no two hearts;

Callum wants to open his mouth and protest that she’s doing just fine by herself, but it would only sound insincere with Freddie’s rather illustrious career so clearly laid out in front of them. “Yeah, alright, his face is plastered all across town,” he admits with a lighthearted eyeroll. “But man, c’mon. Anything would pale in comparison to something like that. If we’re throwing a pity party, I’ve had to move back in with Mum. And Becca.“ His shoulders move in an exaggerated shudder, almost comical, as he mentions his baby sister. The gesture is a mask over his frustrations — he had headed off to the big city, only to come back with nothing but a sense of shame, crippling anxiety, and some meager internship experience. It worries him, thinking about what his future is supposed to look like, now that the one goal he’d put all his passion into failed to work out. (The worst of it gets him at night, his mind wandering off, obsessing about what-could-have-beens and agonizing over depressing possibilities.)

“It’s okay. Letting it all out helps.” He shrugs. If only he could follow his own advice. The quiet of the flower shop weighs down on his shoulders suddenly, clogging his throat with shame — which doesn’t make sense, honestly, because Cal knows this isn’t something to be ashamed about. Ada of all people is not going to be judgmental. Still, words will not come easy.

"Anyway,” he grins, switching topics with a sigh. “Is it just me, or did the Cove get loads of new residents while I was away? Are we popular now?”

__

“We really pulled the short sticks, huh?” Ada laughs softly, hoping to lighten mood slightly. “You know, Cal--moving back home doesn’t make you any less able to succeed one day, right? It’s a little setback, that’s all. There are few people I believe in the way I believe in you, kiddo,” she smiles. “A setback is a setback, and those aren’t life ending. Sometimes they help us find the things that matter most to us.” She’s known Cal long enough to know when something is bothering him--some weight on his shoulders, but she doesn’t want to pry. Prying doesn’t make people comfortable enough to open up to you when they’re ready, it only pushes them away.

[ closed starter for @adaedwards @ohmaude ]

Her phone buzzes in her pocket. Jude doesn’t need to check it to know it’s either her father or step-mum trying to contact her, their egos surely still smarting after Jude didn’t show up to dinner at Triton with them. Good.

It buzzes again. She turns it off this time, finishes her pint, and contemplates the Knight and Grail’s dessert menu before her. She can’t decide what she wants, but perhaps she doesn’t have to? Impulsively (and perhaps somewhat petulantly), she addresses the two people closest to her.

“I’m going to order every dessert on the menu and I want you both to try them with me.” Jude informs. “It’s my birthday so you can’t say no, or that the sugar will rot my teeth.”

__

Ada’s still nursing her wounds after seeing Freddie again. It had been a successful 5 years since she’d had her last real thought about how much he broke her heart. Seeing him again only reopened the wound like a child tearing through wrapping paper on Christmas morning, haphazard and careless. A night out with friends would be good for her--and celebrating Jude’s birthday would be an excellent reason to think about anything else. She grabbed a light jacket (she did always get cold in pubs) and the wrapped gift she’d made for Jude, a small 15x15cm painting of poppies (August’s birth flower) overlooking the coastline of the Cove and headed down to the Knight and Grail.

“I’d never turn down desert,”Ada grinned. “you know I’d do anything for some sticky toffee pudding right about now--ooh, or banoffee pie with ice cream piled high.”

“Traveling mostly–contributing to my mother’s certainty that I am physically incapable of sitting still, and also I’m going to get stabbed to death in an alley no one knows about in a country she didn’t know I’d gone to, leaving her all alone and grandchild-less forever. You know–Mum things.” He smiled and shrugged at her, bringing the jade plant to the counter and finally looking her in the eyes again. “I started writing when I moved back to Glasgow, but mostly I just kept to myself. Spent a while diving for the Port Authority, fetching up things that fell overboard, cleaning up and making sure the jetties weren’t crumbling, that sort of thing.”

