Miranda Dickinson 2 Book Bundle. Miranda Dickinson

at this, but Mum’s calm and knowing smile always left a little discomforting question mark at the back of my mind.

      Then, just when I thought my life was complete, I found there was something missing. And one of my Important Life Decisions was put to the ultimate test. I fell in love.

      That one, singular happening in my life changed everything. It led me to leave England and a family and career I loved, to move to America and chase my dream.

      When my dream died, my other Important Life Decision was reversed and floristry became my saving grace. I rediscovered the joy of creating something with living things; twisting, moulding and combining scents and colours, forms and foliage into something new, something worthwhile. I found that catching the fleeting beauty of flowers seemed to awaken something hidden deep within me: a need to celebrate life—however brief—after my own life had been exposed to so much death. As I placed my creations in the hands of my customers, I found my work marking their lives too—celebrations, commemorations, condolences—and the thrill it gave me to be part of their stories far surpassed anything I’d felt during my previous job. Just like Mum had told me. And now I can’t imagine ever doing anything else.

      Celia arrived at noon on the day of her big event to inspect the progress of her order. I was proud to report that we were almost done—only two more arrangements to complete. She skipped around the workroom like a delirious three-year-old, squealing with delight at the ‘quaintness’ of the baskets, the ‘gorgeous English scent’ of the roses and the quality of craftsmanship ‘that Philippe himself could never equal’. After several minutes of gushing and promises of many future orders to come, she was gone again, racing off to her next interview.

      Ed wiped his brow and flopped down onto a chair.

      ‘Rosie, that woman is a human whirlwind. How on earth do you keep up with her?’

      I giggled. ‘Sometimes, I ask myself the same question. But her heart’s in the right place, you know.’

      ‘Sure, but where’s the rest of her?’

      Marnie and I finished the final arrangements and stood back to view the wonderful spectacle that is a completed order. ‘Perfect!’ I said. ‘We’re done.’

      Ed frowned. ‘Wait—we’ve got to have the Kowalski Ceremony before you can say that.’ He picked up an old, rusty pair of halfmoon spectacles from a shelf, placed them on the end of his nose and adopted a slow, gentle Polish accent. ‘So, I think maybe we are done now, everybody? Good! Let’s clear up and deliver!’

      I smiled at him. Some days I miss Mr Kowalski so much my heart aches.

      ‘Can I go for my lunch break?’ asked Marnie, hopefully.

      ‘No problem,’ I said, checking my watch. ‘Take an hour, mate. You’ve worked so hard the last two days. Enjoy yourself.’

      But before I’d finished speaking, Marnie had grabbed her bag and coat and was out of the door, shouting her thanks over her shoulder as she went.

      Ed raised an amused eyebrow. ‘Now there’s another whirlwind in training,’ he said. ‘Must be the guy she met last week in drama class.’

      I smiled as I began to collect the scrap foliage and raffia from the worktables. ‘Ah. Another chapter of Marnie’s life begins.’

      ‘Poor Marnie. Her love life reads like a plot of a daytime soap,’ Ed agreed, and began to carry completed arrangements to the cold store. ‘I was attempting to explain this to my mother the other day. Let me see if I remembered the highlights: there was the med student—he lasted four months, till he announced he wanted to become a gynaecologist…’

      ‘Always a passion-killer, that one.’

      ‘Then came the Italian stallion, who said he was on an exchange programme from romantic Sicily, when really he was from romantic Queens.’

      ‘Hmm, and he only told her that small detail of his life after she’d spent most of her money showing him the sights of New York for three weeks.’

      ‘And, of course, who could forget the guy she fell head over heels with, who turned out to be her long-lost half-brother?’

      We both grimaced at that one. Ed shook his head and picked up the last two arrangements. ‘Now, you make the coffee and I’ll finish up here.’

      My coffee machine is just about the best thing ever. It’s one work requirement that I’ve retained from my old days at the advertising agency—I need my coffee in order to be creative. Customers have told me that the comforting scent of coffee mingling with the flowers makes them feel at home when they enter the shop. It seems to encourage them to spend time making their decisions. Nowadays, it’s strictly decaf after 2 p.m.—not least because we all need our sleep at night, but also because Marnie under the influence of too much caffeine is downright scary, and I don’t want to frighten the customers away. My coffee machine doesn’t look or work like it used to, but its battered appearance and the strange noises it emits are all part of its endearing character. Marnie thinks it should be retired, but Ed agrees with me that it makes the best cup of coffee around, and that makes two votes to one. Motion carried. So Old Faithful (as he is affectionately known) remains an important member of my staff.

      When the coffee was ready, after much huffing, puffing and weird clunking from Old F, Ed joined me behind the counter for lunch. Ed always eats the most enormous pastrami sandwiches at lunchtime. He buys them each morning from Schaeffer’s Deli, a few blocks down from his apartment in the East Village, on his way to work. I asked him once how he manages to eat so much without becoming the size of a small planet, and he informed me that he has an ‘excellent metabolism’. I reckon it’s more to do with the fact that he runs five miles every day, goes to the gym regularly and seems to spend most of his free time running after (or being chased by) the beautiful women of New York.

      After several minutes of happy munching, Ed gave the meat monstrosity a time out and shot me one of his serious looks.

      ‘So what about your dating history, Rosie?’

      Uh-oh. This was one road trip I knew all too well:

      YOU ARE NOW ENTERING UNCOMFORTABLE

      Population: Just Me

      I tried a detour. ‘Not much to tell, really.’

      Of course, this wasn’t likely to put him off. In hindsight, it was probably the worst thing I could have said: there is nothing Ed Steinmann likes more than a challenge. I might just as well have slapped him in the face with a gauntlet.

      ‘Oh, come on, Rosie, there must have been guys you left back in old Blighty?’

      ‘Umm…’

      ‘Buzzzz! Hesitation!’ Only Ed could turn an embarrassing conversation into a quiz show. ‘Travelled across the Pond leaving a string of broken hearts behind you, eh?’

      I swallowed hard. ‘Something like that.’

      ‘And then there was…where was it you came here from? DC? Chicago?’

      ‘Boston.’

      ‘Ah, Boston. So—any broken hearts there?’

      ‘I—no, OK? Can we change the subject, please?’

      Ed held up his half-eaten sandwich in surrender. ‘Hey, I’m just making conversation. You’ve been here, what, six years and we’ve never seen you dating.’

      I let out a long sigh. ‘I don’t have time to date.’

      Ed took another bite and munched thoughtfully. ‘That’s because you spend half your life chasing the whims of that mad journalist friend of yours.’

      ‘Ed, that’s unfair. Celia’s a good friend.’

      ‘So how come she’s never set you up on a date then?’

      ‘Ed!’

      ‘I’m