21
Autumn, Two Years Ago
Bridget moved into Miles’s condo that fall, and the transition was harder than I’d expected. As roommates, we spent countless nights dancing in our socks in the kitchen, talking until our voices grew hoarse and our eyelids drooped. I made hot toddies and mashed bananas on toast when she was sick; she held my hand while I cried. But now she had her big job and her live-in boyfriend.
As the future sprawled before us, a tendril of fear curled around my spine.
We were getting older. We were growing up. The day had come when we wouldn’t dance in our socks in the kitchen anymore.
I decided to cut back on takeout and fancy coffees and manicures and keep the apartment. It would be tight, but I could make it work. I convinced myself I’d enjoy living alone. I could turn the spare room into an office. But when Bridget and Miles pulled away in the moving van, I lay on the floor of her empty bedroom and sobbed.
I was so lonely with her gone. I wanted someone to fill the emptiness she’d left behind. Until that point, I had approached my dating life like a buffet, never committing to one dish, never settling down with one person.
Carter was a friend of Miles’s, and we’d been on a few dates that year, but after Bridget moved out, we started seeing each other more often.
He was a few years older than me and worked in sales for a tech company, a job he mildly detested but earned him a hefty enough salary that he didn’t complain. He had good manners, a nice watch, and a financial advisor. And he was handsome, in that tall, slim, and smacking of success
type of way. My mother approved of him, which pleased me more than it should have.
Stacy was confused about why we were spending so much time together, and she told me so over spaghetti and meatballs with Bridget. We were sitting in our regular spots around my aunt’s kitchen table when she, out of nowhere, said she hadn’t pictured me with someone so drab.
“He’s not drab,” I argued. “He’s fine.”
“He’s a little drab,” Bridget said, her mouth full of pasta. “He kind of
reminds me of your dad.”
“Not helping,” I told her. “And gross.”
“Lucy, you deserve so much more than fine,” Stacy said. “You should
have a partner who sets you on fire.”
I pictured Felix instantly.
“I don’t need fire right now,” I told her. “I need company.”
“They make vibrators for that,” Bridget said.
“Ha. That’s not what I mean.”
Stacy kissed my forehead. “I know.”
For the rest of that evening, I couldn’t seem to push Felix from my mind.
I fell asleep, thinking about the way he kissed me last Thanksgiving, hearing
him whisper, You’re a goddamn wonder.
And then the storm came.
• • •
AS HURRICANE FIONA PREPARED TO RAVAGE PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND THAT September, I tracked it on my phone, my fear growing with every article that predicted it would be the worst that Atlantic Canada had ever faced. Power outages. Rainfall warnings. Wind warnings. Surge warnings. Potential shoreline erosion.
Because Summer Wind was on the coast, Ken and Christine were leaving the house to stay with Bridget and Felix’s grandparents. But the eastern side of the island, where Felix lived, was supposed to get the worst, and even Bridget seemed fretful. Carter and I had tickets for the symphony the evening
Fiona hit. Roy Thomson Hall was a large venue, but I felt trapped. The music sounded ominous, the performers’ black clothing, funereal.
Through Bridget, I learned how Felix’s home had shaken the night of the storm. He was without power for weeks. But he was okay. His house was okay. Salt Cottages were well under construction, and they, too, were unharmed. There were trees down everywhere. One narrowly missed his truck. A neighbor’s roof had been torn off. Felix was lucky.
Summer Wind was less fortunate. The windows on the north side of the building had been shattered; the rooms facing the sea soggy with water damage. Cedar shingles were torn off the side of the building.
Once Felix’s power returned, Bridget told him to get his ass on a plane and come for a visit.
• • •
IT WAS A WEDNESDAY EVENING IN OCTOBER, AND WHILE IT WASN’T FACE MASKS and Thai, Bridget and I were together. We sat on the pretty back patio of a snack bar in the west end with Miles and Carter, one of the rare occasions when all our schedules aligned. The space was enclosed in glass for the cooler months and full of plants, like a greenhouse that served burrata. A fifth chair sat empty at our table. Felix would be arriving any minute.
