The Friendship Star Quilt (26 page)
Read The Friendship Star Quilt Online
Authors: Patricia Kiyono,Stephanie Michels
“Those are absolutely beautiful,” the elderly quilter continued over Anne's protest. “Back in my day, a girl's daddy would question her suitor's intentions over an arrangement like this.”
If Anne thought her cheeks were warm before, now they felt on fire. To cover her embarrassment, she hastily tucked the empty box on the shelf below the counter and mustered a polite smile. “How can I help you this afternoon, Lila? Did you run out fabric in your stash?”
“Not very likely. The way I buy fabric, I pity my kids once I'm gone. It will take them days just to sort through all the totes and tubs in my sewing room.” Lila laughed. “Not that I intend to go anywhere for a good long time.”
“Well, I'm certainly glad to hear that,” Anne replied. “You're pretty special to me.”
“I feel the same way about you, dear. Which is why I stopped by today. I have something to give you.” She reached in her purse and pulled out a small envelope.
“One year, when my children were small,” she explained, “I bought an extra box of valentines when I bought the ones for my kids to exchange at school. I guess I'm a kid at heart myself, because I addressed cards to my friends while my kids did the ones for their schoolmates. Let me tell you, I got a few strange looks when I gave those out. But most people got a real kick out of it. So much so that it became a tradition among my friends.”
She extended the envelope across the counter. “Happy Valentine's Day, honey.”
“Wait!” Anne said and reached into the register drawer. She sorted through the boxes of candy conversation hearts she'd bought over the weekend for her friends in the quilt group until she located the package with Lila's name on it. She came around the counter and handed it to the older woman. “I guess I'm a kid at heart, too.”
The two women grinned and exchanged hugs then chatted for a few minutes before Lila took off to deliver the rest of her valentines. Anne walked her to the door then went back to the shop to continue the inventory she'd been working on when her flowers were delivered.
A few minutes before closing, the door opened to admit a blast of cold air. A second later, a small blond-haired bundle of energy barreled into Anne and wrapped her in a big hug. “Hi, Miss Anne. Happy Valentine's Day!”
“Happy Valentine's Day to you, too, Jennie.” She returned the child's exuberant embrace. Taking Jennie's hand, Anne walked over to greet the child's father, who stood near the door with his hands behind his back. His brow furrowed as he eyed the arrangement on the counter.
“You got roses.”
“Yes, they were delivered a little while ago. Thank you so much, Brad.”
“Umm, Anne. Jennie and I stopped to deliver my â I mean our â flowers.” He brought his hands from behind his back and offered her the tissue-wrapped bouquet he'd been hiding.
Anne glanced at the vase on the counter. “Butâ”
He shook his head. “Those aren't from me. I wish they were, because they make this bouquet seem pretty puny in comparison.”
“I don't understand. I thoughtâ”
Unaware of the undercurrent between the two adults, Jennie bounced at her side. “Open them up, Anne. I helped pick them out.”
Confused, Anne reached for the flowers then carefully pulled back the tissue. Her eyes filled with tears at the sight of the bouquet of delicate pink and white sweetheart roses. “Oh, Brad!”
“You said you didn't like red roses,” he said, gruffly. “I thought you might like a different color. Butâ”
“Like them? Brad, I love these,” she said and threw her arms around him in an exuberant hug. “I really do dislike red roses.”
“So who's my competition?”
“Competition?” She scrunched her nose. “Don't be silly.”
“Well, if you don't want to tell meâ”
“Brad, I'm serious. I don't know who sent them. There was no card. I thought they came from you, and you didn't includeâ”
He shook his head and pointed to the bouquet she held. A small white envelope nestled among the leaves. Anne set Brad's bouquet down on the counter. Compared to its dainty pastels, the arrangement of blood-red roses seemed cold and almost sinister.
Pushing aside the silly notion, she reached for the envelope, eager to see what it said. She glanced at Brad, met his warm gaze then slid the card from the envelope. The message inside was written in a male scrawlâ
Will you be our Valentine
?
