Elly in Love (The Elly Series)

  Gemma glared back at her with annoyance, but Elly swore the man holding the suitcase was actually drooling. “Yes, you are,” he murmured quietly.

  Gemma clicked her pen once and then packed her clipboard into her suitcase, slamming it shut. “We’ll be in touch. Are you ready to go?” The photographer was running around the room, taking pictures of every surface. “These petals have the most gorgeous texture!” he cried.

  “That’s great, let’s go,” Gemma ordered.

  At that moment, Anthony strolled out of the back, carrying a bucket of pink and white gerbera daisies. His eyes panicked when he saw the photographer. “Oh hello!” he said cheerfully. “My name is Anthony! I do many important things here at Posies. Yes. I work here.” He looked at Elly and shrugged.

  Gemma eyed Elly with fascination as she rose from the table. “I’ve left a contract for you to look over if we pick you.” Looking over at Snarky Teenager she said, “If you’re ever interested in a career in television, let me know. You can’t want to make flower arrangements for the rest of your life, can you?”

  She clicked out the door to where an idling black Lincoln Town Car waited for her. The man with the suitcase followed her, but not before he not so smoothly slipped his business card to Snarky Teenager and gave her a wink.

  The photographer walked up to Elly and took her hand warmly in his. “Thank you for letting me photograph your breathtaking work. It’s incredible. This made my month.” He kissed her hand fondly.

  The door to the shop closed, sending a flurry of pink petals into the street. Elly walked over and sat down at her desk, angrily kicking the rose petals out of her way. “It was a nice try,” she sighed. “I blew it. I totally blew it. Why did I talk about Aaron’s wedding last year? I wasn’t thinking. There were way better examples. I think I probably was quite rude to her when I got upset.” She looked down at the table with tears swimming in her eyes. “What is wrong with me? Why did I even think I could get this? I knew I would never be a person someone wanted to watch on TV. Let’s face it, I would be a train wreck on camera.”

  Anthony walked over and put his arms around her. She clutched his arm. “And you, you were almost as terrible as I was! All around, we are a wreck.” He smiled.

  Snarky Teenager stared silently out the window. She turned, the bright spring colors bursting out from behind her. “No. We totally got it.”

  Elly frowned. “What?”

  “We got it.”

  “Were you at that interview? Did you see how Ms. Gemma Reynolds hates me?”

  “I don’t know. She might have a begrudging respect for you, but I don’t think she wants our shop for the job. But did you even bother to look at the card that guy handed to me?”

  Elly hadn’t. She picked it up. “Mr. Jackson, executive producer.” Elly looked up, thoroughly confused. “What?”

  Snarky Teenager shook her head. “You were so nervous that you overlooked every detail that matters. Gemma Reynolds is the associate producer. Mr. Jackson is the executive producer. That was her boss sitting next to her. That’s why she was so aggressive and eager to impress him.”

  Elly frowned. “Well, why did Gemma do the interview, then?”

  “Do you think a man wants to interview a florist? No. He just has the final say but doesn’t want to do too much work. He comes in and sees what everything looks like and lets her ask the questions.”

  “But I thought the celebrity chose?”

  “Oh, please. It’s all the producers, I’m sure. They only say that to hook celebrities and viewers.” She walked over and took Elly’s hands in hers. “It’s us. I know it. I feel it. Even though Gemma is not a fan of yours, Mr. Jackson is. He smiled every time you talked.” She paused, flinging her hair behind her shoulder and then gestured to her figure. “Also, he’s totally hot for this. He couldn’t take his eyes off me.”

  Elly, taking a motherly tone, replied, “He’s too old for you.”

  “Oh, totally. But that doesn’t mean his decision won’t be swayed. Trust me. We’re going to get it.”

  Elly shook her head. “It’s nice to think, but I’m pretty sure they are going to pass on Posies.” She gave a sad sigh. “I’ll clean up tomorrow. I can’t even think about picking up all these petals today.” She pointed to the table. “Take home whatever arrangements you want. I’ll bring the rest over to St. Paul’s Nursing Home tomorrow.”

  Anthony looked into her face with a kind sympathy. “Elly, are you sure? I don’t want to leave you so upset.”

