The Perfect Arrangement (8 page)

Boy, do I get winded when I e-mail you. You must be easy to talk to. I'm actually quite shy in real life. My friend Rachel (the one living in Fiji) is always telling me that I need to get out there and live life. But I think owning and running a successful flower business counts as that, don't you?

Enough about me. It's your turn. What got you into ghostwriting? Not many little boys I know want to be a
ghostwriter when they grow up. And are you really not going to tell me which celebrity you're ghostwriting for? Would you tell me if I guessed correctly? Where on the Upper Peninsula do you live? Oh, and I've been meaning to ask. What does the 24 stand for in your email address?

Affectionately,

Amelia

PS: Guess what movie I rented for tonight? I'll give you a hint. Jimmy Stewart and Doris Day play the lead roles.

“If I'm honest I have to tell you I still read fairy tales and I like them best of all.”
—Audrey Hepburn

The next morning at the flower shop, while Astrid and I
worked and worked on corsages and boutonnieres for the homecoming dance, I couldn't stop smiling.

“What has you so giddy?” Astrid asked.

“Nothing,” I quipped.

But then I started humming. Astrid gave me that sideways look of hers and asked again. I laughed and shrugged and couldn't for the life of me stop thinking about Nate Gallagher.

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Tue, Sep 29, 2015 1:57 a.m.
Subject: Re: I'm the world's biggest basket case

Wait a minute. The guy whose car you hit is giving you advice? Do you like him? Is he cute? Please, Amelia, I'm surrounded by tribal folk all day, including bare-chested, saggy-breasted women who don't usually have all their teeth. I could use a little bit of normalcy. For the love of all that is holy, SPILL.

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Wed, Sep 30, 2015 6:23 p.m.
Subject: Re: I'm the world's biggest basket case

There's nothing to spill. The two of us exchanged some e-mails. I was a little giddy about it. But he hasn't e-mailed back in a while, and it's his turn.

It's weird, though, because he's always been so fast at responding. This lull isn't like him. Of course it comes after I signed my last e-mail “Affectionately.” Affectionately?! What was I thinking? I might as well have told him I loved him.

But you'd think if he wasn't freaked out before then (I've done some ODD things where he's concerned), a little word like
affectionately
wouldn't do it.

Do you think something happened to him? What if he got into an accident and he's in the hospital? Or . . . oh my goodness, Rachel, what if he died? How would I even know?

Never mind. He's not dead. I just did a search for his name in all the obits for the Upper Peninsula (he's a Yooper). Nothing came up. Which means only one thing. He must not be interested.

Oh well. It was nice while it lasted.

—A

PS: Yes, he's cute. In fact, here's a picture. Too good to be true, eh?

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Fri, Oct 2, 2015 6:46 p.m.
Subject: Re: The Shop around the Corner

Dear Amelia,

Now it's MY turn to apologize profusely. Please forgive me. I had to take an impromptu trip to New York City to meet with the celebrity. It turned into a long, extended, dreadful affair with all-day meetings at the publishing house. I barely had a moment to breathe, but I promise I thought about you the entire time.

How I became a writer isn't nearly as good of a story as how you became a florist. It was always something I was good at—writing. At least that's what all my English teachers and professors told me. After I graduated college, I had a severe case of the travel bug. And so I tried making a go at travel writing. I was dirt poor, but happy. I had to take on a lot of odd jobs to supplement my income. My parents convinced me that it was long past time to settle down and get a real job, so I entered into a little phase of life I refer to as the “dark” years. I sat in an office and wrote grants. For two years. I still shudder thinking about it.

This particular celebrity, it turned out, was a fan of my travel articles. His agent contacted me about writing his first book, which makes many of my writer friends want to murder me in their sleep. Opportunities like this don't typically fall so decidedly into a person's lap. This is the third book I've written for him. He gets crankier with each one. And no, I can't tell you who it is. Not even if you guessed correctly.

So tell me what it's like running a flower shop. What's your favorite and least favorite thing about what you do? I have this whole picture in my mind of what it's like. It seems like a romantic job. I'm willing to bet you're laughing at me right now. It's probably not at all how I imagine it to be. Things rarely are.

I live in Crystal Falls, which according to MapQuest, is a
two-and-a-half-hour drive from Mayfair. And as far as the 24 in my e-mail address, I'd love to hear what you think it means.

Your parents sound wonderful. Tell me more about your father. What did he do for a living? I love the dancing story. Do you like to dance? And are you as alarmed as I am at how fast this year has gone? Somehow it's already October. I love fall, but I'm not ready for winter.

Best,

Nate

PS: How'd you like the movie?

PPS: Nice Audrey Hepburn quote at the end of your last e-mail. You're turning out to be every bit as adorable as she was.

PPPS:
The Shop around the Corner
? Arguably the most romantic movie of all time. Excellent choice. And, I might add, the two wrote letters to one another. Maybe we'll be the next Alfred and Klara (minus the hating each other in person bit, I hope).

PPPPS: How many postscripts do you suppose are acceptable in one e-mail?

“There are far, far better things ahead than any we leave behind.”
—C. S. Lewis

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Fri, Oct 2, 2015 8:23 p.m.
Subject: Oh my goodness!!!!

He e-mailed me back. The cute man I hit with my car emailed me back. He called me adorable. He compared me to Audrey Hepburn! Supposedly, he had to take an impromptu trip to New York to meet with a publishing house, and according to him, he thought about me the whole time?!?

Seriously, Rachel, this guy is too good to be true. He's smart and witty and absolutely charming. He quoted Mr. Darcy! He knows all the classic movies even better than I do. He listens. He asks good questions. He's not even intimidated by my neuroses.

