Flowershop Boys: Melancholy Marigolds: A Contemporary M/M Romance Page 5

  Michael’s face heats up further at the thought, before he cringes inwardly; it’s true they’ve never agreed aloud to be faithful to each other, but there’s an unspoken promise there that Michael’s taken for granted until now.

  It’s that same promise that tells him this petty revenge against Devin will backfire on him. That it’ll only end up hurting them both.

  “We’re not together,” he finishes lamely. It strikes him then how much easier it is to lie, than to tell the truths that need telling. Truths like I love you and I’m angry at you but I forgive you.

  The girl laughs, the sound of it clear, like hand bells, and not the deep, throaty laugh Michael’s used to. Her eyes are bright and sharp, like fine-cut sapphires, her hair like spun gold; nothing like the soft, honey-blond of Devin’s, the dark sea-blue of his eyes with its fathomless depths.

  “People usually ask for a name first, before a date,” she says, snapping him from his wandering thoughts.

  “Oh,” Michael says stupidly. “I thought…right, yes. What is your name?”

  “It’s Elle,” she smiles. He notices Elle doesn’t ask his name, until he realizes it’s only emblazoned across the nametag pinned to his apron, something he hasn’t had time to make for Devin yet. “You don’t do this much, do you?” she says kindly. “This dating thing?”

  “No,” Michael admits. Things have always been so easy with Devin; Devin leads and he follows, and he’s never questioned the way things have gone until now. “And it doesn’t have to be a date,” he says, trying to sound casual. “Just—just dinner.”

  “Uh huh,” Elle says, uncapping the marker they use for writing appointments and taking down messages for cards and arrangements. She pens a number on his wrist, the digits scrawled wide and loopy on his skin. “I’m free at six tonight,” she says, with an odd half-smile.

  “Great,” says Michael, trying to sound enthusiastic, but he’s already racking his brain for a way to let her down easy later. “I’ll, um. I’ll call you.”

  When Devin comes back out with the roses he went to get, he says, “Everything okay out here?”

  “Yeah.” Michael swallows. If Devin finds out he accidentally scored a date he wasn’t expecting, he’ll never live it down. Besides, it’ll probably be good for Michael to get out of the shop for a bit. To clear his head. “Just fine.”

  “Fine,” Devin echoes, nodding. His eyes stray to the door of the shop, where Elle’s still making her way across the street, but he doesn’t say anything after that.

  * * *

  “I need the truck,” Michael lies, later. “To make some deliveries.” He’s loaded the backseat of the old Chevy with a few bouquets that he’s going to pretend to deliver.

  “Deliveries.” Devin raises a brow. “Right. That’d be a good idea, except we’ve never offered that service before.” He half-crowds Michael into the wall, boxing him in with an arm. “Look, Michael, can we just. Can we talk about—”

  “I’m going now,” Michael says, too loud and unnatural, and he ducks beneath Devin’s arm, pushing through the door of the shop before Devin can get another word in.

  He drives aimlessly for the better part of an hour, just thinking and brooding about how best to talk things over with Devin—he can’t avoid him indefinitely—before picking Elle up at six from her cousin’s. It’s a little flat in the city that she stays at when she’s in town, within walking distance of the flower shop.

  Michael decides to take her to an Italian place five blocks down from the shop, called Pacino’s or Pacina’s, an authentic-sounding name he can never remember, that does an equally authentic linguine and baked seafood lasagna to die for. He’s tried taking Devin to this place on numerous occasions, but Devin’s never liked it.

  Real food is thick layers of pasta with meat. Not tiny bowls of tossed spaghetti with miniature meatballs that cost a fortune, Devin had said each time, folding his arms over his chest, like that was the end of it. And any of Michael’s further attempts to inject ‘culture’ into Devin’s routine had been met with his bullish stubbornness.

  Elle is the complete opposite, however, thumbing through each page of the menu repeatedly. “There are so many choices!” she exclaims. “I can’t choose just one.” The cluster of apple blossoms Michael gave her when they met up sits to the side, their petals plump and pink, indicative of a promise. They complement her carnation-pink cardigan perfectly.

