Miranda Dickinson 2 Book Bundle. Miranda Dickinson

wait to get to work in the morning and, even though this is the only contact he has with her each day, it is enough to have completely stolen his heart. Billy sends roses from Kowalski’s every first Monday of the month to the girl across the office—always red and always a dozen, with a card that says, ‘From your office admirer’. To date, he hasn’t yet had the courage to add his name to the card, even though Ed, Marnie and I have all urged him to do so. Consequently, Miss Emily Kelly thinks the roses are from one of the managers and is slowly dating her way through middle management in a bid to discover the sender of her monthly bouquet, while Billy contents himself with the daily smile and tries to muster the nerve to reveal his secret identity to her.

      It’s stories like these that make my job so enjoyable: tiny snapshots of other people’s lives that catch my interest, like driving down a street at night and peeking into lit windows.

      But not all the glimpses are good ones. For every hopeful, fascinating story, there are darker, sadder ones. Like the man who came into the store not so long ago. He caused such consternation that the mere mention of ‘BlackBerry Guy’—as he has become known—is enough to send Ed and Marnie into animated diatribes about how ungrateful some people are.

      It had been raining solidly for a whole week and business had been sporadic, to say the least, with only the bravest of customers daring to brave the New York pelt. By Friday afternoon it was so quiet that I made the decision to close early and we were just starting to shut up shop when BlackBerry Guy came in. Dressed impeccably in a smartly cut dark suit and trench coat, he was engrossed in a call on said BlackBerry and didn’t even acknowledge Ed, who had walked across to greet him. It took Ed physically standing four inches from BlackBerry Guy’s face for him finally to register his existence.

      The first thing that annoyed Ed was that BlackBerry Guy didn’t end the call. He merely mumbled, ‘Hold on, would ya? I just gotta sort something,’ into the device and put his hand over it. ‘Flowers, yeah?’

      I could see Ed swallowing the comment he would have liked to have made before he politely asked, ‘Any particular type?’

      BlackBerry Guy cast a cursory glance at the impressive selection of blooms in our galvanised buckets. ‘Whatever,’ he said with a disinterested swipe of his hand. ‘Just make them expensive, yeah? Money’s not an object here, OK?’ Before Ed could speak again, BlackBerry Guy had returned to his call. ‘Murray, you still there? Yeah, just getting a peace offering for Susie, making sure she doesn’t sue my ass for every nickel. What? Oh yeah, she found out about that bit of skirt I picked up in Philadelphia. Threatening to divorce me. Again. What? Damage limitation, yeah.’ His laugh was dirty and disgusting—and the second thing that annoyed Ed, who cleared his throat loudly and waved at BlackBerry Guy to wrench his attention from the blasted device. ‘Oh wait, the shop guy’s bugging me,’ he said to the caller, placing his hand over the receiver once more and glaring at Ed. ‘What?’

      Ed smiled with gritted teeth. ‘Sorry to bother you, sir, but I need to know what kind of arrangement you require and if you need it to take now or wish for us to deliver it?’

      BlackBerry Guy let out an irritated sigh and resumed his call. ‘Yeah, Murray? I gotta go. Seems you gotta endure the third degree to get a damn bunch of flowers round here. Ha, I know! Later.’ He had ended the call and raised both hands. ‘Good for you?’

      ‘Much better, thanks,’ Ed replied, the sarcasm in his tone evident to everyone else except the man stood before him.

      By the time BlackBerry Guy had finally left Kowalski’s—after having answered three further calls and sent numerous emails—everyone was wound up. For a man who had betrayed his wife, he’d showed little remorse—in fact, he’d only stopped joking about it when he saw the disgusted looks on our faces. He’d spent over a hundred dollars on an apology that was more about saving him from an expensive divorce than it was about saying sorry. It’s sad, but it’s life, and just another part of the rich mosaic of individual stories that make this city what it is.

      ‘Do you ever wonder if you could end up like BlackBerry Guy?’ Ed asked one Sunday morning, as we sat on burgundy-red cushions in the window seat of Caffe Marco on Lafayette Street in NoLita, eating bomboloni—tiny Italian breakfast doughnuts filled with chocolate, custard and jam (a particular favourite of Ed’s). We come here quite a lot on our weekend expeditions. Ed is fascinated by the décor in the café: it’s typically over the top, from the huge crystal chandeliers and ornately carved white-painted wooden chairs to the neat, regimented lines of pastries standing to attention in glass and steel display cabinets beneath the polished white marble service counter. The coffee’s pretty good too—rich and dark with the kind of kick that can wake up even reluctant-riser Ed on a Sunday morning.

      ‘I don’t think either of us could be so callous,’ I replied, taking a sip of smoky espresso and enjoying the instant buzz.

      ‘Nevertheless, I worry about it sometimes, you know? That I’ll one day get so wrapped up in my own life that I’ll stop thinking about other people. I guess it’s something you don’t notice about yourself until it’s too late.’

      ‘You want to watch that Caffe Marco espresso,’ I smiled. ‘It looks like it could be melting you, Mr Iceberg.’

      ‘Mock all you want, Rosie, but any one of our customers could be us one day. What was it Mr K used to say? “Everyone’s story is one step away from yours.”’ He shuddered. ‘Remind me never to buy a BlackBerry, OK?’

      ‘I really don’t think the device determined the man there, Ed.’

      ‘I know, but when you see everyone else’s lives, the comparison with your own is inevitable, don’t you think?’ He popped another doughnut into his mouth and I could almost see his brain whirring as he munched away. ‘I mean, look at Billy Whitman: I bet he never thought that one day he would fall so hopelessly in love with somebody that he’d end up spending hundreds of dollars because he didn’t have the nerve to tell her his feelings.’

      There are many things I’m not certain of in my life, but I can honestly say that Billy Whitman’s situation was one I was pretty convinced wasn’t likely to happen to me. ‘Billy will tell Emily how he feels one day,’ I said with conviction. ‘These things just take time. And no, I don’t worry that will happen to me.’

      A strange look passed across the ice-blue Steinmann stare. ‘Still, it’s a scary thought, huh?’

      A pretty young waitress appeared by our table, instantly summoning Ed’s attention.

      ‘Hi, I’m Lydia,’ she smiled.

      ‘Hi Lydia.’ Ed’s cheeky expression made me groan and avert my gaze.

      She blushed and shifted position self-consciously. ‘Can I get you guys anything else?’

      ‘Rosie? More coffee?’

      I politely declined, not that he was listening.

      Lydia turned to Ed. ‘And for you, sir?’

      ‘Well, I’m fine for coffee, but I wouldn’t say no to your number.’

      Watching Ed the Serial Dater at work is truly a sight to behold. Lydia didn’t stand a chance against the Steinmann charm. I’ve seen it so many times and yet it never fails to fascinate me. He can make any woman feel like she’s the only other person in the room, just with his attentive smile.

      ‘Well, when you ask so nicely…’ Lydia scribbled her number on a napkin and handed it to him. Ed, his eyes never leaving hers, accepted it and placed it with great care into his shirt pocket.

      ‘Call me anytime after seven,’ she beamed.

      ‘I’ll do that,’ he replied. ‘Thank you.’

      He watched her skip away and looked back at me. ‘What?’

      I laughed. ‘You are impossible, Ed! I can’t take you anywhere.’

      He took a triumphant sip of coffee. ‘I’m just in the game, Rosie,