He laughed. “I just don’t think it’s worth the fuss. I’m proud of the work I’ve done, but it’s not that special, and it’s only a piece of what I’ve done with my life. I want to do so much more.” Looking in her eyes, he shivered suddenly, like someone had drawn a finger down his spine. “RCA? Ada, I’m so proud of you, that’s beyond amazing. I’m so glad you got to do that. She’d be so happy that you’ve done that, and it wouldn’t ever be a waste but she would love that you’re still doing what you love. It’s really remarkable.” He couldn’t read her face, which was strange and in and of itself, because god, what had the world come to that he didn’t know what Ada was thinking? “I’ve got to go pretty soon, but I am sticking around. I’m trying to let my roots grow again, I’m trying. I’ve never been very good at sitting still, but I want to do better, and I want to do some more writing and have some privacy again.”

__

“Right,” Ada nodded. Mum things. “It’s good that you got to do some traveling--it must have been really nice to get away from everything for a while and try a bunch of new things--” she paused, knowing her tone was edging its way to bitter as opposed to excited. Excited that he was off experiencing the world while she stayed put, in London and then back home. Stayed put making sure everyone in her family kept themselves together for just a little while longer. “Oh, Glasgow--that must have been interesting. It’s quite rowdy there,” Ada chuckled, “‘least that’s what Mum said, but she was from Edinburgh so her word’s a bit biased.” 

Ada shook her head, “my, that’s not like you Freddie--you should be proud of your work. You were always going on about how I wasn’t nearly proud enough of my art. I’d argue it’s harder to write a book than slap some oils on a canvas,” she added. “Well, I didn’t stay long. I came back home that October, my birthday actually, and I’ve been here ever since,” she bit at her lip. “Thank you, Freddie. That’s very kind. You know she’d be proud of you too, right? She always said you were the little boy she never had,” Ada smiled softly, “She had me post letters to you and Lettie. Well, I say post--I just walked to your old place and gave it to your mum. I’m sure your mum gave it to you, I just want to make sure it got to where it was meant to go, that’s all,” she sighed. “It’s nice to have you back, Freddie. I gather this means I’ll be seeing you every Friday for Lettie’s flowers? I’ll make note of that in my notes. They’ll be ready for you--you’ll just need to come by and pick them up.” So you’ll be in and out--maybe I can work with Auntie to have her here on Fridays--that way I won’t have to see him. Ada wrapped a yellow ribbon around the vase of flowers and held them out to Freddie. “And, here you go--on the house, of course.”

__

“She’s one of the best people in the world, and she deserves every possible bit of love we can show her.” He couldn’t help blushing when she mentioned other women, but he hoped maybe she wouldn’t notice if he focused intently on a particular jade plant. “Actually, the gents always seemed more charmed, but the fact that I can keep my houseplants alive seems to impress just about everyone.” He shrugged, picking up the plant to feel the weight of it in his hands and inspect the leaves, to give himself something to do besides study her face and catalogue every small change.

He used to know her face better than he knew his own; no matter the changes, her eyes were the same, and Freddie couldn’t tell even himself he hadn’t been dreaming about them for a decade. Her, this place, the tree in her front yard where they’d spent so much time. Everything green was Ada. It went against every instinct he had not to reach out and run his thumb along her cheekbone, but he knew he couldn’t–and the only person to blame for it was himself. Instead, he gripped the little clay pot in his hands until his knuckles turned white, realizing he’d probably end up taking it home just to keep himself from doing something stupid.

“Oh god, please just throw it in the bin. My professional recommendation is that you borrow it from the library for the sake of civic responsibility and then return it unread, please.” His face was getting redder, he could tell, and he could barely contain his sigh of relief when she changed the subject. “You’re still painting? Ada, that’s wonderful! And commissions, that’s extraordinary–not that I’m surprised, you’ve always been so talented. But I’m so glad for you, really. Oh man, little Cal? I think the universe just wants me to feel like a kid again. Except for the restlessness, this time around. I think I’ll be around for a while. It’s been too long since I stayed in one place–I need to make sure I still remember how.”

