Elly in Love (The Elly Series)

  Elly ignored him. “It’s all the same. That’s what I’m saying. Can I have some pancakes now?”

  He pulled his hand away, and Elly was left with an outstretched arm. “Not yet. I have one more surprise for you. This is your real present.” He hesitated. “Now if you want jewelry, or something more, let me know. I want to do this right. It’s been a while since I spent Valentine’s Day with a striking woman by my side, and I want to make sure it’s everything you could want.”

  Elly felt up to her head of semigreasy hair. Striking. That was one word for it.

  “Now close your eyes and open your mouth.”

  Elly raised her eyebrow and gave Keith a skeptical look. Um, what?

  Keith gave a deep laugh. “Okay, that didn’t come out quite right. Just trust me. Elly,” he said softly. “Trust me.”

  Trust was not something that came easily to Elly, especially with men. But she closed her eyes and opened her mouth. She felt the spongy, hearty texture of the pancake first. And then a second taste danced across her tongue, a thick syrup on her palate. It was sweet, tart, and familiar. It tasted like home, it tasted like childhood. Suddenly memories of her mother were surrounding her, consuming her. Her eyes quivered with tears. Elly opened her mouth. “Uhh … muhh gussshh. Huh did you get this?”

  Keith gave her a handsome smile and walked over to her chair, a tiny mason jar in his hand. “Prissy Jane’s Peachtree Syrup” read the label, a bright-orange tree blossoming over the tiny words.

  Elly swallowed her pancake and grabbed the bottle. “How did you …? Where did you …? When did you …? Oh my gosh. Keith?”

  Keith timidly pushed a piece of hair out of her eyes. “Remember that day last month when we took that walk in the snow? When you told me about your mother?”

  Elly did remember. She had cried. A lot.

  “You told me that she always served her pecan pancakes for the annual church social, topped with Prissy Jane’s Peachtree Syrup. You said that anytime you tasted it, you remembered that day with her.” He sat back down. “It took a while to track down. They stopped making it in nineteen ninety-one, and so I had to track down the original factory. They were sold to a restaurant supplier in nineteen ninety-five, and they had started selling a couple of crates of the syrup a year to novelty food emporiums. The owner of the restaurant supplier lives in Arizona, so….”

  He didn’t have a chance to finish. Before she knew what she was doing, moving faster than she even knew was possible for a woman of her size, Elly flung her chair over, flew around the table, and pressed her lips against Keith’s, knocking his chair over. Together they flew backwards, Elly landing on top of him with a soft “ouch.” Neither of them cared. It was the first time their lips had touched and they clutched at each other with intensity. She was surprised that the kitchen table didn’t ignite with the flames with their passion. Keith, who was initially surprised and taken off-guard as his chair tipped, responded immediately, wrapping his large arms around her, totally engulfing her. His hands clutched her dirty hair and he squeezed her tighter and tighter into him. His mouth, her mouth, and the Peachtree syrup all mingled together, a taste of sweet rapture.

  Elly had never felt more passion, and she had been married once to a really hot guy. That had been nothing compared to this. After about ten minutes of frantic and desperate kisses, they pulled away from each other, Elly’s mouth red and sore and smeared with syrup. Keith sat back on the floor and righted the chair. They stared at each other until both erupted in nervous laughter.

  “Well, that was awesome!” he announced with an embarrassed grin. “Uh, wow.” He gestured to the table and Elly noticed his hands were shaking. “Shall we finish the pancakes before they get cold?”

  Elly had practically floated back to her chair, where she savored each and every bite of her childhood. Righting his chair, Keith took a long sip of orange juice and then slammed the glass down hard on the table. “BEST VALENTINE’S DAY EVER!” he declared. And that had been their first kiss. The beginning of them. Keith had been worth waiting for, even if he moved slowly.