Love, Jennie and Jennie's Dad.
It was better than any greeting card. Anne stooped to give Jennie a big hug then rose and wrapped her arms around Brad's middle and gave him a squeeze, too.
“Nothing would make me happier, Jennie's Dad,” she whispered then stood on tiptoe, intending to give him a peck on the cheek.
Instead, Brad's hands bracketed her face, and he leaned down to touch his lips lightly to hers. A jolt of electricity shot through her as their lips connected. He must have felt it, too, as one of his hands moved to the back of her head, drawing her nearer for a deeper kiss. Aware of Jennie beside them, they separated after a moment then grinned at each other.
“So,” Brad began, “how soon can you close up so we can take you to dinner?”
“Dinner?”
“I thought we'd go to the Grand Villa for steak
.
Unless you have plans with your secret admirer,” he teased, pointing to the red roses.
Anne swatted his arm playfully then glanced at her watch. The shop wasn't scheduled to close for another half an hour. She never closed early, hating to disappoint any last minute customers. Still, no one had been in since Lila's visit earlier, and it was Valentine's Day, after all.
“Oh, I don't know,” she said. With a sense of mischief, she sent him a grin. “How about now?”
****
Brad and Jennie dropped Anne off at her apartment so she could change her clothes before dinner. She'd insisted on bringing home their arrangement of pink and white roses so she could enjoy it over the weekend. When Brad asked about the other roses, she shrugged and said they'd be fine at the shop until Monday. In honesty, she didn't want them in her apartment where she'd fret over who might have sent them to her. There was no sense in getting all worked up over nothing. For all she knew, they might have been from Myra. Maybe her boss had wanted them as a decoration in the shop. Anne would call the florist on Monday and get it straightened out.
While she freshened up, Brad and his daughter drove the deposit to the bank's night drop box. At first, Anne had been reluctant about having him do it and had argued she could make the run after she got home from dinner. But Brad had insisted, saying it would give him and Jennie something to do while Anne got ready.
“This way, you won't have to worry about it later. Besides,” he'd added with suggestive wink. “Maybe I have plans for dessert after dinner.”
Blushing at the memory of their earlier kiss, Anne tried to come up with a suitable reply. Before she could do so, Jennie saved the day.
“Dessert?” the little girl chimed in. “Are we going to get ice cream for dessert?”
Anne wished she'd had a camera. The shocked expression on Brad's face had been priceless. Apparently, he'd been so caught in the moment he'd forgotten they had a little audience. Laughing, she'd handed him the bank pouch.
“Go. Drop off the deposit. I'll be ready for dinner by the time you get back⦠we'll discuss dessert later.”
Now, she stood in front of her closet, studying the contents and wondering what to wear for dinner. Her wardrobe had grown a bit larger over the winter, so she had a few more options from which to choose. The Grand Villa was supposedly just a casual restaurant, neither too dressy nor too casual. But it was still a special occasion, and she wanted to look pretty. She flipped through several options, discarding each one. Finally, she decided on a pair of dressy, charcoal wool slacks from Goodwill and a new rose pink sweater. A matching pearl necklace and earrings, a Christmas gift from Myra and Ed, would add an elegant touch to the simple outfit.
She carried the garments into the bathroom to change and freshen up. After applying a touch of fresh lipstick, Anne considered her image in the mirror. Brad seemed to like her hair down, so she unfastened her ponytail tie and ran her fingers through the long strands. A few strokes with the hairbrush, and she was ready to go. She flipped off the light and returned to the other room just as a knock sounded at the door.
Expecting Brad, she threw open the door.
“Hi! I'm all set just let me get myâ”
“
Buona sera
, Annie.”
“Mario! Umm, hello.”
“Happy Valentine's Day,” the restaurateur said and glanced past her to the kitchen. “You are alone?”
The question made Anne uneasy, but she nodded.
“You should-a not open the door without checking,
cara.
I tell it to my Gina all-a time.” He offered her the white foam box he held. “I go to the shop to bring-a you some breadsticks, but is all closed up so I bring them here. You are very, very beautiful tonight, Annie.”
