Elly in Bloom. Colleen Oakes

      Kim stood up and walked out the door, the bells clanking behind her. Elly wiped a tear from her eye. It had been years since she had fought like this with someone, and she had never fought with Kim. From that moment in the coffee shop, where Kim had saved her, they had been inseparable. They had the kind of adult friendship that she had always wanted. Most Sundays, Kim and Elly laid on bright-pink rafts in Kim’s pool, floating lazily, her fingers trailing in the cool water, drinking smoothies, and watching Sean fight with the grill. There was no way around it; Kim was her family here.

      Elly instantly felt a painful twinge of remorse.

      “Kim!” she walked outside, and saw Kim sitting at one of the small tables on the patio area, wiping her eyes. “I’m sorry.” She wrapped Kim up in her arms. It was so easy to hold skinny people. “I’m just sad you won’t be working for me anymore. Does that mean I have to promote Mood Swing over there?”

      Kim laughed as they both looked through the window into the store. Snarky Teenager was designing at the window-side table and chatting on her cell phone at the same time. She popped the head off a rose, mouthed a curse word and flung the rose stem against the window. “She’s hopeless,” Elly sighed, “but maybe she just needs more direction.”

      “I know,” Kim said, as she nuzzled her head into Elly’s shoulder. “I will always be around. Just not on the clock. You know I’ll be here every day anyway. You’re okay, but what I really need is my daily grilled cheese from Keith.”

      Elly smacked Kim’s arm and they headed into the shop to finish out the day’s work. When Elly arrived at her apartment hours later, with a pastry bag in one hand and a bouquet of blue delphinium in the other, there was a note posted on the door in a simple white envelope that read “Elly.” She frowned. She hadn’t been late on rent, had she? Crap, she thought, as she stuck the envelope between her teeth and opened the door. Thirty minutes later, after letting Cadbury pull her around the block several times, she sat down at her tiny kitchen table and wiped a bit of cannoli cream off her face. The note was written on some sort of thin, red paper with Indian ink drawings. It read:

      Elly,

      I’m having some people over tonight for a sort of housewarming. Stop by? Anytime works. I’ll even order you some Chinese!

      — Isaac

      Elly felt her heart stop, midbeat. The neighbor. The insanely handsome neighbor wanted her to come to his party. She wasn’t sure if she should be insulted or elated by the Chinese food comment, but it didn’t matter at the moment. She had been invited to a party. By a man. This was monumental.

      She touched the invitation softly. She shouldn’t go. It had been a long day with Kim announcing her decision, and Elly was exhausted both emotionally and physically. She crumbled her cannoli into the wrapper and tossed it in the trash. Elly turned around and flipped on the TV. Cadbury whined at her. She walked back into the bedroom, grabbed his little squeaky squirrel, and stomped back out to the living room. She threw the toy at Cadbury, who scampered madly down the hall.

      It was then that she saw herself in her mirror above the dining room table. Blond curls falling over her face, thick tortoise-shell glasses hovering on the edge of her nose. Her curvy, rounded body was hidden under a bright-blue T-shirt that was half-tucked into black gaucho pants. She was a mess. Was she just going to stay inside her apartment for the rest of her life? Live vicariously through Kim and Sean? Had Aaron—she winced at the name—taken everything from her? Cadbury leapt up at her with his toy hanging out of his mouth.

      “I can do this,” Elly confirmed to herself. “I can be hot.”

      Ten minutes later she was still staring at her closet, trying to find something to wear. It didn’t have to be hot, something just mildly attractive would do. Arranging flowers was hot, messy, wet business. She mostly wore tank tops and shorts, or, when she was alone in the studio, a camisole and underwear. Finally, she found a sheer black-and-white polka-dot top that was low in the front, and pulled that over a black tank top. She had one pair of not-so-slimming khakis and slipped those on with some black flip-flops. Her curly hair was unmanageable, so she pulled it back loosely with some bobby pins, put on some lip gloss and mascara, and slipped out the backdoor.

      A narrow walkway lined the apartments above Wydown Street, connecting them all through a series of fire escapes and tiny patios. She had been outside for barely a minute when she headed up to the apartment above Keith’s deli. As she lingered in front of the door, she smelled warm bread. It was both comforting and annoying—she was on the way to a party thrown by a gorgeous man and now she was hungry. Thanks, Keith, she noted, annoyed. She arrived at the door, which was plastered with various band posters. Okay, Elly, breathe, she told herself. Please let me not embarrass myself. She closed her eyes and knocked on the door.

      Chapter Five

      The door swung open, the handle grasped by a guy who was tall and very well dressed. Well, on the top anyway. He was wearing a white button-down shirt and tuxedo jacket with ripped jeans.

      “Heyyy,” he mumbled, obviously confused. He placed his arm across the door. “Are you here to pick up Jules?” Elly gulped.

      “Um, what?”

      “Are you her mom?”

      “No, no, I’m not. Is Isaac here?”

      The guy dropped his arm from blocking the party and shouted, “Isaac … some girl’s mom is here to see you!”

      Some girl’s mom…. Elly instantly regretted not only her decision to come, but also her decision to wear khaki pants. She glanced down at her outfit, suddenly realizing how much she looked like a soccer mom. Isaac leaned around the corner, holding onto the wall. His face contorted into a wild, irresistible grin.

      “Elly! You came! I’m so glad.”

      He took her warm hand—a move that was both sudden and shocking—into his cool one, and led her into the living room. The walls were a deep-mustard color with a shabbily done textured overlay. Red and orange couches were pushed up against two walls under two large pencil drawings in black plastic frames. Some sort of inventive, experimental music blared loudly through the room. It sounded like Yanni, only with rapping over it. Three very pretty girls lounged on one couch, and two men sat on the other and were engaged in what seemed to be a rousing debate. A man wearing a tight black T-shirt was waving his arm wildly.

      “Your wording is ambiguous on that point. The commercialization of radio music has made it obtuse to arguments of taste. A music aficionado, while being able to recommend music, underscores the people’s choice in the matter. You can either be independent or be under the influence—”

      A girl in some sort of hideous witch-like dress leaned forward.

      “Or a normal human being. Gene, you can’t be elitist about the whole thing. Radio is for the people. But musicians and people who see the inner workings, they know the truth. It’s our responsibility to teach, to educate—”

      Isaac stepped into the middle of the argument. “Okay, okay! Calm down! I would like to introduce everyone to my new neighbor. This is Elly.”

      Elly held her hand up in a half wave. Everyone stared at her, wine glasses in hand. “Hey. It’s nice to meet you.”

      “Elly, are you a musician?” asked a red-headed girl with horn-rimmed glasses. She looked doubtful.

      “No, no, I’m not, I actually own the flower shop next door. We do mostly weddings.”

      The girl looked at her blankly.

      Elly continued blabbering. “I had a really interesting one the other day. There was this chocolate fountain—.”

      From the other couch, a man with a beret piped in. “Anyway, I believe that if we quit hanging on to these