  Back on the rooftop deck now, watching Keith take a long sip of wine, Elly sat back, satisfied, against the couch cushion. That first kiss had been amazing, and it had only gotten better since then. She couldn’t remember a time in her life when she was so simply and perfectly content. Happy. Keith brought a glass over and sat down beside her, wrapping her head delicately in the crook his arm. They fit together just right. She had never met anyone quite like him in all her years. He was completely self-sufficient. He owned a successful business, he had a Subaru, he paid his bills, and he read the New York Times. She had never seen his home, but that was because he was always either at the deli or her place. He called her when he said he would, he meant what he said, and he knew how to fix something that was leaking. He liked almost everyone and was nice to waitresses. What she felt for him was so different than what she felt for Aaron. Loving Aaron had been like repeatedly singeing herself with fire—being with Keith was like stepping into a warm bath. She was Keith’s, and he was hers, and it lit up her heart in the most resplendent way. Elly snuggled in beside him and together they gazed at the bright stars, so content, even in silence. Keith leaned over and brushed his lips across hers, and Elly fell perfectly into him, so blissfully unaware that everything was about to change.

  Chapter Four

  It was the first day of April, and Elly had slept late again. Her head hammered to the sound of loud banging in the studio below. “What the …?” Ugh. She threw the comforter off her legs, pulled on track pants, grabbed a blueberry wheat bagel from the fridge and headed downstairs, her eyes still glazed over with sleep. She pushed open the door and poked her head around the corner. “Uh, yeah—what is happening in here?”

  Snarky Teenager’s voice came from above. “Don’t come over here yet!”

  Elly looked around. “Where are you?” There was no one in the studio.

  “I’m up here!”

  Elly frowned. “I know your voice isn’t coming from heaven, because, well, that speaks for itself,” she giggled. “Totally kidding.”

  “Whatever. Have I ever told you that your jokes are so lame? You and Kim both think you’re so hilarious. Come help me off this ladder.”

  Elly pushed back the curtain in front of the window display that faced the street. Snarky Teenager was standing on the top ladder rung in the window, holding a hammer in one hand and sporting the world’s tightest jeans. Elly felt a grumble of annoyance in her chest. “What are you doing? I just designed that window!”

  Snarky Teenager looked down at Elly with disgust. “You mean, it’s April and you have the daffodil display up? Yeah, that is not ‘designing.’”

  “I’m not sure what you mean, but I’m pretty sure it’s meant to insult me.”

  Snarky Teenager gave an eye roll. “Elly. The daffodil display—it’s just so cliché. You know I hate that display!”

  Elly snorted, instantly realizing that the sound was very unattractive. Can you at least try to be cool? “News flash: You hate everything. It is not cliché; I don’t think you even understand that word properly.”

  Snarky Teenager climbed down the ladder. She parked her hand on her tiny hip and peered at Elly. “You are so cranky in the mornings!” She wasn’t wrong. “Elly. I’m not trying to be mean, I promise. I’m just trying to be honest with you. We’re close, right? You’re kinda like my ‘store mom.’ I mean, I know you’re younger than that, but you totally dress like a mom….”

  Elly circled her hand around. “Get to the point.”

  Snarky Teenager gave a sigh. “Okay. Don’t take this the wrong way, but, I feel like your store is a little … outdated. I mean, it’s supercute and I love it, but I’ve been feeling lately that we either need to move out of this vintage cottage-chic thing or try, I don’t know, something else. I know that this is your style, but I think it dates our store. It’s very late-nineties Martha.” She pushed a perfectly straight strand of
hair out of her face. “Go look outside. You’ll see what I’m talking about.”

  Elly shot an irate look at her and stormed outside. There were two pimply teenage boys standing in front of the window, their pants sagging on their hips, their mouths open in delight. Elly waved them away. “Go on, go on, she’s not on the ladder anymore. Go find a Super Nintendo or something.”

  They rambled away, muttering to each other. Elly walked back a few feet and looked at the window. Her eyes reluctantly took in the art before her. She backed up some more and gave a sigh. Oh no. It didn’t just look good. It looked incredible, much better than before.