  Elly patted his arm. “I’m okay.” She wasn’t. “I’m just going to return some emails and then go upstairs and take a nap.” And eat the petits fours.

  Anthony nodded and grabbed his coat, planting a quick kiss on Elly’s head. Snarky Teenager stood motionless in the window. She turned. “We got it. I know it. I’m sorry you don’t believe me. Or trust me.”

  Elly rolled her eyes. “It’s not about you, but I appreciate your youthful enthusiasm.” She paused. “Sorry, that was mean. Thank you for trying to save the interview.”

  Snarky Teenager took the largest arrangement off the table and packed it in a cardboard box. “Whatever.” She stomped out of the store.

  Elly laid her head on the consultation table, a cream parrot tulip poking into her cheek. A tear rolled down her skin and pooled on the cool glass. I’m an idiot. This could have been cake, and I had to get all flustered and insecure just because there was a scary woman here. She wiped her nose. Maybe she was right, Elly mused, maybe I couldn’t handle myself with cameras around. I’m not meant to be seen on national TV. She was close to letting the alluring pool of self-pity pull her under but struggled mightily against the current. Finally, she spread her fingers against the glass and thought, Oh well. She could cry about it, but that felt like a waste of time. Not all was lost. She heard a soft knock and looked up from the consultation table.

  Keith stood in the door, a look of concern on his face. “Elly?” he asked. “Anthony stopped by the store and told me what happened.”

  Elly gave a loud groan, a twinge of sadness in her voice. “Is nothing a secret anymore?” She shrugged. “I failed. I choked. It was perhaps the most important moment of my career and I made a total fool of myself. No use throwing a temper tantrum about it. They don’t want me. So what?”

  Keith eyed her. “I want you.”

  Elly looked up, surprised. That was not what she had expected Keith to say. “What?” She sniffed.

  Keith turned and slowly shut the door, latching the lock behind him.

  “We’re still open for twenty minutes.” Elly didn’t have time to say much more. Keith’s body was moving fast when it hit hers. They both tumbled softly down into a literal bed of rose petals and disappeared in a shower of pink. Keith’s breath was on her face, on her neck, and Elly felt a wave of passion roll over her.

  His deep midnight-blue eyes blinked inches from hers as he trailed a pink petal over her lips. “Elly Jordan,” he whispered, “don’t ever doubt yourself.”

  Elly trailed her fingers over his face. “But I ruined everything,” she murmured.

  Keith nuzzled her nose. “On your worst day, you are still more incredible than any woman I have ever met.”

  Elly closed her eyes and let herself sink into the smell of him—garlic, warm bread, and an all-man scent. All she could see, smell, and taste was Keith, Keith, Keith. Keith and the color pink. Pink petals on her tongue and hands, their velveteen softness in her hair. “Thank you,” she whispered as she wrapped herself up in the comfort of his kiss. Suddenly, she didn’t care about BlissBride, or Gemma Reynolds, or anything really at all.

  Elly smiled at Keith as she chewed on her sandwich. They were still in the studio, hunkered down in the rose petals and enjoying a Keith’s Deli signature sandwich—roast beef, herb butter, and marinated mushroom on pumpernickel bread. “Hmmm,” Elly wiped her mouth with a rose petal, “you could win the sandwich Olympics.”

  Keith wiped a bit of mustard off her cheek.
“I would argue with you, but I have to admit … it’s true. I am the sandwich master.”

  Elly bit her lips, which were feeling a bit sore. “That was quite the kiss.”

  Keith grinned and a blush rose up to his ears. “I would have kissed you more, but …,” he gestured to the front of the store, “windows.”

  Elly took a sip of chocolate milk. “I know I should be thinking about how I bombed that interview, but … I’m not.”

  “What are you thinking about?” teased Keith.

  “About the rose petal I’m pretty sure is in my ear.” Elly turned her head to the side.

  Keith stood up and dusted off his pants. “As much as I would love to stay here with you all day, I should go close up the deli. Can I call you later?” Elly nodded and Keith gave her a lingering kiss. “You’re miraculous, Elly, don’t ever forget it. If you could ever see what I see—”

  Elly finished his sentence, “I would kill myself.” Keith rolled his eyes and left the shop. After she finished her sandwich, Elly began sweeping up the rose petals, one dustpan full at a time.

