Rachel Dove - The Flower Shop on Foxley Street

‘It’s Stuart, isn’t it,’ she stated flatly. Simon shrugged, pulling an apologetic grimace.

‘It’s just, you know, me and him, together … all night …’ He looked so nervous, and Lily knew he was not trying to upset her. Simon and Stuart had spent a fair bit of time together over the years, but they had never really gelled. It was still at the polite ‘hey up’ stage, and then the words pretty much dried up. Not even sport, the universal conversation opener of men worldwide, had bridged the gap between them.

There had been no thrown punches or beaten chests, but the nights always ended up being damp squibs when the two of them were in a room together. Not even Lily could get them to interact in any meaningful way, and she had resigned herself to having them only meet on special occasions. Given that she would want Simon as her ‘male of honour’ should the wedding ever actually happen, it was a touchy subject for everyone.

‘Okay, okay, no Stuart,’ Lily concurred. ‘I can play third wheel, be worth it to meet her.’

Simon looked relieved. ‘Great, shall we say Friday?’

Lily nodded. ‘Sounds great. Let’s do it.’

She waved goodbye, pulling away as Simon held up his hands in mock horror at her music. She flipped him the bird and turned it higher. What was it about Stuart that seemed to rub people up the wrong way?

CHAPTER FIVE

Will Singer looked every inch the thirty-two-year-old man he was. The bathroom mirror rarely did anyone any favours, but this particular winter morning it appeared to be magically channelling the mirror from Snow White in terms of stark clarity and downright truth. Who’s the hottest man of them all? Certainly not you, dude.

He had badly needed a shave. People were starting to comment on it, but the clean-shaven Will was not a great improvement. At least his dark stubble had detracted from the huge Kardashian-sized luggage wedged under his eyes. Without his hairy mask, Will felt naked, unable to hide.

Even worse was the fact that the lack of hair on his face left people free to roam over his other features, in particular the mop of hair sprouting from his head. He looked like Lionel Messi mixed with Mufasa the lion. It did well for them, but Will wasn’t sure it was such a great style for him. Any longer and he would have to buy an Alice band like Beckham. Start sporting a man bun. He was pretty sure the villagers had never seen a man bun. It might scare them enough to dust off the pitchforks and torches. He had a sudden vision of his uncle Archie dressed like Braveheart, rallying the twin set and mohair-clad villagers into action from atop a horse . ‘People of Westfield, we shall not lie down and die. The man bun must be destroyed!’

He chuckled to himself at his own humour. He would have to tell Lily that joke later.

He frowned at himself in the mirror, opening the medicine cabinet in desperation. Looking through the arrays of random creams and potions, he picked a fairly normal-looking moisturizing cream and started to massage some into his rather green-looking cheeks. Turning to his hair, he combed it the best he could, deciding in the end that he had to wear a hat for work anyway, so he could use this as a passable excuse this time.

Of course, there was nothing to say that there would be a next time at all. There shouldn’t even be a first time, but here he was, getting himself ready for the first date he had been on in years. A coffee date, in the daytime. Nothing too bad. Nothing that he should reproach himself too much for. He was just glad that the butterflies in his stomach and the elated feeling he experienced at the prospect of seeing her again were invisible to others. He could keep denying them to himself, but it wouldn’t be as easy if his feelings were on display. Will was more than used to keeping his cards close to his chest. Lily just made him feel like he wanted to show her his hand, and that feeling alone told him he had to be more careful than usual.

‘Just a coffee, Will, just a little chat, a drink, and then leave.’

He had meant to ask her advice that morning – he had been meaning to ask her for a while, but he wasn’t sure how to approach it, and whether he was playing with fire by asking her at all. He already knew, he didn’t really have to ask this particular person, but he had reasoned it in his head loosely enough to convince himself it was at least half plausible. It was the perfect excuse.

If he was truthful with himself, he would probably pick at the thread in his brain as to why he had taken this course of action, but instead he smoothed the collar of his blue shirt, smoothed down his unruly locks as best he could and, giving the mirror a final look, dashed down the stairs of his home.

Once he’d closed the door behind him, pulling on his coat as he headed down the drive, his mood lifted. He could feel the tension leave his shoulders as he put the keys in the ignition. His neighbour, Mrs Phelps, saw him from her front window and she gave him a little wave and a smile. He returned her wave, not lingering on her face for too long. He tried to keep to himself. It was easier that way, less complicated. Less chance of anyone getting hurt.

He felt the knot between his shoulder blades return. Today was a mistake – he just knew it. Yet he didn’t stop the car; in fact he even sped up a little as he hit the centre of the village. For a second he even thought of stopping for flowers. He laughed at himself when he realized how daft that was, eyeing himself in the mirror.

‘It’s official, Will. You are losing it.’

Pulling up on Foxley Street, he made sure to park a little further down from the florist’s and the coffee shop. He tucked the car out of the way, and then stepped out onto the kerb with unsteady legs. He felt like a teenager sneaking off to do something naughty, like drink vodka in the park when he should be in double maths. Passing the florist’s, he very casually tried to look in through the window without making it obvious, keeping his head studiously pointed in front of him. He couldn’t see Lily, just a customer being served by the enigmatic Roger who worked there. He thought the guy raised his eyebrows at him through the window, but with the cold air stinging his eyes he couldn’t be sure.

He walked into the café, the warm air hitting him immediately, bringing with it a smell of coffee and baked goods. It was a similar layout to the florist’s, but not as open plan, and its double front allowed for a large kitchen and serving area, leaving ample space for some comfy sofas and low tables in the front.

There were a couple of older ladies sat by the door, chatting away with a full tea service laid out on the table. Will noticed that one of them was knitting furiously, not even glancing at her busy needles. He spotted Lily then, sitting on a low sofa right in the back, her head bent over a book. He took a breath as he watched her from the doorway.

She was wearing a pair of black-rimmed reading glasses that framed her heart-shaped face, and made her straight hair look a lighter shade of blonde than usual. She often had her hair tied in a loose bun, but today he noticed she had it brushed down. It was longer than he’d thought, and he wondered how else she would differ from what he was used to seeing at the florist’s week in and week out.

She was utterly engrossed in what she was reading, and he wondered what it was that had her interest. He realized he was standing agog in the entrance when he heard a soft polite cough behind him, and as he murmured his apologies, shuffling aside, she spotted him. Her face lit up with a friendly smile, and she hurriedly thrust her book into her bag as she stood. Will managed to see the cover before it was pushed out of his view. He found himself grinning back at her.