Alex Hines - Chance

Smiling, he turned to face her. His eyes naturally turned down on the outer corners, lending them an air of gentle sadness despite his broad smile. Dark brown, the irises melting into the pupils, they were hard to look away from. He was wearing a cornflower blue shirt – un-ironed, but expensive-looking – and navy blue trousers; he also had on a smart pair of brown brogues, well worn but good quality. Ava walked towards him, one hand held to her lips in thought. Once she was standing next to him she realised even over the scent of the flowers in the shop he smelled of a combination of leather, expensive soap and perhaps a hint of vetiver. She took a deep breath.

‘Well, we have some wonderful ones in today,’ she began, pointing at the red roses Matt had been discussing earlier.

‘No, red’s a little … Well, it’s a little Argentine Tango for me.’

Ava blinked. She knew exactly what he meant. For an inexplicable reason she suddenly imagined herself, her fair hair mysteriously dark, tied back in an elaborate, glistening bun. She was wearing a dress the same deep red as the roses, split to the thigh. In between her rouged lips was one of the roses.

‘What else do you have?’ he asked, staring at her curiously.

‘What else do I have?’ Ava nodded seriously, playing for time. Wake up woman, you’re serving a customer!

‘Well, we have all sorts.’

‘What would you recommend?’

‘Me ? Well …’

‘Yes, you don’t look like you really do tacky bouquets …’

‘Thank you.’ Blushing. Again.

‘So why don’t you put together something you’d like to receive.’

‘Me ?’

‘Well, I don’t know what I’m doing and clearly you do, so why don’t you choose something you think someone like you would love to receive.’

The thought of this man bringing her flowers made Ava bite her lip very hard.

‘But it’s my job – no one brings me flowers. Bit of a busman’s holiday, I suppose.’

‘Oh, come on ! Surely someone presents you with a bouquet from time to time?’

‘Not really.’ She was blushing again, remembering the delicate and awkward conversation that she had once had with Rob, where he firmly explained that he could never buy her flowers as she would always know better than him what she liked – and get a better price. Suddenly being an agent for the romance of others seemed less enchanting.

‘In that case I’m going to have to rely on your imagination.’

All Ava wanted was for her imagination to slow down a little …

‘Okay, what’s your budget?’

‘Ooh, £40?’

‘I’d choose something less formal than roses – perhaps more rural, local flowers?’

‘That sounds perfect.’

‘Softer …’ Ava’s eyes seemed to have locked with his again.

‘Perfect.’

She smiled, then began making up the bouquet. The man stood against the wall opposite her and watched as she plucked a selection of gentle late season tulips and sweet peas, some of the gorgeous cabbage roses that had arrived earlier in the day, then various foliage and tied them together with plain, straw coloured twine. Both were silent during this process, Ava doing her best to concentrate on her task, all the while conscious of his gaze on her hands and the back of her neck. He seemed comfortable in the quiet, unlike a lot of her customers who so often wanted to talk about the weather, the latest celebrity gossip or how business was going. When she was finished, Ava lifted up the bouquet to show him.

‘It really is perfect, I can’t thank you enough.’

‘It was nothing – I’m so glad you like it.’ She glanced at him again, then quickly dropped her gaze to the floor, suddenly shy. The man took two £20 notes from his wallet and passed them to her. She put them in the till before presenting him with the flowers.

‘I do hope you receive the bouquet you deserve soon,’ he told her.

‘Honestly, I’m more of a chocolates girl,’ she replied, suddenly tiring of his constant gaze on her, flustered by his assumptions about her life. ‘I am surrounded by flowers all day.’

‘It’s not so much the flowers as the gesture, though, is it?’

He was at the door now and turned as he said this, before winking and heading outside.

Smug , thought Ava. She wondered what sort of man goes to buy romantic flowers and can’t help but flirt with the florist? As for the assumptions he had made about her lack of romance … Charmless. She reminded herself of her romantic Monday-night dinner as she swiped the trimmings from his flowers into the bin: Flowers aren’t the only way to express yourself . As she slammed the bin lid shut, the image of herself dressed for the Argentine Tango once again flashed before her.

Chapter Two

Later – Monday, 22 August

On the dot of 5.30 Ava waved goodbye to a cheery Matt and indulged in some Olympic-level pottering once he’d gone. She gave the easy option – simply locking up thoroughly – a swerve, instead indulging in a little time in her shop. Polishing the brass handle and plaque on the door as if it was a fancy hotel, twisting the coloured twine neatly on its reels and all the while enjoying the silence of a closed Dunne’s the Florist. She made sure all of the paperwork for the next day was in order, closed her laptop properly instead of just hitting ‘sleep’ and slamming the lid, then gave the mugs by the kettle a little tidy. Sure, a women’s magazine would have advised heading home early for a luxuriant, candle surrounded bath, but this level of A-Grade faffing about relaxed Ava and she loved every minute of it. Once more she watered the cornflowers, the tall, lonely-looking bay trees and the herbs now inside on the shop floor. She picked up one of the rosemary plants and inhaled the refreshing scent again, before popping it in her canvas bag to take home. Yesterday’s roast, cooked with rosemary from the same delivery, had been such a success that she decided to take another pot home and plant it. First, a nice terracotta pot on the windowsill to keep an eye on, and then in the garden in the spring, for future roasts. After a day filled with hassle and hustle, anything seemed possible in this stillness.

She felt a sudden surge of affection for Dunne’s. It was her safe place, one created by her, for her. A place where she had made her dreams and those of others come true. The haughty woman from that morning seemed a distant memory, an irrelevance. Ava was happy to have left it to Matt to call her housekeeper, the elusive Mary, and she was right to do so for he had charmed her in no time at all and the order had been smoothly made. The majority of the red roses had been bought by an exhausted and exhilarated new father who turned up towards the end of the day, who clearly hadn’t slept since Saturday night and was covered in a thin sheen of nervous sweat. He stared manically at Ava, while explaining in at least 40 words per sentence more than he needed that he had driven in from the hospital on the recommendation of one of the nurses as his older brother once told him that garage or hospital flowers would be a mistake he’d come to regret for the rest of his life. Ava listened calmly, letting his manic stream of too much information wash over her while Matt smirked to himself in the background. Twenty long-stemmed deep red roses … Exquisite, they had been the high point of her day apart from the doe-eyed flirt, who she hurriedly pushed further to the back of her mind.

Before she put on her coat, Ava texted Rob to tell him that she was now on her way home and to ask if she could pick anything up en route. She knew he’d probably be back by now and would have let himself in. Maybe he’d even got to work on her meal. As partner in a small local web agency, his work was largely portable, which meant that he usually finished work very promptly. When she first met him, she had recoiled at the mention of him working for a web agency, imagining soul-sapping London-based companies named ‘Obtuse’ or ‘Slap Tha Truth’. But Rob’s agency was considerably less cutting edge: named after himself and his business partner Laurence, it was simply Collins & Cook – creators of websites for local businesses, data companies and a couple of regional artists and authors. The whole thing sounded mind-numbingly dull to Ava, but as he had pointed out to her when they were still friends: ‘It’s how I make my money, not who I am.’ To be fair, he had gone on to win her over in that first year of friendship with trips to the local playhouse, the cinema or museums. He liked to read, he enjoyed similar TV shows (within reason) and he was also enthusiastic about discussing all of this, as well as her growing business.