But eventually, I had bills to pay.
Grief did not stop rent from being due.
It didn’t pay suppliers or keep my shop running.
So three months after his funeral, I finally agreed to start taking wedding jobs again.
I told myself work might help.
That morning, another florist I sometimes worked with called in sick and asked if I could cover a wedding for her.
She sounded miserable.
“I know it’s last minute,” she said. “I wouldn’t ask unless I really needed you.”
I looked around my shop.
Buckets of roses sat near the cooler.
My assistant was already organizing deliveries.
Every part of me wanted to say no.
“I’ll do it,” I said.
A few hours later, I was arranging flowers at a reception venue I’d never worked at before when I saw a familiar woman near the entrance.
Colleen.
For a second, I thought grief was playing another trick on me.
Then she turned slightly.
It was definitely her.
I almost called out to her.
Then she saw me.
Her expression shifted from neither sadness nor surprise into something resembling fear.
She immediately turned away and disappeared down a side hallway.
That was strange.
Colleen and I hadn’t spoken much since Adrian died, but why would she hide from me?
I followed her.
“Colleen?”
She stopped.
For a second, she just stared at me.
“Meredith?”
“What exactly are you doing here right now?”
She looked nervous.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“I’m working. I’m the florist.”
“Here?”
“Yes. Why?”
Before she could answer, a wedding coordinator hurried toward us.
“Ms. Colleen, we’ve been looking everywhere for you. The groom needs his mother.”
I stared at Colleen.
For a moment, that seemed to explain everything.
Adrian had an older brother, Julian.
Of course.
This must be his wedding.
Julian and I had always gotten along well.
He had been quieter than Adrian, but he was kind to me.
At holidays, he was usually the person helping me carry dishes into the kitchen while everyone else argued over football.
