and I want to make sure there’s nothing for her to gripe about.”  Still, she went back to her buds and configured them into an arrangement that would match the others. 

“I personally think you’re stalling,” he observed, leaning one arm on her table.  “That little redhead told you twenty minutes ago she could copycat the first one.”

She didn’t deny the accusation.  Ireland had offered to finish up the set once Delaney assembled the prototype.  It would’ve been easier to let her designer complete the job, but there was something that kept Delaney plugging away at the mindless work.   

Did she not want to know the truth?  Was she worried that this trip to Chicago would turn out like the last one – or worse?

There’s only one way to find out how it turns out, you know.  That’s to get your butt to Chicago.

And she would.  Just as soon as she finished this last arrangement.

“Laney?  There’s somebody here to see you.”

Two heads turned simultaneously to find Marilee, who slid into the back room and held the door curtain tight behind her.  There was something about the look in her eye – the rigid way she stood for that matter – that was… strange.   

“Far be it from me to interfere in somebody else’s work,” Jon spoke, not knowing Marilee well enough to recognize something amiss.  “But Delaney’s trying to get the hell out of here.  Is there any chance of putting them off?”

“No,” her shop manager replied without bothering to turn his way.  Sharp eyes never left Delaney.  “Not gonna happen.”

Ohhh, I don’t like that tone.

“Who is it, Marilee?” 

Did they have an infestation of rabid beetles in the last batch of carnations?  Was the city closing them down?  Was it the police here to arrest her?  Or, worse yet, bearing bad news?  Had something happen to her parents?  Petra?  Max?  Had the bomb squad arrived after getting more information from Katya? 

Was it an IRS auditor?  That would actually make her laugh compared to the rest of it.

“It’s Poppy, honey.”

Delaney’s flew to her mouth but not quickly enough to stifle the sucked gasp of air.  Likewise, nothing could stifle a spontaneous glaze of tears that blurred the man who was already on his feet. 

“Can you show her some flowers or something, Marilee?  Delaney needs two minutes.”

“Sure thing.”  The agreement came readily enough, but there was a beat of hesitation before she added, “There’s a guy with her.  Just so you know.”

A guy?  What guy?  Holy crepes and pancakes, what now?  She wasn’t even prepared to deal with her daughter’s unexpected appearance, much less some other person whose purpose was undefined.

“I can’t.”  She glanced down at herself on the verge of hysteria.  After finally finding something acceptable in her closet, here she was in ripped jeans, a Yankees jersey, with no makeup and a messy knot of hair piled atop her head.  The bum on East 43^rd looked more put together than she did.  “Look at me.”

Snatching her flapping hands from the air, Jon grasped them with a shake that beckoned her full attention.  There was stony blue authority radiating from his eyes as he sternly brought her back around to what was important.

“It’s not about the outfit, remember?  You’re the fixer here, Mou.”

How was she supposed to fix anything without having more time to steel herself for the worst possible scenario?  At the very least more time to find an approach that wouldn’t get her arrested.  She wasn’t prepared for this.  This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. 

Freep.  Freep, freep, freep…a…doodle…do! 

“I don’t know what to say!” she hissed, fraught with panic and frustration.  “I was going to figure all that out on the flight, and now she’s here and…  Futher mucker!”

“Hey!  She came to you, baby,” he reminded without releasing her hands.  “That could mean she’s ready talk.  You may not have to say a thing.”

Squeezing her eyes shut, Delaney let her head fall back and lifted her chin to the ceiling with a helpless growl. 

Violet, if ghosts have any power over this world, then you’d better do something!

The fact that she was beseeching help from the dead said a lot about her level of despair, but she could not screw this up again.  The way things had evolved, it would be so very easy to start with the yelling and name calling when all she wanted was for this to be behind her, once and for all.  Was that so much to ask?  Really?

“Delaney!”  A firm tug on her chin brought her face level with Jon’s again.  “Did you hear what I just said?”

A tight frown tugged at her mouth.  She’d been too busy having an irrational conversation with Violet to pay attention.  “No.”

“I said,” he enunciated carefully.  “That I’m not going anywhere.  I won’t interfere unless you need me, but I swear to you that this is going to end different than Chicago.  No matter what I have to do.  You understand me?”

Truth shone like a sapphire beacon from the very core of his beautiful soul.  He would make this okay.  The man knew her from the inside out and his presence – his confidence in her – would ensure a different outcome, even if every other single thing was the same.  He had her back, just like those boys of his had at the pizza parlor. 

She inhaled the peace that came with that knowledge and used it to push down the frantic bile. 

Things were different now than they were four years ago.  She was different and had an entirely new perspective on Poppy’s anger.  Whatever loomed in the next two, five or twenty-five minutes would cleanse the festering wounds of everyone involved.  It might hurt like a beast but was necessary and tremendously overdue.

“I understand,” she assured him, embracing the mustard seed of serenity he planted in her and inviting it to grow.  “And I swear to you it won’t always be this way.  I don’t normally need taken care of.  Someday, I’ll be the one taking care of you.”

A lopsided smile of relief appeared, and he finally unglued their hands to glide fingertips over her cheek.  “Deal.  Now do something with your hair, if you’re gonna.  We’re about out of time.”

Her dimples kicked in even as she followed his direction and pulled the knot down to finger-fluff her hair into… something.  He’d dealt with so much of her depressing life drama in such a short period of time.  She owed him big time and vowed to herself to personally ensure his apartment was furnished to perfection, even if meant hiring ten people to keep Dandelion Dreams functional while she did. 

He was worth it.

“Looks good,” he approved of her finger-fluffing and popped a kiss against her lips.  

As predicted, they were out of time.  Marilee’s voice was getting louder, and it was obviously intentional as she got closer to the back room. 

“I’m sure your Aunt Petra will love the flowers you chose.  White roses are classic and timeless, and I’ll just have Macie run them over while you chat with your mother.”

“You ready for this?” he whispered in her ear.

With him at her side, feet planted immovably wide and a steady hand at her back, how could she be anything but? 

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”