This would be his second trip to Toronto. He and Ken had driven Bridget to the city for her first year of university. They’d shlepped her stuff into the residence hall, ate wings at a pub near the campus, spent one night at a hotel in the north end, then hightailed it out of there. Rush-hour traffic, a late- summer garbage day, and the disaster that is frosh—Toronto hadn’t made the best impression.
According to Bridget, Felix was now dating a paramedic named Chloe.
The news had surprised me. Felix hadn’t seen anyone seriously since he and
Joy broke up four years earlier.
“Bee,” Bridget said. “Leg.”
I apologized. I hadn’t realized I’d been jiggling it. I shouldn’t have been anxious to see Felix again. For the first time since I met him, we were both in
relationships. And while the night Felix and I spent together over Thanksgiving last year had felt more than ever before, we were back to normal the next day and parted with a friendly hug at the airport. This time would be different. Good different, I told myself.
“Wolf! You made it,” Bridget said, looking over my shoulder. She got to her feet and squeezed his cheeks. Felix dropped an overnight bag on the floor. I hadn’t seen him in twelve months, and he looked great. More mature.
His beard was still short, but his hair was, too, cropped close on the sides, the waves no longer crashing over his forehead. He wore a leather jacket that looked new, a white Henley underneath, and jeans cuffed over his suede boots. He was casual compared to the rest of us—Miles was in a business suit and Carter had a cashmere sweater over his collared shirt—but on someone as attractive as Felix, it read like a power move. We gave each other a polite hug, I introduced Carter, and Felix took the seat next to me.
“How long are you staying?” I asked, doing my best not to stare. It felt like a magic trick. Felix here. In the city. On this patio.
“Just a few days,” he said. “The bathroom tile for the cottages is finally being delivered Saturday. I want to install it soon so we can get a photographer out. We want the website ready when people start booking their summer vacation.”
I needn’t have been nervous. Dinner was easy. Fun. Natural. There weren’t any awkward moments or sex-eyes. Felix described flying into Toronto, how the lights glowed orange and white in the night sky and then he noticed fireworks bursting across the entire GTA. The woman beside him explained they were for Diwali, but it felt like a special welcome. Just once, when Carter had his arm around my shoulder, did I notice Felix watching Carter’s fingers twiddling the ends of my hair.
Carter had an early client presentation the next morning and left while we ordered a last round.
“You should come by In Bloom tomorrow if you have time,” I told Felix as we said our good nights in front of the restaurant. “I’m there all day until we close at six.”
He said, “Sure, maybe I will.” And when we hugged, he held me just a little tighter than he had earlier in the night.
The next day passed with no sign of Felix—not that I was surprised. I had offered him a tepid invitation, and he had given me a noncommittal response.
Farah left early to prepare for a spoken-word performance at an upscale essential oil retailer in the Eaton Centre. “It pays,” she explained.
I locked the door at six, closed out the cash, put the till in the safe, and was about to begin sweeping when I heard the knock.
Tap, tap. Pause. Tap.
My hands froze, but I didn’t look up until it sounded again.
I lifted my eyes. Felix was standing on the other side of the door, a toque pulled low over his ears. His breath left his mouth in misty puffs.
Before I met Carter, I had fantasies that started this way, with Felix showing up at the shop after hours. I imagined letting him inside and him kissing me before I had a chance to say hello. I’d bring him to the office and unzip his jeans and use my mouth to show him how much I wanted him.
I raised my hand, and Felix raised his, but I didn’t move. For untold seconds, all I did was stare. I didn’t think he’d come.
“It’s cold out, Lucy,” I heard him say through the glass, and I gave my head a shake.
We didn’t break eye contact as I crossed the store toward him. I’m not sure I even blinked. I unlocked the deadbolt and Felix stepped inside.