“Thank you,” she said, taking the box from him. It felt awkward not to invite him inside, but she'd feel more uneasy if she did. “I didn't realize you knew where I lived, Mario.”
If he noticed her uneasiness, nothing showed in the man's friendly manner.
“
Si, si!
Helyn, she tell-a me when you first move-a here. She's-a very happy to have nice girl like you for a tenant,” he explained. “Well, Mario must get back to the restaurant,
cara.
We are much busy tonight. You have the nice evening tonight and tell Mister Band Director your friend Mario say he is one very lucky man.”
Anne promised she would but had no intention of doing so. She stood in the doorway and watched Mario hurry down the steps then turn towards his restaurant. When he was halfway down the block, she finally went inside and closed the door, leaning against it with her heart thumping.
If Helyn told Mario where I live, who else might she have told?
“Hello. This is Anne Brown from The Stitching Post. I'd like to speak to someone about the delivery I received on Valentines' Day.”
“Good morning, Miss Brown. This is Pat Quinn. I'm the owner,” a cheery voice greeted over the phone line. “I hope those beautiful roses are holding up for you.”
Anne glanced toward the back of the shop and frowned. Until she could get to the bottom of who had sent them, the mere sight of the blood red roses had set her nerves on edge. She'd moved them to the work corner so she wouldn't have to see them each time she rang up a customer. “With all the deliveries you had, I'm surprised you remember my order.”
“Of course, I remembered.” Mrs. Quinn laughed. “We're always swamped with orders for red roses on Valentines' Day, but Mr. Carmichael's request was quiteâ”
“Brad sent them?” Anne gasped.
“You didn't know?” the florist sounded puzzled. “He said he and his daughter were heading right to your shop to deliver the bouquet in person. They didn't want them boxed, so I made sure to double wrap them. Roses, especially the miniature varieties like those are very delicate. I hope they arrived safely.”
“Oh they did. I absolutely love them,” Anne gushed. “But I'm not calling about the pink-and-white rose arrangement. I'm trying to find out about the other order â the dark red roses your shop delivered here. I couldn't find any card in the box with them.”
“Delivered?” the woman repeated. “I'm sorry I don't recall a delivery order, Miss Brown. One of my clerks must have handled the order. Can you hold one minute while I check our delivery log?”
“Of course,” Anne agreed. She heard the hum of a muted conversation as Mrs. Quinn spoke to someone else, but couldn't make out what was said.
Tilting her head to hold the phone against her shoulder, Anne picked up the pad next to the register to go over her
To Do
list while she waited. She'd only made a few notes on it when the florist came back on the line.
“Miss Brown, I'm sorry I can't help you. There's no work order in the books and no record of a delivery.”
“I understand,” Anne said. “The gentleman who delivered the roses said you were so busy his car was full of orders.”
“Car? All my drivers have vans. They needed them to hold as many orders as we had. I'm afraid your roses must have come from a different florist. Do you still have the box they arrived in? It should have the shop name printed on it.”
“I do, but the box is plain white.”
“Then I don't know what else to suggest⦔
“Wait! The man who delivered it had the name of your shop embroidered on his jacket.”
When there was no immediate answer, Anne wondered in Mrs. Quinn had hung up. Finally, the woman asked, “Can you describe him? If so, I can check his log and see if the flowers were meant for a different address.”
“Let me see.” Anne closed her eyes, picturing him. “About six foot tall and average build. I don't know his eye color, but he had close-cropped gray hair and was probably in his late fifties. Is that good enough?”
“Good enough for me to know it wasn't one of my people,” she replied. “I have one regular driver â my son â who is also a designer here. Micky is thirty and a red-head. The other drivers I hired to help last weekend are all high school kids, trying to make a few extra dollars.”
“Butâ”
“I'm very sorry, Miss Brown,” the florist apologized, “but there's nothing more I can do.”
Anne nodded, thanked the woman for her time then disconnected. She rubbed her arms, feeling a sudden chill.
