Hearts in Bloom (3 page)

“When can I expect a meeting with your company decision-maker about improving your marketing?”

Ivy fiddled with her key fob. “Actually, that’s me.” She drew a deep breath and looked at him. “I was given permission to handle this for the company.”

He cracked that charming grin again. “Did I win you over?”

Yes. Kiss now, please.
Her mind answered her libido,
Shut up. He’s asking about business.
Narrowing her eyes, she pressed her lips together. “You’ve got my attention. But I will need to see samples of all these places you plan to post us, and I get final approval on all designs for websites and company descriptions.”

“Deal. When do you want to meet to discuss company details I’ll need for the website?”

“Is there a contract involved in all this?”

“There will be, but not until you’re certain you want my services. Showing you samples should take about an hour, if that helps.”

She nodded. “Okay. Come by the shop tomorrow at nine.”

“Will do.”

He held her door open while she slid behind the wheel and gently pushed it closed once her feet were clear. As she left the lot, she lowered the window and waved at him.

Before she turned the corner, she spotted him climbing into the silver BMW.  A squeeze within her chest affirmed her brother’s opinion—the car was important.

John had driven the Subaru hatchback he shared with his wife. Environmentally conscious, all-wheel utility in a compact dressing. If she were seeking men his opposite based on car style alone, wouldn’t she be dating ginormous SUVs?

In dating young men with expensive plumage, she proved herself against type. Not the hippie. Not the green-power elitist. Not the poor struggling grad student living on Ramen Noodles in someone’s converted garage, slaving for a tenured academic who hadn’t seen the real world or how it works since entering their venerable institution as a poor struggling grad student himself.

Okay, the converted garage part is still accurate
.

As she turned onto I-105 from Coburg Road, her thoughts slipped back to decision day.
“People are suspicious. I can’t be your advisor.”
And he could never be with her at any university function, or with any of his friends who knew his wife. Denial of their involvement in any public venue had popped open something in her, like a seedpod being sprung. She returned to her dingy college hovel no longer viewing it as a sanctuary but as a prison. Why should she enslave herself to some new advisor she’d spent little time with? Spend the next three to five years on a project she was not interested in? Just to change a BS to an MS after her name? Her intention was always to return to McVey Gardens.

She lit the hibachi and torched all the application papers and anything else she could find with John’s name and title on it. Without him, no grad school. Fuck it. Think of the money she’d save.

But her heart had charred and turned to ash all the same.

As agreed, CJ came into the shop at 9 a.m. He brought his laptop and set it up on the desk where Ivy indicated. He showed her a few website layouts/designs to choose among and examples of some he’d found for other flower markets to compare, as well as the scant listings of any others in the Eugene/Springfield area. Ivy was convinced—this would be a big step forward for their business. He pulled out his standard service agreement and allowed her to read it over before she signed on the appropriate line. The agreement only asked for half up front; Ivy pulled out the company checkbook and handed over the fee.

In between customers, they discussed colors and features needed in the website design. Ivy endured the exhausting search through stock art to find the right images, bolstered by his arm looped across the back of her chair. But by 1 p.m., she was spent.

CJ had more suggestions. “What you really need is a photo of the storefront here and a nice view of the family greenhouses—
show the size of your operation. The hard part is you’ll want high quality photos—not as strict as for print ads but still nice. I have a great camera for that.”

“That would work. Why don’t you come out to the farm and take those tonight? The sun will be at a good angle still. Inside the greenhouses could be impressive too.”

“I’d like that. I’ll talk to my guy and get the web pages all set up tomorrow. We’ll need to secure domain names and get hosting so it may take a day or so to activate the site.”

“You know more about that than I would.”

He gathered his notes then slid them into his laptop case alongside the computer.

“See you later,” she said. “You know where to find us?” At the shake of his head, she drew a quick map on a notepad. The sheet tore at the top corner when she pulled it off but nothing important was lost. Except a piece of her sanity when his fingers brushed hers to take the map.

The afternoon passed as slow as a banana slug. She and Jake closed up shop. Jake handled the last few deliveries while she went home to eat dinner and alert everyone to expect CJ’s arrival to take photos. Her mother fussed over the state of the outer yard—weeds had sprung up and dried in the corners. Ivy was sure her mother was overly worried about what impression folks on the internet would have if a weed made it into the photos.

By the time CJ rolled his BMW through the farm gates, the sun had taken on a golden hue, straining through the lower-valley haze hanging over Eugene. Not pretty for allergy sufferers but great for artsy photos.

Ivy descended the front porch steps as CJ exited the car, pulling a small camera case up by the shoulder strap. He’d changed clothes since earlier. Gone were the slacks and slick shirt and tie. Now he looked like a regular guy in a T-shirt and cargo shorts. His khaki shorts showed off nicely-defined calves. The rust-color shirt made his skin look more tan. He greeted her with a smile.

The exposed skin must have increased the amount of testosterone that could reach her through the air. Ivy caught her breath. The casual nature of his outfit enhanced his athletic figure, hidden earlier beneath tailored shirt and tie. She hadn’t thought shorter inseams on a guy could be sexy too.

CJ unzipped the case and pulled out a camera similar to her dad’s 35-mm Nikon. He looped the strap around his neck and took off the lens cap. “Mind if I grab a few shots of the house here and the front of the greenhouse?”