“You’re here,” I said.
“Is that okay?”
Normal, I told myself. Be normal.
“Of course, yes. Come in.” I waved an arm behind me.
I completely redecorated after I took over from my aunt. I was going for urban farmhouse—shiplap walls painted Cloud White, matte black fixtures, the oversize oak table near the back. I displayed the flowers in galvanized steel sap buckets, arranged by color on the wall opposite the front door so customers were greeted with a rainbow of flora as soon as they stepped inside. On a sunny day, light would stream through the windows, and I
thought there was no prettier space in all of Toronto. But it was even more incredible when the sky was gray and the city felt dingy.
“So this is it.” Felix surveyed the space, turning in a slow circle. “It’s beautiful, Lucy. It’s like stepping into spring.”
It was one of the loveliest compliments I’d received, but all I could think to say in response was, “Thanks.”
“Did you do these?” He was standing by the bucket of bouquets. There were two left. The flowers got an update when In Bloom became mine, too.
Stacy preferred dense, dramatic arrangements. If there was a calla lily in sight, my aunt had it in a vase. She was the showstopping Butchart Gardens, but I was a rambling English flower bed—unfussy and romantic.
“This one,” I said, pointing to the bundle of pale yellow and peach
ranunculus and roses.
“How much?”
“Oh.” I was already blushing. “I’ve already shut down the cash, but it’s all yours. Consider it a ‘welcome to Toronto’ gift.”
“Deal,” he said. “Dinner’s on me, then.”
“Dinner?”
“Yeah. Unless you have plans?”
I did. And she was staring at us through the shop window, eyebrows raised. I waved at Stacy, gesturing for her to come in. She still had a set of keys. I watched Felix take in my aunt. She wore her salt-and-pepper hair cropped short, her lips painted crimson. Stacy was my mom’s older sister by five years and had the same cheekbones we did. She was dressed in head-to- toe red—trousers, cashmere turtleneck, wool coat all in the same shade of scarlet. She was striking, and I could see from Felix’s expression that he thought so, too.
“Darling,” she said, giving me a kiss on each cheek, her hazel eyes on Felix. “What have I interrupted?”
“Stacy, this is Felix, Bridget’s brother. Stacy is my aunt,” I told Felix.
“Oh, how fun.” She kissed the air beside his face. “Your sister is my surrogate niece. I love that girl. Foul mouth, but what a spark.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” he said. “Lucy was giving me the tour. It’s incredible.”
Stacy assessed him. “It is,” she agreed. “Though I can’t take credit for it.
This is all Lucy.”
He nodded. “It feels like Lucy.”
Her eyes narrowed, a sly smile playing on her full lips. “Hmm.”
I felt a pronouncement coming, possibly a dangerous one. “Felix, my aunt and I had dinner plans tonight, but you’re welcome to join us.” I cast Stacy a look that I hoped conveyed that I needed her to be on her best behavior.
Stacy glanced between Felix and me. “You two go enjoy yourselves
without me tagging along.”
“We don’t mind,” I said. “Do we?”
“Not at all,” Felix said. “Lucy talks about you all the time.”
I tilted my head. He’d noticed that?
“Hmm.” My aunt’s lips were curled in mischief. “Very tempting, but not tonight. Lucy, I’ll see you and Bridget for dinner this Sunday. I’ve ordered a
lasagna.”
I nodded. “We’ll be there.”
“It was lovely to meet you,” she said to Felix. She turned to me. “Darling, walk me out.”
“He’s edible,” she said once we were outside. If Felix hadn’t been watching us through the window, I think she would have been rubbing her
hands together and licking her lips.
“He is.” It was an undeniable fact.
“You’ve slept together.”
I flushed immediately. It wasn’t a question. She knew.
“I haven’t told Bridget.”
Her grin fell. “You must.”
“It wasn’t serious, and it’s over. There’s no point upsetting her.”