  She finally settles for the gnocchi with Arrabbiata sauce, and Michael orders a simple seafood linguine for himself. While they wait for their food, Elle leans forward, hands clasped together, intrigued.

  “So?” she says, her eyes bright. “Your parents must be huge fans of the Lord of the Rings series, to name you after the one of the characters. Do you have an older brother named Devin, too?”

  Michael grins. “I do. And you? Do you have a brother named Éomer?”

  Elle cringes. “Yeah. And after him, any dreams of having a normal name went out the window.

  I might have been…I don’t know. An Elizabeth. Or an Ella.” She shrugs.

  “It could’ve been worse,” Michael laughs in response. “You could’ve been named Elephant. Or Eggplant.”

  That’s the ice broken in the work of a few seconds, and they end up moving on to other topics, like the flowers she buys when she’s in, white lilies, for her uncle who’s in the city hospital, ill; her brother, who runs the ranch their uncle used to own, just outside the city, breeding horses and arranging horse-riding lessons.

  He starts to notice how often she talks about her brother, and the way her face brightens when she mentions how proud she is of him, of having mastered the goings-on of the ranch with just a little help from a few friends. Can’t help but wonder if she’s a little bit in love with her brother, the way Michael is with his. Except in his case, it’s rather a lot, and all their conversation does is remind him of how much he misses Devin, even in the span of the hours they haven’t talked. How he misses Devin so much it hurts.

  And he likes this, the ambience, the food, Elle’s company, and she’s stunning and lovely, but her laugh is light and not the deep, genuine rumble of Devin’s; her hand is small and pale when he dares to cover it with his, and not the broad, warm palms that Devin will curl around his when he’s sure no one is looking.

  “Michael,” she says, suddenly.

  Michael startles and looks up. “Yeah?” he says, before he realizes how terribly impolite that seems, as if he hasn’t been paying attention.

  “You seem kind of distracted,” Elle says, with a smile that seems almost knowing. “Thinking about something else? Or,” she adds, “someone else?” And either she’s that astute, or Michael has just been that utterly obvious.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wander off,” Michael says, embarrassed, resolving to pay more attention.

  They talk about the ranch Éomer runs, and Elle slips him a card, in case Michael ever wants riding lessons, or knows anyone who does. Michael’s convinced by now that she is in love with her brother, and wonders if she hasn’t noticed it herself yet. Wonders if it’s reciprocated, though the way she talks about him, it seems like it is.

  It doesn’t take long before Michael’s thoughts wander to Devin again, and he wonders what Devin’s doing. If he should order something extra to bring home, even if Devin isn’t fond of this place’s tiny portions. Michael hopes Devin’s all right; he’s probably laughed off Michael’s earlier I hate you, the way he usually does with things that are meant to hurt him. Lets them roll like water off his back.

  Surely he hadn’t taken the words to heart.

  Michael feels a knot of guilt build at the base of his stomach at that thought; Devin’s always bore the brunt of his father’s attacks, and taken what abuse was hurled Michael’s way, whether from within the household or without. But this time it’s Michael who’s hurt him, because he was mad about the sold arrangement. And he knows now that it was a callous thing to do, to blame Devin for doing something he didn’
t know not to. To have flung I hate you in his direction so easily, when I love you should have come first and foremost but remains yet unsaid. To come out on this date, or whatever this is, leaving Devin to worry, to make his own assumptions about what’s going on.

  “—said you were going to tell me about your boss,” Elle says suddenly, and Michael’s so glad for the diversion from his thoughts, that he jumps into his answer without thinking.

  “I’ve known him my whole life,” says Michael, before he realizes that’s too close to the truth, and switches tracks. He doesn’t correct Elle on her assumption that Devin’s his boss; if anything, Devin’s more a business partner—a partner in every sense of the word, in fact. But that’s too much information, and again, too close to the truth. “He’s—he’s still new to the flower business, though,” Michael says instead. “Sometimes he puts the flowers away improperly. Sells the wrong flowers to people. One time I caught him selling crocuses to a customer asking for tulips.”

  Michael chuckles, fond, at the memory, though he remembers the customer had been less than impressed.

  Elle hums, amused. “Must be frustrating having to work with him.”