  The window that Elly had decorated the week before with bright-yellow daffodils was gone. As was the Radio Flyer wagon filled with blazing red tulips, and the white window pane that she always threw in at the last minute to fill empty space. Elly ground her teeth together. Snarky Teenager’s display was amazing. In the middle of the window was a headless mannequin (Elly decided her name was something edgy and cool like … Ione), dressed neck to toe in white. On the left side of the window, her hand held a dog leash that attached to a small stone Scottie. The background was a black-and-white paisley drape. There was a low dusting of polymer snow on the ground. The whole scene felt cold and sterile, although undeniably chic. In contrast, on the right side of the window was an explosion of color. The mannequin’s right hand clutched a wheat grass-covered bucket of bright-pink cockscomb and orange orchids cascading down onto the ground. The curtain panels behind Ione blazed with bright swirling colors of paisley: yellow, oranges, and poppy reds. Hand-painted lettering read: Flowers Bring the Spring. A slight hint of embarrassment crept up Elly’s face, narrowing her eyes and pulling in her cheeks. Her window had been cute, but this window was jaw-dropping. Creative. Bright. What the heck? Was Snarky Teenager a secret genius?

  Elly gave a low groan and headed inside, but not before she saw two ladies crossing the street, pointing at the window and marveling. Snarky Teenager stood by the door, her long blond hair wrapped around her shoulders. She trailed behind Elly’s heavy footsteps, a nimble fairy. “Look, I know it was rude to take it down without asking, but it just looked soooo boring, and it’s always the same, with the window and the wagon….”

  Elly cut her off. “I love it. It’s hard to say, but I love it.”

  “Good. I know you’re mad, but like you’re mad at me half the time, so I figured who cares? I thought if we spiced it up a little bit, and put that thin mannequin at the front, we would attract fresher clients.”

  Elly walked around her desk, trailing her fingers over her keyboard before settling into her chair. She subdued Snarky Teenager with a glare. “We have fresh clients! Mrs. Altpeter is only about thirty-five!”

  Snarky Teenager widened her eyes. “Mrs. Altpeter? Isn’t she married to like a sixty-year-old?”

  “He’s very sexy,” deadpanned Elly. “He has Sean Connery eyes.”

  Snarky Teenager propped herself against the consultation table, something Elly would never do for fear of falling through the glass. “I’m just saying that we need to attract the interest of people in their twenties and thirties. There is a lot of young money in this town, especially with the new software building going in on Clayton Road. We need to attract those rich thirty-year-old women who are unmarried and have money to burn. They want high-end, modern flower arrangements in their office and their home, and this antique, cutesy shop is not going to do it for them. Really.” She paused, and Elly could see that she was trying to be nice. The cogs in her little prodigy’s head were turning, turning…. “Look, you know I love Posies. I think this shop is perfect for your mostly elderly Jewish clientele and doe-eyed brides. It’s classic, and I love the French cottage feeling of it all.” She took a deep breath and flung back her long ponytail. “I’ll cut to the chase. I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I think we should open another store. A store that targets a different audience. We could open it in downtown Clayton, right next to the business park, and we could—”

  Elly cut her off. “Another store? Are you kidding me? Do you think I could afford another store? I haven’t paid off this store yet. Also, I don’t have time to run Posies and a new venue. We can barely keep up with the demand here, ever since the article in Pleats!” Pleats was the magazine for Clayton’s elite. Elly had been featured in a two-page article that chronicled her rise in the St. Louis wedding business, along with pictures of her flower arrangements. There had also been a gratuitous photo of her bending over the cooler in which her bottom appeared as some sort of barge. That’s why she had only read the article once. She had spotted the picture at Keith’s deli, hanging in his office. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

  Snarky Teenager circled her foot on the carpet. “Elly, I know you are superbusy and very in demand right now. So, I thought maybe … I could run it.”

  There was a moment of silence when the elevator music in the store seemed to raise a few decibels. Elly stared at Snarky Teenager, bewildered. Her mouth opened and shut. She felt like a fish. “You—you would run it?”

  Snarky Teenager shrugged. “Yeah.”

  Elly gave a tiny laugh. “You’re a senior in high school. How would you possibly run a shop?” Snarky Teenager jumped up from the table and sat down very close to Elly, leaning forward on the desk excitedly. Elly leaned back as she leaned forward. Elly suddenly understood that she had been ambushed. This was not a random conversation.

  “I’ve got it all figured out. I can change my schedule to take all morning classes, and besides, most of classes this year are, like, pottery and women’s studies, which is, like, who cares about sad housewives with rocks in their pockets?”