Okay, deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. I'm giddy. Beyond giddy. I'm hopping around in my seat. Baxter isn't even sure what to do with me. I want to e-mail him RIGHT AWAY, but I'm going to wait. I'm going to play it cool. Heaven help me, I really like this guy.

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Tue, Oct 6, 2015 9:31 p.m.
Subject: Re: The Shop around the Corner

Dear Nate,

Yes, I did enjoy
The Man Who Knew Too Much
. But then, I've yet to watch a Jimmy Stewart movie I haven't enjoyed. I completely agree about
The Shop around the Corner
. I smile like a fool every time I watch it.

My father was a carpenter. When I was a little girl, I thought this made him as good as Jesus. He was a good man. A quiet man. A hardworking, Wisconsin-to-the-bone fellow who loved to hunt and bled green and gold. He was
building a house in Green Bay when he met my stepmother. Things happened pretty quickly after that. I don't blame him. He was a working man with a very sad six-year-old daughter and a newborn son on his hands. He wanted me and William to have a mother. I can understand that.

As far as running a flower shop being a romantic notion. Well, some days it feels that way. And some days it feels like I'm a chicken running around with my head cut off. Case in point. My first year on the job, I had this very large wedding. I brought all the beautiful bouquets, which I'd slaved over, to the chapel the night before. Put them in the cooler. And discovered the next morning that the setting was all wrong on the cooler and they'd all frozen. Every single one. The next morning was one giant, panic-stricken scramble with plenty of tears (all from me). It didn't feel romantic at all.

My favorite part, besides the beauty, is probably the customers. I don't just love being a florist, I love being a small-town florist. I know almost everyone who walks in the door. I get to be a part of their lives. I have this one customer in particular—this ninety-year-old man named George. He comes in every single Monday morning to buy his wife a bouquet. He always has a cute, funny anecdote to tell me too. On the adorableness scale, this man has Audrey beat. My least favorite part would be the bridezillas. Thankfully, I haven't had to work with many of those. A week ago I met with Bridget and William to go over flowers for their wedding. It went well. She's not a bridezilla.

I agree with you about the time. I wish I had a magical hour glass that could make everything slow down, especially in the fall. October is a beautiful month in Mayfair. The leaves
will peak in color in a week or two. The air is crisp and the town square is decorated in pumpkins and hay bales. We have this darling little chapel that sits kitty-corner across the square from my shop—all white clapboard with a steeple that rises up over the trees. It's where my parents married, and it's where Bridget and William are getting married too. There's this place called Sawyer Farm. Maybe you've heard of it? Along with a pumpkin patch, they have the biggest corn maze in Wisconsin. Every year William and I go. My parents used to take me, so now I take William. This year he's bringing Bridget. I kind of feel like the third wheel.

What's your favorite and least favorite part about writing? To me
your
job sounds romantic. Clacking away at the keyboard in some cabin in the woods, the fire crackling in the fireplace, inspiration flowing from your fingertips, espresso at the ready. Lunches with publishers. Book signings and book tours. Impromptu trips to New York City. Am I close? Travel writing sounds even more romantic. Here's my confession. And you have to promise not to laugh. I've never traveled anywhere. Unless you count Iowa. Or the Upper Peninsula. Most people don't.;)

What about your family? You haven't told me anything about them, except that your sister is married. I'd love to know more.

24 . . . your age when you set up your e-mail account? The number of your favorite sports player? The most postscripts you've written in one e-mail?

Affectionately,

Amelia

PS: It's not that I don't like to dance. It's more that I simply don't do it. I do like watching people dance though.

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Thu, Oct 8, 2015 12:33 a.m.
Subject: Re: The Shop around the Corner

Dear Amelia,

Points for making me laugh. Out loud actually. I'm not a fan of
LOL
, but it would be true if I wrote it here. The most postscripts I've written in one e-mail happens to be four, and they were all to you. The other two guesses were wrong. Better keep trying.

In other news, it makes me sad to read that you don't dance. Just think of all Cinderella would have missed out on had she watched the prince dance at the ball instead of joining him on the floor. Maybe Drizella would have ended up as the princess. That would have changed the entire feel of the story.

Your father sounds like a great man and you sound like a great florist. Your understanding of a writer's life, however, is not so great. Trips to New York City aren't nearly as exciting as they sound. Book tours are mostly a thing of the past, and book signings are mortifying affairs wherein most authors sit at a table by themselves, often mistaken as store employees. I haven't had the pleasure of experiencing this, thankfully, since I'm a ghostwriter. But I've heard horror stories from my author friends. Mostly my job involves me banging my
head against the keyboard and seeing what comes out. No crackling fire or cabin in the woods. My favorite part is being finished, and my least favorite is sitting down and typing. (I jest. It's not that bad.)

My family's pretty run-of-the-mill. My parents are still married and live out east in Pennsylvania. That's where I grew up. The only reason I'm up north is because of my grant-writing job. After I quit, I never bothered moving. My mother bemoans the fact that I'm not yet married. Every year she's more and more desperate to be a grandmother. Thankfully, with my sister newly hitched, she's transferred her pleading elsewhere. They're good people—my mom and dad. We're a close family. My sister is four years younger than me. Fun fact? The day we met was the day of her wedding. That's why I was dressed up so fancy. I was one of the groomsmen. She and her husband just got back from their honeymoon in California. She's always had this obsession with touring a vineyard. They live fairly close to you. I think you and my sister would hit it off. Maybe we can all meet up someday. Grab a bite. Or tour that corn maze. You have me wanting to visit your town.