  Sure, she had bombed the interview, but it was okay. There would be new opportunities, and all she could think about was tumbling down with Keith into the petals and the way he had clutched at her so desperately. Her skin had responded to his touch like electricity. She was almost finished sweeping up the petals when dusk set in, and she took a minute to admire the radiant sunset disappearing through her windows. Soft orange and mauve light poured through, and underneath its lavish hue, the few remaining petals on the ground became hazy with a pink glow. Elly leaned against the broom and offered up a quick prayer of thanks for her life, her store, and her sanity that had so quickly been restored by Keith’s soft lips. She grabbed a gingham rag and began humming “His Eye Is on the Sparrow” as she wiped off the consultation table in long, circular strokes.

  After that, it all happened in slow motion.

  She heard the bells clank on the front door and looked up with a dazzling smile, hoping that Keith would replay his tackle from earlier. Suddenly, she was frozen. Her heart thudded violently in her chest, but her body, her body and her mind were cement, unable to move, unable to process. She was rooted to the floor, adrenaline coursing madly through her veins but unable to move.

  He was here. She couldn’t breathe.

  The kid that had so unnerved her was now staring down at her from the doorway, trembling with madness. His eyes darted frantically back and forth and he wrung his hands frantically. A thick tongue emerged nervously out from his mouth and licked his lips quickly. He cleared his throat and looked at Elly. “You have my backpack.” There was a pause. “I know you.” Then he moved toward her with a terrifying menace.

  The sound of his voice, deep and strained, released something inside of her. Letting out a strangled scream, Elly darted for the desk. She couldn’t go toward the door, as he was blocking it, and the doorway to her apartment would just trap her between him and a stairwell. I don’t want to die on a stairwell, she thought. I would rather die here, in my shop. Her leg twisted over a potted plant and she tumbled to the ground, her elbows hitting a shelf that protruded from the wall. The shelf was yanked out of the wall and the vases fell like rain around her, explosions of glass everywhere she looked. She felt the glass cut her cheek and hands, but didn’t care. She was almost to the phone. The phone, the phone, it was all that mattered. The kid moved toward her with his hand outstretched. “Wait … wait … don’t….”

  She had reached the phone. Suddenly, her vision was tunneling and the disjointed thoughts that preceded a faint had begun. Elly Jordan, frequent fainter, was going to become unconscious at the worst-possible time. Trying to stand, she hit the voice control button and muttered, “Call Keith.” She fell down to her knees. There was glass all around her, and blood. The boy was reaching over her, his hand moving toward her neck. She saw her mother pruning a rose bush in her elaborate garden and Hadley reaching up for her, and then Keith. Keith at the end of an aisle, with water crashing behind him. Keith’s smile, his warm eyes, and his loud voice. She shook her head in an effort to stay awake, to stay away from the black swirls in front of her. Don’t faint, please, don’t faint…. No, no…. Then she saw Keith again, part of her delusion? She blinked, trying desperately to stay conscious. Nope. Keith was here. Elly weakly lifted her head from the floor. With two meaty arms, Keith grabbed the kid, who was leaning over Elly, and threw him across her desk. Keith reached for Elly and hauled her up into his arms. She still teetered on the razor edge of consciousness. The kid reached out and Keith’s fist made contact with his face, sending him to the floor again with a heavy thump. Keith, supporting Elly with one arm, began shouting at the boy, who was having trouble getting his girth off the ground. “What do you want, huh? What do you want with her? Why are you here? Get away from her!”

  The boy tried to push himself up with trembling arms. The corner of his jaw was swelling. “What the hell, man?”

  Keith punched him again, this time right in the nose, which then began bleeding. He stumbled backwards with a roar. Keith’s face was a bright shade of crimson and a vein was pulsating in his forehead. “What do you want? You know what, it doesn’t matter. Back up! I’m calling the police, you psycho!”

  “Chill out!” the boy yelled back, trying desperately to stop the flow of blood from his nose, all while getting away from Keith. His voice dropped an octave, and became shaky and pleading. He was crying.

  What was happening? Elly tried to ground herself and avoid going unconscious.

  The kid made a pathetic face. “Don’t call the cops, please. Please. Please, man.”

  Keith looked over at Elly and then back at the boy again. “Why? Give me one reason why I shouldn’t call them right now and have you locked up for stalking and possible assault.”