  Elly winced.

  “So, I could be done by noon to spend the rest of the day at the shop, and we could hire someone to run the place in the morning. We could cut off deliveries at four, so that I could make it home in time to finish my homework.”

  “You don’t do homework,” Elly pointed out.

  “True. So, even better for the store.”

  Elly blew out her breath slowly. “Look, I think it’s a good idea, I do, I just don’t know how we would pay for it. I am totally overwhelmed with this store and these weddings already. I can’t imagine running another.”

  Snarky Teenager was starting to look angry. Oh boy, she was sort of terrifying.

  “Look, I appreciate you and all that you have done for me this year with my ex and Lucia and that whole mess, but you are so young, and I don’t think you could run a store alone. Don’t you want to do something easier?”

  Snarky Teenager’s fierce eyes filled with tears. “Easier? Do you not think I’m smart enough to do this?”

  Elly rose out of her chair to comfort her, but she jerked away, jutting out her chin—a snarky-teenage movement if Elly had ever seen one.

  “You are just like my stupid parents! You have no faith in me, but I can do things! I could run the shop—I practically run this shop while you’re out cavorting with your Italian man candy!”

  Elly raised an eyebrow. That was definitely not true and definitely the first time anyone had ever called Keith “man candy.”

  The hysterical tirade continued. “By now, I’m almost as good as a designer as you. I can take orders, design a bridal bouquet, run consultations….” This was quickly getting out of control.

  Elly stood up. “Yes. I know you can do all those things, and I’m so proud of you for that. But can you deal with a hysterical bride? Can you take an order with one hand while stripping a stem with the other? Can you deal with the hordes of advertisers that regularly descend on the shops or the bridal magazine harpies that push you into a corner? Can you handle a last-minute wedding change? More importantly, how about balancing a budget which fluctuates wildly with each season? You are right—you are fantastic at all the fun stuff that comes with this store. But are you ready to deal with the administration of it? With the times that make you want to cry? The times that don’t have anything to
do with ‘pretty’?”

  Snarky Teenager’s lower lip trembled. “No, but I could learn those things. I’m a fast learner.”

  Elly sat back and hardened her tone. “You are not ready to run a shop. I’m sorry. And I don’t appreciate being ambushed like this. There are easier ways to talk to me about something without ripping down my display.”

  “Which was ugly!” Snarky Teenager snapped.

  Elly took a deep breath and focused on not strangling her employee. “Besides that, I don’t even think it’s a possibility financially.”

  “Not even with the money you made from Aaron and Lucia’s wedding? I know how much you got paid. We all know. You told everybody.”

  “Yes, and a lot of that went to paying off my condo and updating this shop.”

  Snarky Teenager shot up, sending the chair flying behind her, and grabbed her tiny pink jacket. “Yeah, and it was totally worth it seeing how it still looks like an old-lady shop!” She wrenched the door open. “Everything about this store says middle age, including you. Oh, and by the way, you might have figured out that I’m not working today!” With that, she stormed out the door, which slammed loudly behind her, the bells sending out a harsh clank.

  “Yeah, well, … old lady,” Elly muttered to the suddenly-empty store. She looked around, taking in the perfect quietness. A bright morning light flickered over the pale-yellow walls. Ugly pale-yellow walls? Suddenly, she was unsure of everything. “Shoot,” she whispered. She hadn’t meant to upset her assistant that much. It wasn’t her fault that her coworker had insane teenager emotions. How was she to know that this was something her worker had been dreaming about for a long time? Another store….

  Elly let her thoughts linger on the idea. Could they do it? Was that even feasible? She sat down at her desk and leaned her head against the white wood, cool against her forehead. Elly decided she would stay there all day. The door banged open again. Elly kept her head down on the desk. “You can’t storm away angry like a psycho and then come right back. We have to be apart for at least a day before you can beg my forgiveness and plead your case to still have a job. Also, that was also not the best demonstration of your professionalism.” Elly heard an awkward shuffling of feet. She raised her head, a bright-yellow piece of Post-it stuck to her forehead. “Oh, sorry.”