“No, go ahead.” Ivy tucked her hair behind her ear, looking toward the greenhouse. She heard a beep and turned to find the camera aimed at her. Her cheeks warmed. “I thought we agreed no people on the web photos.”

“Bonus shot. For me.”

Would she ever get tired of that cheeky grin? “We should start with the greenhouses before it gets too dim inside.”

“Lead on.”

CJ trailed her through the corrugated plastic door into the Quonset hut building of the same material. Moist soil sat in the humid air mixed with odors of composted manure. “That’s pungent.” He snapped photos of the neat rows of potted flowers for cutting. This particular greenhouse held the asters, mums, zinnias and other late summer blooms, only a third of which were in bloom at the moment.

Ivy’s experiment sprawled across a worktable at the end of one row along the wall. A series of petri dishes, labeled with seed counts, soil mixtures and dates arrayed in six rows of five took up one half. Earlier sprouts had been moved to starter trays, taking another third. The narrow space down the center was her work area. Black plastic sheets hung behind the table and over the top, where more plastic was wadded up and clipped in place. Ultraviolet lamps and grow lights lined the interior of the make-shift plastic hood.

“Do you have to constantly plant new ones?” he asked, bending down to squint at the baby plants.

“Somewhat. This is my laboratory. I’m testing how wide we can push the growing season of the flowers we produce in here —especially the bloom times—by changing the soil content, water and lighting. Because we live near the 45
th
parallel, we usually lose a few months of budding possibilities. Yet flowers growing farther north, like in Alaska, can adapt to a severely short growing season mainly because they have so much daylight at a time.”

“Cool.”

He snapped a few photos of her experiment. Ivy watched the view screen on the back of the camera and admired the Batman angle he used on some shots.

Eventually the shadows of the neighbor’s firs stole the best light. They strolled toward CJ’s car and the light breeze cooled their skin. “Would you like something to drink? Lemonade? Mom just made some before you arrived,” Ivy offered, reluctant to send him away.

“Thanks, that would be good.” CJ stowed the camera bag in his car.

She led him up onto the farmhouse porch and waved him to the chair and table sitting near the door. “I’ll be right out,” she said. She hustled to the kitchen and pulled down two of the tallest glasses she could find. She dropped ice into each and pulled out the pitcher of lemonade. She was about to leave with both glasses when her mother entered the kitchen.

“You can’t let the man starve, Ivy. Take him some cookies. Use a tray.” Her mother pulled out a small plate and loaded it with sugar cookies from the jar.

Impatiently, Ivy fetched the small tray from the pantry and placed the lemonade, cookies, and napkins on it then bumped the porch door with her behind to exit.

“He’s very handsome,” her mother called.

Ivy cringed.
Say it a little louder, Mother
. She smiled at CJ and set the tray on the table.

“Mmmm, cookies!” He inhaled one and grabbed a second. “Thank your mother for me.”

Ivy cocked her head. “What makes you think they weren’t my idea and that I didn’t bake them?”

“You work all day and live in an outbuilding without a kitchen when you aren’t in your greenhouse. I pay attention. Plus I heard your mother say you should bring them out.”

Ivy chuckled and brushed crumbs off her thigh. As she looked down, she noticed one calf was still hairy—she’d shaved one and forgot the other. She folded that leg under her, trying not to make the move sudden.
Yeah, that’ll impress him
.

Sparrows and finches twittered in the rafters. The neighbor’s rooster, Peg-leg Jim, crowed repeatedly as the sun began turning orangey-pink in the west. The breeze rustled the dried leaves from dead early-spring plants. Ivy nibbled another cookie, watching CJ surreptitiously out of the corner of her eye.

“She anxious to get you hooked up?”

Ivy choked on cookie crumbs. She slurped her lemonade in haste to wash it down.

“Mothers are all the same. Don’t worry about it.” He winked at her.

“To be fair, I chose unwisely once for a potential son-in-law.” Ivy was glad the lemonade hid the sour expression that usually accompanied mention of John. “A horticulture colleague. He was too interested in sowing wild oats while I was studying actual oats.”
Remaining academic advisor to a student he was sleeping with was unethical but the whole being married and only sort of separated thing was not a problem. For him.

CJ nodded sagely and sipped his lemonade. “To paraphrase Dorothy Parker—you can lead
a horticulture, but you can’t make him think.”

She tightened her smile with a snort. “Thanks.” Her gaze fell on the BMW.

CJ finished his drink then stood. “I’ll let you get back to your evening.”

“So soon?” Ivy bounced to her feet with her hands outstretched until she realized how her eagerness might look. She adjusted her stance to be more neutral.

“I have to download these photos and get the info to our web guy. He works mainly in the wee hours, so he should have something for us to look at tomorrow or the next day. I’ll give you a call when we have it up and running.”

“Okay.” She followed him to the porch steps but grabbed a post to keep from following him.

“See ya!” he called. She waved. The engine purred to life then he made a neat turn in the drive to head back to the highway and town.

Two days passed before the website was fully operational. CJ stopped by the shop twice during that time with the unfinished site for Ivy to adjust or approve. It looked good. She handed him a check for the final amount as agreed but was reluctant to end their association yet.

A small vase of sweet pea blossoms and ranunculus accompanied the check. “To make up for that awful bouquet,” Ivy said.
He has to look this up, if he doesn’t know it already. Please let him get the message. Departure, delicate pleasures, and I am dazzled by your charms.