Slay it with Flowers Read Free Page B

now?”
    Jillian held up a hand to catch Grace’s eye. “More coffee, please,” she mouthed.
    “Picture this,” I said. “You’re floating down an aisle strewn with rose petals. In your arms—”
    “Am I beautiful?”
    “In your arms,” I continued, giving her a scowl, “are long, luscious, creamy peach callas, their lovely dark green leaves splashed with flecks of white, all tied together with a luxurious white satin bow.”
    “Calla lilies?”
    “Callas. Not lilies. Callas.”
    “Katharine Hepburn called them Calla lilies.”
    “Katharine Hepburn was not a florist. Callas are from the Zantedeschia family, whereas lilies—” Noticing that Jillian’s attention was fixed on a point somewhere beyond my left shoulder, I turned to look.
    Coming up the sidewalk toward my shop was Marco Salvare, moving with a sexy swagger most women—and I include myself in that group—found terribly exciting.
    “Who is that ?” Jillian said in awe, and I could almost see the drool forming on her lower lip. The three women next to us craned their necks for a look, too.
    “That’s the new owner of the Down the Hatch.”
    Five of us watched him pull open the door. The bell jingled to announce his arrival, and suddenly tiny bottles sprang from the purses behind us. Hair spray, perfume, and breath freshener quickly filled the air. I waved away the cloud, coughing, as Marco strode into the parlor, grabbed a chair from another table, pulled it up beside me, and straddled it.
    “Hey, sunshine. How’s it going?” The mist settled and Jillian came into view. He stuck out his hand. “Hi. I’m Marco.”
    She wrapped her long, graceful fingers around his. “I’m Jillian Knight. Very pleased to meet you, Marco.”
    “Would you care for coffee?” Grace asked coolly, placing a cup and saucer in front of him. Grace was the only woman I knew who seemed impervious to Marco’s charisma. He was impervious to her imperviousness, so it didn’t really matter.
    “No. Thanks anyway.” Marco looked from Jillian to me. “You’re not sisters, so you must be cousins.”
    “How did you know we were related?” Jillian asked, prompting Marco to shoot me a look that said, “Is she clueless?”
    “The last name was a dead giveaway, Jill,” I said.
    She nodded sagely. “That’s true.”
    Our surname was the only thing we shared, a fact that was both a blessing and a curse. On the curse side, Jillian was a head taller, had a well-proportioned body rather than a top-heavy one, and had long, shimmery, copper-colored hair, as opposed to my shorter, fiery red, blunt-edged bob. On the blessing side, I was smart—regardless of what my law professors thought.
    “Jillian is getting married July fourth,” I said, just in case Marco had any ideas about dating her. “I’m doing her flowers.”
    He eased his hand from Jillian’s hot little paw. “Congratulations.”
    Jillian lifted one shoulder in an effortless shrug. “ Maybe I’m getting married. If Abby helps me.” She rose and put the strap of her Ferragamo purse over her shoulder. “I have to run. Let me know what Pryce says.” Her voice dropped to a sexy purr. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Marco.”
    As soon as Jillian had gone, Marco turned a highly skeptical brown-eyed gaze on me and topped it off by raising one dark eyebrow. “If you help her?”
    “She wants me to talk to my former fiancé to convince him to convince the groom to—well, it’s a long, complicated story that will only bore you. The bottom line is that if I want to salvage the vanload of callas I ordered for this wedding, I have to make sure there is a wedding.” I took my cup over to the coffee counter for a refill, where Grace was also giving me that doubtful look. “I’m not meddling,” I assured them both.
    “That’s good,” Marco said when I returned to the table, “because less than forty-eight hours ago you swore off meddling.”
    “Did you come to harass me, or did you have some other goal