___

“It’s nice to know Georgiana’s green thumb rubbed off on you too,” Ada smiled. “I gather you lived quite a life away from here--what did you get up to while you were away?” Ada picked a glass vase from the wall behind her and gathered some peonies, anemones, and several sunflowers from behind the desk and began organizing them in a pattern she thought worthy of being given to Lettie. It was easier to look at the flowers than to see Freddie again. 

Ada once knew every inch of Freddie’s body like the back of her hand. She could trace patterns the freckles on his back from their long summer days in the sunshine with her fingers. In nearly every portrait she’s ever painted she unintentionally painted his eyes; his stupid bright blue eyes that would shimmer from within when he looked at her. She imagined that now when he looked at her that light was gone. Why would he still look at her the same way? He’s the one who left--not her. He left--he’s the one who abandoned her to seek his great perhaps while she watched as the life she imagined for herself walked out that door too. 

“It can’t be that bad,” Ada paused the arranging of flowers and grabbed her backpack from beside the register. From within she pulled her father’s copy of his book out from the bag. “If it makes you feel better--this isn’t my copy, it’s Dad’s. Also, I’ve not yet even opened the thing,” she laughed softly. “I think you’re once again not giving yourself enough credit.” She put the book down on the counter and returned to fussing with the flowers. “Yes, still painting--would have been a waste for me to go to school in London for it if I just gave up now, no? I was studying at the RCA when Mum got sick. She would kill me if I stopped painting because of her,” she swallowed hard. Talking about her mother in the past tense was something Ada refused to do. Surely Georgiana had not actually died--she’d only gone away for a while, that’s all. One day this will all be over and things would be back to the way they should be. “Yes, Cal works here too. I let him take the afternoon to head to the shore. He did an awful lot of work today that it was only fair of me to let him go have some fun,” she laughed. “You’ll be staying for a while?” Ada had hoped that wouldn’t be the case--she hoped he’d be visiting Lettie and then be off again on some grand adventure instead of haunting her like a ghost. “Right. I remember, you never were one for staying in one place.”

“I do remember that.” His face adopts a look of faux contemplation. (Cal’s own memories of Ada become more vivid starting from, say, his years at St. George. Anytime before that is a bit fuzzy, as childhood memories often are, aided by photographs and home videos.) “I also remember that weird little dance routine you used to do to Wannabe—”

Like anyone else, he was shocked to learn that Ada and Freddie had broken up, yet were both back in town for their own reasons. She’s never really talked about it until now. He listens intently, both hands casually gripping the broom as he leans on it; as much as he claims to detest how gossip-obsessed the small town of King Arthur’s Cove is, Callum does love a good spilling of tea. His face softens, lips pressed together to form a thin line. The hurt and disappointment in her voice almost makes him regret asking about it altogether. (Almost. Because he needs to know! How can he be of help if he doesn’t know what happened?)

“That sounds awful, Ada. Sorry you had to go through all that,” he mutters. Freddie’s a nice bloke. Weird how he didn’t tell her why he was leaving. “Well, you know I’m here if you need a distraction.” Cal has never been good at the whole comforting thing. “Or, I dunno, someone to hit the pubs with.”

__

“Weird little dance routine to Wannabe?” She recoils in faux horror. “I’ll have you know it’s the actual dance routine from the video, Cal.” She laughs, “I really failed you as an educator of culture if you don’t know that.”

“It was hurtful when he left,” she pauses, “and it hurt for a long while afterwards--but I was just about in the clear when he showed back up here a successful author. And what do I have to show for the last decade, Cal? A middling career as an artist, a dead mom, and working at the same place I worked as a teenager?” 

“I don’t blame you for that. I lived there most of my life, and I think I’ve mostly had my fill of it. I actually really enjoy the pace of this place,” he explained. Though if he ever moved back to London, he was pretty sure he would want to live on one of the outskirts of the city - away from where the tourists stayed. “Oh, it wouldn’t be near any cats. It’s an office plant. Anyway, I don’t have pets. I’m a bit too busy for them. And even though I know cats are more independent than dogs, I would still feel like i am neglecting them.”

