The Ninth Inning (The Boys of Baseball #1) - J. Sterling Page 0,49
make sure I didn’t do it again.
When a yawn escaped, I laid my head against my pillow, excited for tomorrow. I couldn’t wait to show Christina that I was a man of my word.
After texting both Mac and Chance so they would stop acting like chicks, asking me for an update, I headed to the florist. I could have gotten Christina a bunch of roses from the grocery store, but for whatever reason, that seemed cheesy. It was stupid, I knew that much, but I was still going to a flower shop. I wanted that extra personal touch. And God knew I needed all the help I could get.
When I walked inside, my senses were overwhelmed with the scent. I almost turned right back out the door I had come in but stopped when someone shouted, “Welcome in. I’ll be right out.”
I’d literally never stepped foot in a flower shop in my entire life, so I had no idea what to expect. I’d naively thought that there would be maybe five flower types to choose from, but boy, was I wrong. Wandering around the refrigerated glass, I looked at all the water-filled buckets overflowing with various kinds of flowers. Some I recognized and some I had never seen before. With all the colors surrounding me, it looked like I’d stepped into a life-sized box of crayons.
“Hi.” A middle-aged woman stepped out from the back, wiping her hands on a towel. “I’m Maggie.” She looked so happy to be here, surrounded by flowers as she greeted me.
“Hi, Maggie. I’m Cole.”
“What can I help you with today?”
“Well, it’s my first time buying flowers for a girl,” I admitted, and she clasped her hands in front of her face in excitement.
“Is this girl special?” she asked with a grin.
“Very.”
“Do you have any idea what you’re looking for or want to get for her?”
“I was thinking roses. Is that too cliché?” I asked, suddenly feeling ridiculously uneducated on the subject.
“Honey, roses are never cliché.” She eyed me before walking away, and I realized that growing up with a mom, or at least some female inspiration, might have been helpful. “Come look at these.” She stopped in front of another glass case and opened it as I did as she’d asked.
“Wow. They’re huge,” I said as she pulled a purple one out for me to hold. The actual flower itself was the size of my fist.
“These are premium long-stemmed. They come in all kinds of colors. But you know, that each color means something different, so you don’t want to get the wrong one,” she said.
I swore I felt myself starting to sweat even though the store was damn near freezing.
“Um, Maggie?” I said, and she pulled her head from the case and looked at me. “I haven’t done this before. I have no idea what the colors mean or if I’d be messing up by getting my girl some of those really pretty yellow or pink ones,” I said, pointing at the giant blossoms, and she laughed.
“You are sweet. And yeah, if you want to confuse her, those colors might do it.” She gave me a funny expression before she explained. “Yellow means friendship.”
“Forget yellow. I never want to see another yellow rose again.”
“And pink is more that you’re saying the person is sweet. Or you’re thanking them for something.”
“That doesn’t sound romantic,” I said, feeling annoyed, and she laughed again.
“You want romance, then you go with a classic,” she said, pulling out a deep red rose, and a flash of white caught my eye.
“What about white?”
“White roses signify new beginnings. Unity. Purity,” she continued talking, but I zoned out a little and stopped listening.
“The red ones are really pretty, but I feel like everyone gets red. I’ve never seen anyone get white. And to be honest, Maggie, you had me at new beginnings,” I said, knowing that she would love that answer.
“White it is. A whole dozen or half?”
“Do I look like a half kind of guy to you?”
She propped out her hip and said, “You look like a poor college student, so maybe.”
“I’ll take a dozen. Make them pretty. I won’t get a second chance to do this right,” I directed, like I had any idea what the hell I was talking about.
Maggie promised I wouldn’t be disappointed as I put the charge on my credit card and she went to work, cutting a bunch of green stuff she called filler.
I typed out a text message to Christina, letting her know that