Stop working yourself up over nothing
, she scolded.
She glanced outside. They weren't busy, and there were no cars arriving in the lot, so she decided to pop into Myra's office and send her boss an email. If she left the office door open, she'd be able to watch for anyone coming to the shop. After another quick glance out the window, she turned and hurried to the office.
It seemed to take forever for the shop computer to boot up. She recalled how her grandmother had always said, “The quicker you need something, the longer it seems to take.” Grams had meant bread rising and cakes baking, but computers obviously worked on the same principle. Finally, the welcome screen opened, and an envelope filled the screen, indicating new email.
Anne clicked on the envelope, delighted to see a note from StitchPost to StitchPost1 with the heading “Ready or Not, Here We Come!” Could it mean what she thought? A quick scan of the note confirmed it did. Myra and Ed were finally returning to Michigan. Her boss wanted to make sure Anne had her cell phone number since she and Ed were leaving Florida sometime during the week and would be offline while they travelled. Anne copied down the phone number on a piece of scratch paper then tucked it in her pocket. She could wait until she saw Myra in person to ask her about the flowers.
As long as she was on the computer, Anne decided to check OTIS. She'd been so busy with Brad and Jennie recently it had been more than a week since she'd gone there to check her ex-husband's status. She was about to open the browser page when she heard the jingle of the bell on the shop door. She glanced toward the entrance and saw Sylvia and her daughter Lynne.
“Hi. I'll be right with you,” she called. Leaving the computer turned on so she could check it later, she rose from the chair and went to greet her friend. “Sorry. I was in the office on the computer.”
“What unusual roses,” Lynne said, pointing to the vase on the table near the office door.
“From a certain band director?” Sylvia asked.
“No. He brought me the loveliest vase of pink-and-white roses,” Anne said, unable to ignore the happy feeling she had whenever she mentioned Brad and his daughter. She smiled. “I took them home with me on Saturday.”
“How wonderful,” her friend said with a matching smile then pointed to the dark roses in the back. “So who sent those?”
Anne shrugged. “I wish I knew,” she confided. “There wasn't a card in the box. When I called the florist, who I thought delivered them, Mrs. Quinn said they didn't come from her place.”
“Was the florist's name on the box?”
“No, it was just a plain white box. But I could have sworn the delivery man's jacket had the shop's name on it.”
“Have you tried the other area florists?” Sylvia asked.
“Not yet. I just got off the phone with Mrs. Quinn a few minutes before you came in,” Anne replied.
“Well, I'm glad they aren't from your friend,” Lynne said, wrinkling her nose. “They're very elegant but the red is so dark they remind me of the kind of roses you always see in vampire flicks. You know, the ones they always describe as âblood red' roses.”
“Lynne!” Her mother gasped.
“She's right, Sylvia,” Anne agreed. “I admit I was glad when I found out they weren't from Brad. His roses were so sweet, but these⦠well, I know they're stunning but they have a bit of an âick' factor, too.”
“Forget the flowers,” she said dismissing them with a wave of her hand. “What can I help you two with this morning? Are we looking for some nursery fabric?”
“You sound just like Mom.” Lynne laughed. “Sorry to disappoint everyone, but no babies for Ron and me⦠at least not yet. I'm here to get material to start a table runner for spring. Mom said you got in some Easter fabric.”
“Yes. It came in last week,” Anne said and pointed to the shelves where the seasonal fabrics were stocked.
“Can you believe we're already talking about Easter? It seems like yesterday we were helping you get the band's costumes ready for the Thanksgiving parade. The months just seem to fly byâ”
“See what happens when you get up there in years, Mom?” Lynne teased. “Time rushes by.”
“All the more reason to give me grandkids before I'm too feeble to enjoy them,” Sylvia shot back. Anne chuckled at the loving banter between the two women as they headed over to the new selection.
If Mom hadn't disappeared, would she and I be like that with each other?
Anne wondered.
She hoped so. But try as she might, she could only remember flashes of a soft-spoken woman, who had loved to cook and always smelled like gardenias.