  “No, never,” Michael says immediately. “Never that. He might still get things wrong, but he always…seems to know what people need. Knows what flowers will be best for whom, just from their explanation.”

  “Hmm. That’s true,” says Elle. “He’s the one who suggested I buy something other than white lilies for my uncle. Said he needed something other than the color of hospital whites in his room, and suggested marigolds to brighten up the place. A potted orchid to give the room a splash of color.”

  “Did he now?” Michael grins, having almost said, Devin did that? It’s only further proof of how him might mix flowers up, but he knows just what people need.

  When they’ve nearly finished their dinner, Michael flags down a waiter to order a pizza to take home. Requests extra cheese and Italian salami, sausage and bacon. Devin might not like their pasta, but he can’t say no to a pizza loaded with extra toppings, even if it’s one of their “pretentious” thin-crust pizzas.

  “It’s for later,” Michael lies, when Elle raises a brow. “In case I get hungry.” Elle lifts her shoulder in a half-shrug and smiles. “Sure.”

  Once the pizza arrives, safely packed away in a takeout box, they head back to Michael’s truck. The atmosphere in the drive back to Elle’s cousin’s place is easy and effortless: he listens to her chatter about the new self-defense class she’s taking evenings at the local college; she giggles at more of Michael’s amusing anecdotes about Devin’s mishaps at the shop, and Michael’s own occasional blunders.

  When he falls silent before sharing Devin’s latest mishap, Elle nudges him in the ribs. “All right, something’s eating at you. What is it?”

  “It’s nothing,” says Michael. “It’s just, I’ve wanted to work with my boss for ever. And now that we are, it’s great. Even if he makes mistakes, they’re just little things. Things I can easily overlook, or fix, or teach him the right ways about. But recently, he sold this arrangement I’d been working on for ages.”

  “That’s good though, isn’t it?” Elle quips. “More money for the shop?”

  Michael huffs, impatient. “It would be good, except I was saving it. You know, for a special occasion.” He’s careful to leave the words special someone aside. “And because of that, I…I said things to him that I shouldn’t have.” His hands tighten on the steering wheel. “Terrible things.”

  “In all fairness,” Elle frowns, “you didn’t tell him not to sell it, right? And you didn’t put a big RESERVED sign on it or anything, I’m guessing. Besides, maybe he was just thinking of the shop when he sold it.” She pauses. “Thinking of you,” she dares.

  “I guess,” Michael says absently. Devin had seemed unusually thrilled. Had even suggested that they go out, after the sale. “When you put it like that, it seems like a pretty stupid thing to be mad about.”

  Elle settles back in her seat. “Well, no,” she says. “The arrangement was important to you. But it sounds like your boss’s opinion of you matters more than the arrangement. Or you wouldn’t feel this guilty about the things you said to him.” She shrugs. “Just saying.”

  “Right,” says Michael. “You’re right.” It’s something he mulls over for the rest of the drive, and even when they move on to another topic, he’s grateful for her amazingly sharp insight on the matter.

  “So,” Elle says slowly, when they arrive at the apartment complex. “I really enjoyed dinner.” Her fingers fidget at her hair, the way she does when she’s about to impart an awkward truth, as Michael’s noticed. She pauses for all of three seconds, before adding, “But I think we’re better off just being friends.”

  “Oh, thank goodness,” Michael breathes out, before he realizes he’s said it aloud.

  Elle socks him in the shoulder. “Okay, I knew you were thinking the same thing, but it doesn’t mean you should say it out loud. Not in front of a lady.” She wrinkles her nose, and Michael laughs.

  “I did have a good time, though,” Michael says, honest. “So, thanks.”

  “Yeah,” she agrees. After a moment’s deliberation, she says, “I still think you should make up with your other half.”

  “I don’t…” Michael begins stubbornly, but Elle just snorts.

  “Do us both a favor and admit it,” she says. “You’ve only been thinking about him—what, the entire time? If it was a fight, make up with him. And if it’s distance, close it. So that next time maybe we can actually have a real conversation. You know, when you’re not so busy mooning over him, in your lovey-dovey haze.” Elle pauses. “Is it love?” she asks, soft.

