Miranda Dickinson 2 Book Bundle. Miranda Dickinson

you don’t want…’

      His eyes widened, the grip on my hand tightening. ‘That’s the point, Rosie. I want to tell you, but…but it’s not possible right now. Give me some time and I promise I’ll explain everything, OK?’

      Resisting the urge to press him further, I released his grip with my other hand, pushing the mug of tea into it instead. ‘I’ll hold you to that,’ I smiled, but out in the hallway, I had to lean against the wall for a moment to quieten my insistent heart rate as a familiar sensation of impending trouble wrenched at my gut. What had he managed to get himself mixed up in this time?

      Nobody was waiting at Kowalski’s when I arrived. No Marnie, no Ed. Which was a surprise, to say the least. I opened up alone and waited for the order from Patrick’s to arrive. At seven thirty the large green and white delivery truck pulled up and Zac jumped out. He’s a lovely guy: athletic, blond and strikingly good-looking, but gentler than a kitten. He is completely in love with Marnie, although she has so far thwarted his every attempt at securing a date with uncharacteristic indifference—especially as she has confided in me (on more than one occasion) that she thinks he is cute.

      Zac joined Patrick’s the same week I started with Mr Kowalski, so we have a shared history. Like me, he left a highflying City career to work with flowers. Unlike me, however, his decision was due to a near nervous breakdown he had suffered at the age of twenty-four, when the pressure of being a Dow Jones trader finally took its toll.

      ‘Zaccai is another example of the miracle Papa does when He uses His flowers to heal,’ I remember Mr K commenting.

      And it was true: flowers did appear to make Zac happy. His smile was as regular a sight as his green and white company shirt, or the short pencil stub he kept permanently lodged behind his left ear. Ed often speculated on why it was that the pencil stub never got any shorter in all the years we’d known him: maybe all company pencils were that short, or maybe he spent his weekends whittling his pencils down to the correct length…

      ‘Mornin’, Rosie!’ Zac shouted as he swung open the back doors of the truck and jumped up inside.

      ‘Hi, Zac,’ I called back, stepping off the sidewalk onto the road. He consulted his order sheets and began pulling out the long boxes to make a stack.

      ‘OK…we got roses, we got button pom-poms, Bells of Ireland, lisianthus, Char Hu…uh, did ya want some extra greens today, ‘cos Jackson’s ordered too much?’

      ‘Um…’ I consulted my list.

      ‘Hey, Rosie, you’d be doing me a big favour. I won’t charge ya a bean, OK?’ Zac’s smile was a winner every time.

      ‘OK, yeah, great. Thanks, mate.’

      He hopped down and slid the pile of boxes to the edge of the truck. ‘Ha—“mate”. That’s so cool. I love it when you say that…it’s so British, so quaint!’

      We made two trips to get all of the order into the workroom, then I signed the chit. Zac looked round the store, frowning. ‘No Marnie this mornin’?’

      ‘I don’t know where she is.’

      For a moment his perma-smile receded. ‘Oh.’ Then it quickly returned. ‘Tell her Zac the Fit Guy says hi, OK?’ He set the little bell swinging as he opened the door and turned in the doorway. ‘She thinks I don’t know she calls me that. But I do. See ya, mate!’ He waved at the window before slamming shut the back doors of his truck and jumping into the driver’s seat.

      As he drove away, Ed walked past the window and waved weakly before entering the shop. He winced when the bell chimed happily. ‘Can’t you make that damn thing any quieter?’

      I smiled. ‘Zac and I managed just fine without you this morning, Ed. So thanks for being here like you said you would be.’

      Ed clamped a hand over his dark-circled eyes. ‘Uhhh…I’m sorry, Rosie. I completely forgot…I had a rough night.’ As he approached me, it was plain that this assessment was a strong contender for Massive Understatement of the Year.

      I reached behind the counter. ‘Strong, black, two sugars.’

      Ed grasped the mug like a vessel from the Fountain of Eternal Youth. ‘You are a wonderful woman,’ he breathed.

      ‘Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just drink up.’

      But I couldn’t shake the knot of irritation wrapped tightly around my gut. It was unlike Ed to get in a state like this—and for him to forget the weekly Patrick’s delivery was just ridiculous. And where on earth was Marnie? This was the last thing I needed today. The situation with my brother had thrown my peace of mind off kilter this morning and was claiming enough of my thoughts already without me having to deal with strange behaviour from my staff as well.

      Caffeine administered, Ed and I unpacked the order and separated the blooms, ready for display or arrangement. The day’s tasks then began in earnest, with Ed in the workroom and me minding the shop while I made a start on the everpresent pile of paperwork. And then, all of a sudden, it was 9 a.m.

      Ed appeared at my side, looking decidedly less like an extra from Revenge of the Living Dead now. He cleared his throat and began the necessary grovelling process, as is customary on occasions such as this. ‘About this morning, Rosie…I should explain—’

      ‘No need.’ I smiled serenely, before spoiling the illusion of Saintly Benevolent Employer by digging for gossip. ‘What I’m more interested in is how you got on last night with The Beautiful Face of Jean St Pierre.’

      Ed groaned. ‘Yeah, yeah, beautiful Yelena. She was beautiful…’ He trailed off and he clamped one hand to his forehead as his eyes screwed up in a vain attempt to dull his hangover. ‘My brain is exploding in here…’

      I reached behind the counter and threw a box of Advil at him. ‘So?’ I pressed.

      Ed let out a breath and glared through the pain at me. ‘So, Miss Marple, she was beautiful and charming, as expected…’

      ‘Right…’

      ‘…And so, so committed to my best friend like you wouldn’t believe.’

      I winced in sympathy. ‘Ah.’

      Ed rubbed a hand across his stubble-covered chin. ‘Hmm. I took her to the show, then to dinner at Orso. It cost the earth but, hey, I thought, it’s worth it, right? I mean, she isn’t married; in fact she’s only been with Steve since July. Two months? Who gets serious with someone in two months?’

      ‘Well, maybe some people do…’ I ventured, suddenly feeling defensive.

      ‘Yeah, sure, like no one else I know does…So I took her home, whereupon she graciously left me in the cab and I ended up at Frank’s drinking Jack D’s till 2 a.m. So some hot date that turned out to be. Welcome to the story of my life.’ He dropped his aching brow into his hands once more and let out a long, low groan.

      It was time for a Rosie Duncan Rescue Attempt™. This method has been successfully employed on more than a few occasions when Ed has needed cheering up.

      ‘Hey, don’t worry,’ I smiled encouragingly. ‘I’m sure Yelena had a really good time last night. And so what if she didn’t want anything else? I mean, you’re a great guy, Ed. You’re funny, you look great—this morning aside of course—and…well, most importantly, you’re a brilliant friend…’ I patted his shoulder. ‘So one lady in this city didn’t fall for you? Big deal! There are plenty of others who will.’

      Ed lifted his head and suddenly things went horribly wrong. Instead of the warm placated smile I was expecting, I found myself facing arctic-blue eyes frozen by cold fury. ‘And that is your answer for everything, isn’t it? Optimism: it’s going to save the day, right? Yeah, yeah, that’s right. Sure it will. Why can’t you just be like every other damn person on this planet and admit that sometimes life sucks? Well, I have news for you,