__

“Growing up in a small town that has the pace of molasses, when it’s not summer time at least, is something I’m really happy I had the experience of. I got to have one of those Hollywood childhoods,” lost childhood sweetheart and all, she thought. “Ah, so you don’t have an office cat? I should say--we don’t technically have an office cat--but someone in the neighborhood lets their cat wander during the day and he likes to sleep on our floor in the sunshine,” she grinned. “Ah, so you’re a busy guy--I hope you don’t mind me asking what you do. Oh, and I’m Ada by the way--should have probably said that earlier. I’m not great with introductions,” she said waving coyly. 

STATUS: open! LOCATION: the beach

He groans at his phone screen. The text from Becs is a half-arsed apology about leaving him to pack up all their stuff (their beach towels, a canvas tote full of snacks and water courtesy of Mum, her paperpack copy of Jade City), since she’s off to hang out with her friends. Fucking ridiculous. Who does she think she is? Callum sits up with a huff, propping himself up on his elbows, a pair of funky sunglasses perched atop his nose. He grabs his sister’s abandoned beach towel next to his spot to put it away, shaking off the sand a little too harshly — and sending some of it flying off toward the unassuming beachgoer nearby.

“Oh, God. Sorry. Did it get in your clothes?”

Ada is sprawled out on her beach towel smothered in a questionable combination of tanning oil and suncream (the suncream being a recent addition to her beach day skincare routine) with a book across her face blocking the sun from her eyes. Her eyes are closed as she tries, tries being the operative word, to take a nap in the warm sunshine like those street cats she sees on her walk to work. As soon as she feels herself slipping into the sweet, sweet embrace of summertime sunshine, the sensation of sand begins to fall on her. GREAT. She bolts up and tosses the book to the side, almost ready to shout, but the familiar voice of Cal fills the air and her mood softens. Clearly it was an accident then.

___ God, after all this time, he couldn’t help but smile back at her; something about the straight and narrow civility of the whole encounter set his teeth on edge, but Ada still made him smile, even if she wasn’t sticking her tongue out at him or giving him the devastating tongue-lashing he definitely deserved. “I know the differences between a dozen kinds of roses and even more lilies, but I never could actually do anything with that knowledge.” He shrugged. “It is what it is. I just hope you know that it means the world to me, is all. Mum’s all I’ve got, and I’d do anything to make sure she’s happy, and you’ve been a big part of that.” Freddie felt his heart squeeze at the mention of Georgiana, but he kept his smile on and didn’t say anything; whatever it meant to him was a drop in the well to what it was for Ada. He wanted to hold her again, just to make her feel better–he wished that wouldn’t just make them both feel worse. Of course, then she brought up the book, the fucking book, and sure, it was nice to be recognized for his work and to have all of that effort and time (and, maybe just a little, the entire sum of his existence) validated, but he didn’t want that to be the only thing he was ever acknowledged for, especially around here–and then, on the heels of that thought: Oh god, had Ada read the book? That just seemed like too much. “Thank you,” he said, maybe a little too quickly, eager to change the subject as quickly as possible. “Oh, I wouldn’t call what I’ve been doing lately adventures–it’s been a while since I’ve been on a proper one. I’d really just like some peace and quiet, though it’s quickly becoming an adventure of its own.” If he asked her about the weather he’d have to throw himself into traffic, but now that they were finally here the last thing he wanted to do was leave her again, so he paused (maybe for a little too long) and asked, “What have you been doing with yourself these days? The Cove has never exactly run over with ways to keep yourself occupied.” Of course, that was probably the wrong thing to say, but he couldn’t take it back now.

__

“I couldn’t let her go without flowers,” Ada smiled softly, shoving her hands into her apron pockets. “She’s always been so kind to me and my family, it’s really the least I could do. Besides, it’s not like we’re selling out of flowers,” she gestured around the shop full of potted plants and succulents, bouquets of any flowers from floor to ceiling, and a fridge full of more in the back room. “I’m glad you remember your types of roses. That must have made all the girls in London very happy.”