  The kid gestured to Elly, who was clinging to Keith, still trying to process what was happening. “What are you talking about? I’m not going to assault her! She’s my sister!”

  Keith eye’s darted at Elly and then back at the kid again. “What?”

  The kid looked at the carpet and spat blood out on the floor. “She’s my sister, you asshole.” He looked into Elly’s eyes and something deep inside her gave a hopeful cry. “Elly, I’m your brother. Dennis.” He looked up at Keith with the resentment of having been betrayed before bursting into tears. “I can’t believe you punched me!” Keith pointed at him, his knuckles bloody. “Tell us, right now, what you are doing here or I will call the police.” Dennis cleared his throat and began.

  Chapter Eight

  Dennis’s Story

  On the morning he had decided to leave once and for all, it had been gray and humid—his least favorite kind of day in the already depressing town of Sewell, Ohio. He set his alarm to go off before dawn and immediately fell back asleep after hitting the snooze—it was rare that he got up before two p.m. these days. Finally, at eleven a.m., he rolled his heavy body out of bed and pulled on too-tight jeans and a gray hoodie before checking the fridge for something to eat. A normal occurrence when you had crappy parents, it was almost empty, so Dennis took a sip of expired orange juice before finishing off the bag of damp tortilla chips that he had eaten the night before. It had been an awesome night. His shaman had made it to level seventy-three on World of MageCraft and murdered a necromancer that had been taunting him for weeks. He stretched his sore arms over his head and began to pack a bag. There wasn’t much he wanted to take—his Sarah Michelle Gellar poster, underwear, his favorite book—Virgin Fire Mage—such a good read, an extra pair of jeans and … well, that was mostly it. And World of MageCraft—he couldn’t forget that. He carefully removed the disc from his crappy computer, placed it lovingly into a sleeve and tucked it into his pants. You couldn’t be too careful, and he didn’t want to risk losing it if the bag was stolen. Done. He looked around the dismal room—a claustrophobic dark cave, littered with trash, furnished only with the dingy mattress on the floor and a revolting yellow
couch in the corner. A mouse ran from one corner of the room to the other, but was such a normal occurrence that Dennis almost didn’t notice. Honestly, there was nothing else he wanted to take, and if it was possible to leave himself behind, he would have. Dennis walked out into the small and disorderly living room, which reeked of beer and old pizza. Even though his dad had been dead for three months, it still smelled like he was here. The bastard. Dennis kicked an overturned Coors can out of his way and shuffled toward his parents’ bedroom at the end of the trailer. There was only one thing he wanted, and it was in there. The floor of his parents’ bedroom was covered with his dad’s dirty clothing—grimy flannel shirts and worn-out jeans. It smelled like piss and Dennis could spot a pile of mouse droppings in the corner. It hadn’t been this way when his mom had been alive. The house had always been semiclean, even though when she got depressed, it had gone downhill quickly. Holding his breath and rooting around under the bed, he quickly found the jewelry box he was looking for. Before his mother’s body had been cold in the ground, his dad had sold everything she owned to buy bottles of Jack Daniel’s, but he was too stupid to know she kept a small jewelry box under the bed. Dennis flipped the wooden box upside down in his palm. A picture of their family came tumbling out— happier times, he thought, or were they ever?—along with a jade necklace in the shape of a tiny pineapple. It was the only nice thing his mom ever had, a gift from her uncle who had moved to Japan and then never talked to her again. He remembered sitting in her lap when he was little, the necklace swinging from her throat as she leaned forward to kiss him. She would tuck it in her shirt when his dad came around, otherwise there would be his intoxicated accusations of snobbery and a persistent paranoia about her leaving him for a richer man. She should have. They would have both been better off if she married anyone else. His dad would scream at her, swaying on his feet, his collared shirt soaked with pungent sweat stains, peppering her with insults about her parents (“Lazy capitalist snobs who didn’t work for a living”) and her background (“High and mighty, that’s what you’re raising our son to be, looking down on people like me, hard-working and honest people, not like you! What do you do besides sit around and cry all day? Huh? Tell me, Claire!”). His mom would quickly send Dennis to his room to play with a broken Atari while their fight escalated into wild screaming.