“Lucy, I very much doubt that it’s over. There was enough tension between the two of you to bounce a coin off. That gorgeous creature is smitten, and from the way you’re blushing, I’d say you’re also taken with him.”
“It is over. He was just a lover, as you would say. Nothing more. I don’t understand why you’re making a big deal out of this. You’ve been so opposed to me seeing Carter.”
Stacy sighed. “I’m worried I’ve rubbed off on you so much that you can’t see what you really want. I’ve lived my life for myself. I love my independence. I don’t believe in one true love. For me. We have so much in common, but I don’t think we’re the same this way. You crave people, taking care of others, and being taken care of.”
“That doesn’t mean I need a man.”
“Of course not.” She thought for a moment before she spoke. “I think you’d like having a partner. But you’ve chosen to date someone you’ll never fall in love with. Carter is a waste of your time.”
“You don’t know that,” I said, though I knew she was right.
“I do.” Stacy gave me two kisses, then met my eyes. “Whatever happens, don’t keep secrets from Bridget. Trust me on this.”
I returned to Felix after she left, shaken.
“I have to finish closing here,” I told him, walking straight to the back to get the broom. “But if you don’t mind waiting, we can head out after.”
Felix followed me, asking if he could help, so I handed him the broom while I moved the flowers into the cooler. Before we left, I wrapped his bouquet with brown paper and a wide black-and-white-striped ribbon.
I handed him the flowers, meeting his eyes for the first time since coming back inside. I was relieved to find there was no electricity there. My aunt was wrong about Felix. He had Chloe; I had Carter. Maybe this could be the beginning of something new. Something safer. More like what it should be.
“You okay?” he said.
“Yeah. I’m good.” It felt like we were finally on solid ground.
I gathered my coat, and we walked along Queen Street East, toward the cozy wine bar Farah and I liked to visit after work. As we passed the windows of an independent bookstore, Felix paused.
“Let’s go in,” I said.
We browsed around separately. I went to the home and garden section, and Felix presumably went to find something published before the invention
of the automobile. I was flipping through the pages of Floret Farm’s Cut Flower Garden when he found me. He was holding his flowers and a tote bag with the store’s logo on the front.
“That was fast,” I said, closing the book. Felix peered at the photograph on the cover. It was of a woman walking through a field in rubber boots, an armful of orange dahlias thrown over her shoulder.
He read the subtitle aloud, “Grow, Harvest, and Arrange Stunning Seasonal Blooms.” Then looked at me. “May I?”
I handed him the book, and he turned through the pretty pages.
“The author owns a flower farm in Washington,” I told him. “It started as a tiny backyard garden, and she and her husband turned it into a massive teaching farm and seed company.”
I followed them on Instagram and scrolled through the feed with envy and admiration.
Felix went back to the beginning, eyes moving quickly over the page titled, “Key Cutting Garden Plant Types.” He read fast. I’d noticed it that first summer.
“A cut flower farm,” Felix said after a minute. “Is this something you’d want to do?” He glanced at me.
I used to think staring into Felix’s eyes was like staring at an ice floe. But I was wrong. They were warm, not glacial. Staring into Felix’s eyes was like
floating in a blue lagoon.
I shrugged. “It’s silly.”
“I don’t think so,” he said back.
“I think I’d like to grow my own flowers one day,” I said. I hadn’t told anyone this before, not even Bridget. “I’d like to have a farm.”
Felix held my eyes for three long seconds. I looked at that little dot of
brown in his right eye.
“See, it is silly.”
“It’s not,” he said. “It’s perfect. I can picture it: you on a farm, surrounded
by flowers.”
“It’s just a dream.”
“It’s a good dream,” he said, then walked toward the cash register. He passed the clerk the book.
“You don’t have to do that. I don’t have a garden, and my balcony doesn’t get enough light for me to grow much of anything on it.”
“Dream big with me, Lucy.”