Ada rehearsed in the mirror of her childhood bedroom, the very bedroom she still slept in after all these years, what she’d say to him if she ever saw him again. She’d glance into the closet and see the box of the dress she’d picked out pushed into the back corner; it was covered in duct tape, a ploy to keep her from opening the box and destroying what was inside--after all, she’d never be able to wear it--but she couldn’t bring herself to throw it away. She’d pretend he was standing in front of her and she’d calmly tell him how much it hurt to see him. How much it hurt to know he could walk away from her--walk away from her for the assumption she’d be giving up her future and her dreams to be with him--too blind to see that he was what she wanted. He was the portrait she’d painted of her future and he ripped it from her like a piece of unwanted mail. But she binned all of that--there was no point. It wouldn’t change the past; it wouldn’t make her feel any better to bring ghosts into this. 

“Yes, I agree. There absolutely is. Sometimes I miss London, but I love being able to walk here as well. And I live close to the beach, which I enjoy greatly. The good thing about this place is that Americans don’t really know about it. They go to London or Liverpool. So the tourists here are usually not American,” he grinned. Will looked at the plant as the woman wrote down the instructions. “I can do that. That’s absolutely the kind of plant I can take care of,” he said. “I’ll take two of ‘em.”

“London’s great and all,” she shrugged, “but I think I had my full living there during uni. I met enough people, saw enough of the sights, but I think I’m done with London for now. Maybe that will change--but I don’t think someone like me is cut out for the big city.” Ada laughed at the mention of American tourists--he wasn’t wrong, not having them around did make things a bit easier. Otherwise the summer season at the Cove would be hellish. That was the other thing she didn’t miss about London--the seemingly endless stream of Americans taking up both sides of the sidewalk looking at their stupid phones. “Aye, I think it’s the kind of plant most anyone can take care of. Just don’t let any cats chew on it--it’s poisonous.”

—-

Stella nods knowingly. As someone who reads on the boat as a pleasurable pastime, she gets it. “Sometimes it just feels there are books you are obligated to read in life.” Pressing her lips together, she thinks for a moment. “Those are the books I usually hate, though. Don’t really like the collective mind telling me I should like something.” She thought Pride and Prejudice was a bit boring. Not enough murder.

“That’s a good point,” Ada laughs. “I remember having to read Jane Eyre in school and hating it. It wasn’t just the story either--I’m not good at being told what to do,” she looks down at the stack roses in front of her and picks a few more to add to the arrangement. “I don’t know if I’m obligated to read it or not, but I just want to figure out whether my ex put me in his book or not. Curiosity killed the cat and what not.”

“My taste in music has always been and always will be impeccable,” he announces, shooting a mock glare at her. The leftover bits and pieces collected in the dustpan are emptied out into a trashcan, the cleaning tools put away behind the counter. The finished arrangement looks good — as it does at every occasion under Ada’s skilled hands.

Ada and Freddie used to be the young couple of the town, all the old ladies doting over them, until they weren’t. What with Ada having been his babysitter when he was a wee child, he naturally grew up closer to her than Freddie, hearing her side of their story more often. But she’s been rather secretive about what went down between her and her ex-boyfriend. Callum would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious. “Yeah, bit difficult to avoid your ex when he’s a celebrated author,” he quips dryly. “He’s your best mate, right? Or was? I dunno. Can’t just pretend things are back to normal with someone like that. Must be awkward.” Then again, he doesn’t know if they broke up on amiable terms. “You ran into him yet?”

“Your music taste has always been impeccable, that is true--but who is the one who babysat you to that music? Hm?” Ada winks, crossing her arms across her chest. She wished at that moment she could spontaneously sink into the slate floor of the flower shop and never be seen again--but instead she watches as Cal finishes up sweeping the floor.

