Miranda Dickinson 2 Book Bundle. Miranda Dickinson

groaned again. ‘I was so embarrassed, Celia. It was not the best way to make an impression.’

      Celia tried unsuccessfully to stifle her amusement. ‘Well, you made an impression on Nate, apparently.’

      Outside the sun broke free from the clouds that had been steadily building all morning, and bright rays flooded into the room.

      ‘I did? What did he say?’

      ‘He asked me about you. How old you are. Where in England you’re from. How long you’ve lived in New York. What brought you here in the first place.’ She saw my expression. ‘Don’t worry. I didn’t tell him. I just said you were offered a job in Boston, Ben invited you to stay with him so you could take it up and then later you decided to switch career and move here. Acceptable?’

      I couldn’t hide the relief in my voice. ‘Yes—most acceptable—thank you.’

      ‘You’re welcome. As I was saying, he wanted details. He said he might just have to come see you at the store. He has very expensive tastes when it comes to flowers. He orders a lot, you know…’

      ‘He does? You’re such a journalist, Celia.’ I moaned. ‘OK, OK, yes, I want to know why he orders so many flowers.’

      ‘Well, you know he’s been dating Mimi’s daughter Caitlin?’

      Suddenly, the reference I remembered seeing in Mimi’s email made sense. So the Caitlin in question was Caitlin Sutton. No wonder Mimi wanted a wedding so badly.

      ‘No, I didn’t know. Is she nice?’

      ‘Hmm—nice is not the particular adjective I’d choose.’ Celia frowned, her eyes twinkling. ‘Try manipulative, self-centred or, in fact…’

      ‘…Just like her mother?’ I ventured.

      ‘Ha! You got it. But gorgeous, though.’

      ‘Ah. I see. The old adage: “You can forgive a woman anything so long as she looks great”?’

      Celia’s eyes lit up. ‘Definitely…’ She stopped and changed her mind. ‘Well, no, actually. I guess Nate just figures it makes good sense to be with her. She’s rich, she’s influential and, well, it undeniably adds to his profile to have her on his arm at parties.’

      That was odd. From the little I knew of him, Nate didn’t seem to be the type of guy who looked for ‘trophy’ girlfriends.

      ‘How come she wasn’t at the Authors’ Meet, then?’

      Celia grimaced. ‘She hates books. And writers. Especially writers. She’s a businesswoman—things have to be cut and dried, black and white. Artistic people confuse her. She thinks creativity is something people with no intelligence resort to in order to find work.’

      ‘Bet she loves you, then.’

      ‘About as much as my mother loves waiting. And I guess you can imagine what she’d make of you. But she has one weakness—flowers. Lots of them. Nate orders her several bouquets a week…’

      ‘Oh, well, that’s sort of romantic.’

      ‘…At her specific request,’ Celia finished. ‘But she only has them in her office. She likes her colleagues on Wall Street to think she is adored. People who visit her home always comment on the flowers in every room, yet I have it on good authority that the house staff are instructed to remove them as soon as visitors leave. Now, I don’t know if this is true, but I heard she gave Nate a list of bouquets she expected to receive on Valentines Day—the bill ran to over $2,000! She even specified the exact words to be written on each accompanying card.’

      ‘Right…’ I said, amused. ‘Romance and spontaneity not her strong points, then?’

      Celia rose and collected our mugs to take to the kitchen for refilling. ‘It’s more like a necessary evil for her.’

      ‘And for him?’ The question was meant to be inside my head, but instead it inexplicably found a handy escape route out through my mouth. There was a pause. I could hear birdsong outside and coffee being poured in the kitchen. And I swear I could hear Celia smiling.

      She returned and sat down. She handed my mug back, wincing slightly as the heat from its contents scorched her fingers. ‘Now why would you want to know that, Rosie?’ she asked slyly.

      I blew on my coffee to avoid eye contact. ‘No reason, no reason at all.’

      When I got back to my apartment later that afternoon, there was a message from Ed. ‘Rosie, if you get this before 5 p.m, call me at Kowalski’s. Things are happening, girl. Big things.’

      I didn’t wait to call back. Instead I caught a cab and got there as fast as I could.

      Marnie met me at the door, her beaming smile almost as bright as her yellow braids. ‘Rosie, it’s so exciting!’ she chirped, grabbing my hand. ‘Come and see!’

      She pulled me over to the counter and showed me a pile of order forms, each completed in her swirly handwriting. Ed looked up and was about to approach us when the phone rang. He held up a hand and grabbed the receiver. ‘Yep, this is Rosie Duncan’s store,’ he said down the phone, grinning at me and giving a thumbs up. ‘How can I help?’

      ‘It’s been like this all day,’ Marnie explained excitedly. ‘It’s crazy! We got in and all was quiet, then at nine o’clock everything went nuts. People calling and coming in—all asking after you. We even had Martha Stewart’s PA call earlier! They all want to order. We’ve filled the order book almost right up till Christmas and we’ve got three weddings booked for June next year.’

      Ed finished the call and came over, brandishing another order form with delight. ‘Jon O’Donner,’ he proclaimed. ‘Only the CEO of the biggest acquisitions company in New York. We got the order for his daughter’s wedding next fall. It’s worth serious money, Rosie.’

      While I have to say I was excited, I was also a little anxious, knowing most of the new clients were probably Philippe’s excustomers.

      ‘Mimi Sutton’s recommended us to her entire circle,’ I explained. ‘They’re leaving Philippe in droves because they’re scared of offending her.’

      Ed’s smile disappeared as he saw the concern in my eyes. ‘Ah. Not good, then. Still,’ his smile returned, refuelled by hope, ‘we have always been more than a match for him artistically. Kowalski’s is due some recognition, don’t you think?’

      I had to agree. Of course it was OK. It was an open market, after all. Philippe Devereau had no more right to all of it than we did. And Kowalski’s could handle the new business, no problem. We’d need to take on extra staff, but that would be fine. We might need another delivery van. But that would be OK, too. I smiled at Marnie and Ed and allowed myself to feel the tiniest shiver of excitement. ‘I think we’ve finally arrived in New York!’ I replied, as Ed let out a whoop and we grabbed each other in a big group hug.

      I decided to stay at the store, breaking my sacred Saturday vow. There was no way I could leave all this excitement. I took over the phone duty and watched in amazement as order after order came in. Now, I’ve always known Kowalski’s had the potential to do well—I’ve always been the one telling everyone else that when things have been decidedly to the contrary—but this level of sudden success took even me by surprise. Putting aside my concerns about Philippe, I resolved simply to enjoy the moment, aware that it couldn’t last at this pace indefinitely.

      Just before we were due to close for the night, Ed caught my hand and led me into the workroom at the back of the store. He shut the door and turned to face me.

      ‘Rosie. About yesterday…’

      I took a step back. ‘Ed, I…’

      I was stopped in my tracks as Ed’s fingers gently touched my lips.