Tracy Corbett - The Forget-Me-Not Flower Shop

She mumbled something like, ‘Don’t worry,’ but he did, constantly.

As he picked up his tool bag, Ben appeared in the lounge. ‘If you have time later can you help me with my UCAS application? I need a personal statement from someone who knows me.’

Scott felt an instant rush of panic. He couldn’t write his Ns the right way around, let alone write a personal statement, whatever one of those was. ‘Depends what time I get back. Write out what you want me to say and I’ll sign it.’

Ben looked disappointed, which made Scott feel like crap. He hated letting the kid down, but as writing a birthday card brought him out in a cold sweat, he wasn’t about to shame his nephew further by messing up his uni application.

‘Why don’t you search the net, see if you can find some examples and then we can use one as a template.’

Ben perked up. ‘Yeah, good idea. I’ll do that.’

Hopefully the kid would have sourced help elsewhere by the time Scott got home and he’d be off the hook. But for now he needed to get going. The bills kept piling up, and if he didn’t work, he didn’t earn. And they needed money, badly.

Evie had always known being a florist was hard work, and normally she was up for the challenge, but this morning she was flagging and it was only nine thirty. Her back was aching from lifting buckets of flowers to change the water, and her hands were sore and numb from the cold. She wished the plumber would hurry up – he’d been due half an hour ago. Bloody unreliable tradesmen. It was bad enough he couldn’t come out last Friday when she needed him, but there was no excuse for being late today. Was it too much to ask that people showed up when they were supposed to? She was trying to run a business.

She stretched out her limbs, trying to loosen the muscles in her back. She hadn’t been running for a few days and was feeling it. Exercise seemed to be the only guaranteed way of keeping the stress at bay these days. She relied on her regular fix.

Needing a break, she brewed up a pot of herbal tea and sat down at the counter to check her emails. The snow had all but melted outside, but the frosty conditions were keeping people indoors today. Hopefully business would pick up as the day warmed up – assuming the flaming plumber deigned to show up and provide them with some heat.

She opened her inbox and scanned down the list of messages, looking for any orders or queries. At first she nearly missed it, but something in her brain must have registered the name, because she was drawn to a notification on Facebook .

Kyle Caplin wanted to be friends.

Was he serious? Shaking her head in disbelief, she declined the request. She’d been in Kent for almost a year and hadn’t heard from him. Foolishly, she’d started to believe he’d moved on. But it didn’t look that way. Or maybe this was his clumsy attempt at apologising, remorseful for all the hurt he’d caused. More likely he just wanted to keep track of her, check what she was doing and who she was doing it with. Well, tough. What she did with her life was no longer his concern.

Frustrated, she pushed her chair backwards, away from the irritation of Kyle, only to collide with something solid. Yelping in surprise, she spun around, fearful of finding Kyle standing in the shop, but it wasn’t her ex-boyfriend filling the space, it was a tall, dark – she refused to use the word handsome – handyman carrying a tool bag.

‘Jesus, you made me jump.’ He removed his woollen hat, running his hand through his mess of dark, wavy hair.

She’d made him jump? Defensiveness morphed into annoyance. ‘Well, if you will sneak up on people, what do you expect?’ She didn’t like people seeing her ruffled. Especially not men. Especially not attractive men.

‘I’m sorry, but I did ring the bell and knock twice.’ He placed his tool bag on the floor. ‘I’m Scott Castillo from Round the Bend Plumbing. I’ve come to fix your boiler.’

She ignored his outstretched hand. She wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries. ‘You’re late.’

‘I’m really sorry. I was delayed by a damsel in distress.’ He grinned, no doubt trying to win her over. ‘What can I say, I’m a man who likes to help women.’

Evie didn’t doubt it. He probably spent a good proportion of his life ‘helping’ women. She knew the type – she’d been involved with one. All smiles and flattery to begin with, until his victim succumbed, and then it was nothing but trouble. ‘Well, you can help this woman by fixing the boiler. The pilot light keeps going out.’ She walked towards the back of the shop, showing him where the water tank was.

He lifted the cover away from the boiler. ‘I’d love a coffee. I left without breakfast this morning.’ He subjected her to another of his smiles, no doubt meant to charm. She guessed it worked on most women. She wasn’t most women.

He picked up a screwdriver. ‘White, no sugar, please.’

Biting down the urge to shove his screwdriver somewhere painful, she headed into the kitchen and grabbed the dirtiest mug she could find. Shoving a tablespoon of coffee granules in it, she mixed it with three-day old milk, added sugar just to be spiteful and took it back out to him. ‘There.’ She slammed the mug down. ‘As per your order.’

He stared at the stone-cold concoction, no hint of boiling water.

She waited for his eyes to lift to hers. ‘If you’d wanted a coffee you should’ve brought one with you. I’m paying you to fix my boiler, not stand around drinking my profits.’

One of his dark eyebrows twitched. Was he trying not to laugh? ‘My apologies. I’ll get on with the repair.’

‘You do that.’ She left him to it. He was a distraction she didn’t need.

It was gone ten by the time Saffy arrived, having worked a late shift at the pub the night before. Dressed in head-to-toe black, wearing huge sunglasses and a beanie pulled down low over her head, pushing her blunt fringe into her eyes, she slumped into the shop, her bag dragging on the floor behind her. ‘I need caffeine,’ she said, heading into the kitchen.

The plumber looked up hopefully, but Saffy had already disappeared.

Evie was grateful for Saffy’s late start. It had allowed her time to recover from the shock of Kyle contacting her. Surely he wasn’t hoping they’d get back together? No one could be that deluded. At least, she hoped not. She would not allow Kyle contacting her to derail her from her goal of moving on with her life. She would ignore the message, delete it from her mind and pretend it never happened. Good plan.

But her rationale took a hit when Saffy jolted her from her thoughts by placing a hand on her shoulder. ‘Jesus! Don’t do that.’

‘Sorry, boss.’ Saffy’s lip curled, Elvis-style. ‘Who’s the eye candy?’

‘The what?’ Evie’s gaze followed Saffy to where the plumber was working on the boiler. ‘Oh, him. Scott something, and I thought you were off men?’

Saffy shrugged, her face now free of sunglasses. ‘I am. Doesn’t mean I’m blind. And besides, I wasn’t thinking of me. He’s way too old. He’d do okay for you, though.’

Evie’s hands went to her hips. ‘Gee, thanks.’

Saffy tied her apron around her middle. ‘You’re welcome. I’ll go see if Scottie the Hottie needs an assistant.’

Scottie the … Evie watched Saffy saunter off. At least the plumber had one fan. He might be too old for Saffy, but he couldn’t be more than late twenties, and that was most definitely not old. Not by a long shot. Cheek of it.

Within five minutes Saffy was perched on the countertop next to Scott, handing him tools and chatting away like a smitten schoolgirl instead of the sullen teenager she was. Far from showing disinterest, the plumber was indulging Saffy in her tirade about her woeful parents, including her latest dealings with Barry the Banker.