nudged the basket into Eva’s hands. “Would you like to help me select the best blooms for an order I just received? I need roses, pohutukawa, hydrangeas, and freesias. Red ones, of course. Christmas and all that.”
“Oh. Sure.” Eva grasped the handle of the wire basket. “Wait, which one is the poo-hoo-too . . .”
“Pohutukawa. That one.” Joanne indicated a grouping of bright red blooms whose hundreds of slender petals protruded from the flower head, giving the appearance of prickly fuzz. “Part of the myrtle family. The pohutukawa is considered New Zealand’s Christmas tree. You should see one covered with these, all in full bloom. Absolutely marvelous.”
“I can imagine.” Eva perused the options and selected a few of the strongest flowers. Why this woman was trusting her to do this, who could say? But handling the blossoms felt like the most natural thing in the world.
“So, what brings you to our fair island for four months?”
Talking about Brent while handling flowers . . . that also felt natural and right. “I’m part of a team running the ultra-marathon here in March.” She launched into an explanation of the purpose behind their trip.
Joanne worked alongside her in quiet, listening. Then she placed a hand on Eva’s back. “That is quite the tale. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Such a simple thing for someone to say. Yet so often, when people learned of Eva’s tragedy, they said nothing. Or worse, platitudes rolled off their tongue. Offering condolences without trying to make it better . . . that was the right way to comfort people who were grieving.
And often those who knew what to say had experienced grief themselves.
“I really appreciate you saying that.” Eva plucked a final pohutukawa bloom from the bucket in front of her, lifting it to her nose. Hmm. No real scent. “What about you? You don’t sound like you’re native to New Zealand.”
“No, I’m from a tiny town on the Cornish coast of England called Port Willis. But I’ve been in Wanaka nearly twenty years now.”
“What led you to move all the way here?”
Indicating that Eva should follow, Joanne headed to the back of the store. “My first husband, Ian, and I divorced. I have two boys, and the divorce occurred when Neil, my youngest, was two.” They slipped through the doorway separating the main floor from the workroom. “The whole thing left me so devastated I moved us here, where we didn’t know a single soul.”
“Why here?”
Joanne set the flower basket on the top of a round worktable strewn with all kinds of Christmas baubles used to make arrangements more festive. “Would you believe I saw it featured in a magazine? I am not the type to make drastic moves, but I was quite desperate at the time to create a new life for myself and my boys.”
“That must have taken incredible bravery.”
“Or incredible idiocy.” The shop owner chuckled as she selected a flower box from a shelving unit on the wall. “I had no one to help me with the children while I opened my business. They spent every morning, afternoon, and evening here playing amongst the flowers. Until I met Graeme, that is.”
“Who’s Graeme?”
“My neighbor first. Now, my husband.”
“Ah.” Eva slid into a folding chair next to the worktable. “And how long did it take before he swept you off your feet?”
“Eighteen years.”
“Really?” Friends-to-lovers stories were some of her favorites, even though it hadn’t happened that way for her and Brent.
“Yes. We’ve been married for eight months.” Joanne pulled her phone from the pocket of her black slacks, clicked the screen a few times, and walked toward Eva, phone extended. On the screen was a fancied-up Joanne in a gorgeous wedding dress with full lace sleeves and a long train, a handsome groom beside her. His salt-and-pepper hair looked distinguished, as it always did on a man.
“You look beautiful.” The couple stared at each other, smiles stretching across their faces, wrinkles crinkling the corners of their eyes. “And so happy.”
Slipping the phone back into her pocket, Joanne snagged some silver ribbon from her decor stash. “We are happy.”
What a blessed woman to have such a second chance.
Joanne watched Eva for a few moments. “Excuse me.” With a quick turn, she was out of the room before Eva could acknowledge her words.
Eva placed her hand on the basket of flowers, feeling the ridges of the stems, the crisp coolness from the water that had bolstered their life over the last several days. And then a hidden thorn