“Maybe they’re looking for a change of pace. Though going from one tourist area to another doesn’t sound much like a change. Oh well,” he shrugged. “Yes, I’ve been told my office is too boring and it needs life in it. So I thought a plant would be a good place to start. Succulents may be the right thing for me to get. I don’t want to kill a plant, and it’s potted.” Will laughed a bit at the moody teenager joke. “Do you have instructions on caring for one? I can follow instructions.”

__

“Certainly a change of pace between here and London, that’s for sure. London tourists are a whole different breed--especially the American ones” Ada chuckled. “I’m happy to give you instructions,” Ada grabbed a pen and paper and wrote down three steps. “First, this is a Sansevieria trifasciata or a Snake plant. It’s not technically a succulent, but it functions like one. They thrive off of being ignored just like succulents do. You’ll want to keep it in bright light and water only when the soil is dry--or if you leave it a month or two and forget to water it, throw some water on it and it’ll be fine. They’re not hard at all,” she smiled, “and if you do somehow kill it, I’ll replace it for free.”

-

Stella blinks, the person before her running off a slew of questions that she was prepared for. “Uhm–…” Sure, she checks the weather every morning. She has to if she’s going out on the ocean. “Shouldn’t rain until dark.” She blinks hard and looks down, shuffling to take out her phone, checking again. “Yeah, still says after dark.” She clears her throat, unsure of what to do with all this information presented to her. “But I’m sure that book needs you.”

__

“Thanks, Stella--I appreciate it,” Ada smiles. “I think you’re right, maybe I should just read the book. It’s more of a read to get over with it than a read for enjoyment sort of deal if that makes sense,” she pauses for a minute and stares at the roses in front of her, moving one of the larger ones to the middle to make room for more baby’s breath, “It’s like life homework,” she mused. “Yeah, life homework.”

“Oh, brilliant. That’d be solid meme material,” he declares. “You had me at Hozier.” And the crying in the rain part, too. That would be the kind of bizarre depression-related humour that caters to all the poor sad kids scrolling through the Internet. But during the (brief?) three weeks, Callum has not opened up to anyone outside his family about the real reason behind his return, including Ada ― which is why he will keep mum, for now, about how he himself is very much one of those sad bastards.

“Freddie? Freddie Wentworth’s book?” The younger boy gapes at Ada, then his eyes narrow, pointing at her with the handle of the broom. “Feelings are gross, I agree, but you’re supposed to be the sensible one between us two.” Then again, her explanation sort of makes sense. Sort of. “Well, is it any good? Hang on, are you in it?”

“First--Hozier is always a good idea and I’m happy to know you’re a Hoezier, your sense of taste didn’t leave when you went off into the big city, clearly. Second, what have I always said,” Ada pointed at herself, “if I don’t become a meme at some point in my life, what’s this all been for?” she smirked. “But what’s being a meme if you can’t be a meme with your little brother.” 

Arabella gave the stranger a sympathetic look. “I’ll do it for you since I don’t work here – Hey Siri, what’s the weather like tomorrow?” Arabella asked her phone. The phone brightened in her palm and gave a very thorough report. “Well there you go then!”

She perked up at the sound of hydrangeas. “Have you got the pink ones by any chance? They’ll look really nice at my house, I reckon, or that’s what my sister once told me.”

___

“Thanks, mate,” Ada laughed. “I appreciate the help--you and Siri both did the heavy lifting for me.”

“Oh yeah--we have some pink ones in. Fun fact, did you know the color of hydrangeas is dependent upon the PH in the soil? So you could feasibly have purchased two identical hydrangea seeds or bushes and plant them in two different places in your yard and they’d be different colors?” Ada smiled--none of that was all that fun of a fact, but it at least interested her. “Let me grab a cutting for you,” Ada disappeared for a moment before returning with a single pink hydrangea flower and handing it to the woman. “This year’s crop is stunning--I don’t know if this helps, but they’re a really great rounded off shape. Like a perfect top to a muffin--or frosting on a cupcake. They smell wonderful too--though maybe a bit strong for some people. They were my Mum’s favorite--all of ours here at the shop come from her old garden.”