  Michael feels his mouth go dry. No one’s ever asked him this, point-blank. “No. I mean, I don’t—I don’t know.” He wets his lips with his tongue. “Maybe.” Except it’s a lie, because he does know.

  He’s always known.

  He knows it from the way Devin pads downstairs in his soft flannel pants early in the morning, sweeping up petal clippings Michael trails on the floor, when he gets carried away making arrangements. The honest, heartfelt way he suggests Michael’s bouquets or arrangements to clients, somehow knowing what they need, whether it’s for forgotten anniversaries, sympathies, new lives, or just-thinking-of-you’s—even if he can’t name every flower in them. The sweet, clumsy manner in which Devin makes Michael stay in bed a little longer, by pretending to be asleep while he wraps his arms about Michael like an octopus.

  All the little things, little habits and nuances of Devin’s that make Michael helpless to do anything but love him.

  What he and Devin have is many things, but love has always been the root of it, no matter what forms it’s blossomed into over the years.

  “Yes,” Michael whispers finally, hoarse. “Yes.”

  Elle’s smile is kind, even as her eyes shine with a spark of mischief. “Then don’t tell me,” she says. “Tell him.” When Michael bristles slightly, she laughs as if she’s just uncovered the secrets of the universe. He only notices then how subtly she’s slipped the pronoun ‘him’ into their conversation and he didn’t even think to correct her. “It is your boss, isn’t it? Though I could’ve sworn you said he was your brother, at one point.” She pauses, thoughtful. “Unless he’s both.”

  Michael goes very, very still; he doesn’t remember having shared that. Maybe it was the atmosphere, the company, that had loosened his tongue. He makes a side note never to mix alcohol with unproven company ever again.

  Elle blinks. “C’mon, ‘I’ve known him my whole life’? ‘I’ve wanted to work with him forever’?” She sighs. “Look, your secret is safe with me,” Elle says, patting the hand he’s rested on the stick shift. “I, too, with my brother…” She laughs a little too self-consciously for it to be a joke. “I thought, with you, we might—but it doesn’t look like it’ll work. For either of us.”

  “Oh,” says Michael. Oh. With that, she’s con
firmed what he suspected all along. And now that they know each other’s secret, he’s glad too, that her love is reciprocated; he doesn’t know what he’d do if Devin didn’t feel the same way. The thought of that reminds him of how Devin took care to assure him his love was returned, early on. Never left him to doubt or worry, or pine fruitlessly for years.

  “I’ll see you around,” Elle says finally, and she kisses him on the cheek, chaste and cool. From that, Michael knows it’s over, this thing between them, before it’s even begun. He’s glad he’s found a friend at least, even if this isn’t what he envisioned for the night—that he’d pour his heart out to someone he’s only talked to in passing.

  As an afterthought, Michael says, “I’m sorry. For…” He gestures between them. “For all this.” At least now that they know the truth about each other, they can start anew as friends.

  Elle laughs, even if it is a little sad. “So am I,” she says. “Who knows, maybe in another world we might’ve made it.”

  Michael nods. “Another time.”

  And as far as pseudo-dates go, this wasn’t half bad, but when Michael pulls away from the curb, he hightails it on home, because now that he feels lighter, happier, he’s got something to say. Something he thinks he’s finally worked up the courage to put into words, instead of trying to say it with furtively left flowers with breakfasts, misinterpreted, and misused arrangements.

  Devin’s never left Michael wondering about his affections, and Michael can only hope it’s not too late to do the same.

  4

  Chapter 4

  By the time Michael returns to the shop, most of the street is dark, lit only by the wan glow of streetlamps. It’s a sharp contrast to the lights still on in the shop, too bright and fluorescent-white against the backdrop of the street.

  He finds Devin dragging a dustpan and hand-broom along the floor, sweeping up stray petals and spots of spilled earth. It still takes some getting used to, watching Devin putter around in his forest-green apron, instead of his plaid shirt and jeans, the informal uniform of his previous trade. Michael likes it best when they wear the aprons together, like his mother and father did. As if they’re a matching set, with their embroidered sunflowers and stars, like those couples with identical jackets and sweaters.