❂

Callum pauses mid-sweep to look up, meeting his friend’s gaze. The floor of the shop, covered in odd cut-off pieces of flower stem, petals, and leaves, is now halfway clean. “I’d say take your chances. Set up a garden umbrella. Let yourself be absolutely fuckin’ drenched when it rains. Have a little moment of pure unhinged passion. Poetic. Recipe for a masterpiece,” he says, gesturing with his broom purely for theatrical emphasis, though he isn’t completely joking. “What’re you reading?”

❂

“Maybe I’ll pull one of those TikTok moves and lie unmoving on the sand as the rain just absolutely drenches me,” Ada chuckled. “Maybe I’ll have you come by and film it for me. Surely I’ll get a few likes on TikTok. We can call it ‘27 Year Old Cries to Hozier in the Pouring Rain. Something fun like that--all those cottagecore people will surely like it. Hozier’s in the title!” She laughed, finishing up the bouquet and hopping onto the barstool behind her. “Well, if I tell you what I’m reading can you keep it a secret? It’s...it’s Freddie’s book. Before you say it’s a bad idea--I’ve heard he’s back in town and if we run into each other I want to have something to talk to him about other than what happened between us. Feelings are gross, Cal.”

you were my town || freddie & ada

Carole King had to be a cosmic joke. Freddie wondered if anyone had ever thought those words in that order before. And then he thought of all the times he’d laid on the floor and listened to Tapestry and thought of Ada. And then he realized that he was still standing in front of a very real Ada, staring at her with his mouth slightly open and methodically clenching and unclenching his hands. He wondered if he was going to be sick. He wondered if this would have actually been worse if Auntie Isobel had been working today. He tried to remember how to speak.

“Peonies would be gorgeous. Maybe some anemones? But I trust you–you’ve always had better taste than me.” He looked down at the floor. “She’s always sent me pictures of the bouquets when you send them, she’s mad for them. Thank you for always sending them–I think it made it easier for her, me not…being here.” He glanced at the floor again, hoping that maybe a chasm would open in the earth and swallow him whole before he had to say anything else.

No such luck, of course. A smart man would probably have the left the shop immediately after walking in and gone back to having flowers delivered, but Freddie had never known when to quit; his mother said he burned his hand on the stove four times as a child before he learned to stop touching it. “You look… You look well, Ada. And the shop looks marvelous.” 

___

Ada made the decision that if she ever saw Freddie again--she would do three things. The first being, do not cry--which was going well so far. The second, act like a normal person--that also seemed like it was going quite well. The third, do not let it break you, was--well, let’s just say not going as well as the other two points in her instruction manual of how to deal with your soul--well, former soulmate. She stood up straighter and continued to brush the dirt off of her apron. Don’t let him see anything, Ada. You’ve got this. Just another customer. He’s just another person. What’s past is past.

Ada blushed, “I wouldn’t say I have better taste than you, I just think I spent more time watching our moms is all,” she shrugged. Okay, this is going well--civil, cordial. “Of course I send her bouquets, Freddie. She’s--” she paused for a second. “She’s a very special person to me, is all. And besides, everyone deserves flowers, even for the silliest of reasons. Mum always said that. I used to think she was just trying to sell flowers to confused partners, but now I think she’s right. Funny how that works,” she crossed her arms against her chest.

“Thank you, Freddie. Isobel and I have tried very hard to keep the shop up--Mum always did such a brilliant job, it’s hard to stand in that shadow,” she frowned a bit, playing with the string of her apron. Oh, great job Ada. Bring up your dead mother in front of him--that doesn’t feel at all strange. Wonderful work, idiot. “You look well. I heard about your book--the whole town’s been talking about it. Congratulations. Really, it’s wonderful. I’m very proud of you,” she felt her face reddening. “What brings you back home? You get tired of all your adventures--or are you just in search of some peace?”