the increasing order.
“Better get a few bottles for each of the girls, hon.” Horace calculated, and broke out a wad of cash from the pocket of his shorts.
“We have seven daughters,” Eustace explained with a rub to her nose. “I bet Suzy would love that grassy green oil. She just loves the natural stuff.”
“And that will do it?” Horace looked to his wife, head cocked, sharp eyes wary. “No trip back to the mall?”
“Nope.” Eustace grinned. “This’ll be better than some silly t-shirts.”
Horace exhaled, deep. “Angels be praised. You just saved me from a trip to the outlet stores. Thanks a ton.” He winked to Cain and Misty, turned back to his wife. “Now, how about that picnic, sweetie?”
Eustace beamed as they walked away, her husband juggling the full case of olive oil and the extra shopping bags, as she waved, purse in the crook of her arm.
“Wow.” Cain lost the fight with his dropping jaw. “You in sales or something?”
“Nope. Actually, today I’m in the flower business.”
“Is that right?” He scratched some numbers on his notepad, and tilted his head in her direction. “So, you just came over here to up my daily totals by five-hundred-percent?”
“No.” Misty shot a winning smile. “Actually, I wanted to ask you about those trees of yours that aren’t for sale.”
“The trees?” He followed her pointed finger to the offshoots in their burlap wrapped pots. “Those?”
She nodded.
“Lady, you have a way about you.” He grinned over the counter. “You don’t even know it, do you?”
Misty’s laugh sounded a few octaves too high in her ears. She blinked through it. “This isn’t about me. It’s about your olive trees, and what they represent. I need them…what do you say, we work out a trade?”
“Trade?”
“Yeah. You give me a couple of your seedlings, one of each of those oils, and whatever appetizer or spice jars you want to include. I, in turn, create a fantastic olive-branch goodwill arrangement, and generate a potential partnership between you and The Flower Field. What do you say?”
“You said what they represent.” He leaned forward and poured a small cup of citrus olive oil. “What do you know about it?”
She accepted the offering, running it under her nose as one would a glass of fine wine. The tangy scent of orange blossoms wafted through her senses. Misty exhaled her discourse, learned from college. “I know that since ancient Greece, olive branches have been a sign of outreach, and forgiveness. A universal symbol of peace. And, The Flower Field has a client who could use a big dose of that forgiveness and peace about now.”
“I see.” He palmed the counter between them.
She was acutely aware of his large hands, the calluses on the tips of his fingers as he gave them a slight rub with his thumb.
He caught her looking and tilted his head. “And all this would be for them?”
Misty nodded.
“Tell you what.” Cain turned to his stock and removed several items, placed them on the counter in stair step order. “Let’s call this commission for your sale: the dipping oil, our award winning citrus oil, and three seedlings. Take a picture of the basket and e-mail it to me.” He flipped his business card to her. “We’ll see about that partnership.”
“Great. I’ll set up a meeting for you with the owners.” Misty gathered up the wrapped packages before he changed his mind, heart like a rainbow, lighting from the inside out. “Thanks again.”
“Hey, this one’s for you. It’s not for sale, at any price, got it?” He extended the small potted plant along with an extra envelope.
Misty nodded at the plant, her arms full. “Where shall I put it?”
“Take it home.” He tucked the small, gray-leafed seedling in an open space at her elbow, and tucked in an envelope. “With these tickets for the Friday show. I hope you can make it. And, bring your grandmother along—my whole family’s a huge fan of hers.”
She
“Better get a few bottles for each of the girls, hon.” Horace calculated, and broke out a wad of cash from the pocket of his shorts.
“We have seven daughters,” Eustace explained with a rub to her nose. “I bet Suzy would love that grassy green oil. She just loves the natural stuff.”
“And that will do it?” Horace looked to his wife, head cocked, sharp eyes wary. “No trip back to the mall?”
“Nope.” Eustace grinned. “This’ll be better than some silly t-shirts.”
Horace exhaled, deep. “Angels be praised. You just saved me from a trip to the outlet stores. Thanks a ton.” He winked to Cain and Misty, turned back to his wife. “Now, how about that picnic, sweetie?”
Eustace beamed as they walked away, her husband juggling the full case of olive oil and the extra shopping bags, as she waved, purse in the crook of her arm.
“Wow.” Cain lost the fight with his dropping jaw. “You in sales or something?”
“Nope. Actually, today I’m in the flower business.”
“Is that right?” He scratched some numbers on his notepad, and tilted his head in her direction. “So, you just came over here to up my daily totals by five-hundred-percent?”
“No.” Misty shot a winning smile. “Actually, I wanted to ask you about those trees of yours that aren’t for sale.”
“The trees?” He followed her pointed finger to the offshoots in their burlap wrapped pots. “Those?”
She nodded.
“Lady, you have a way about you.” He grinned over the counter. “You don’t even know it, do you?”
Misty’s laugh sounded a few octaves too high in her ears. She blinked through it. “This isn’t about me. It’s about your olive trees, and what they represent. I need them…what do you say, we work out a trade?”
“Trade?”
“Yeah. You give me a couple of your seedlings, one of each of those oils, and whatever appetizer or spice jars you want to include. I, in turn, create a fantastic olive-branch goodwill arrangement, and generate a potential partnership between you and The Flower Field. What do you say?”
“You said what they represent.” He leaned forward and poured a small cup of citrus olive oil. “What do you know about it?”
She accepted the offering, running it under her nose as one would a glass of fine wine. The tangy scent of orange blossoms wafted through her senses. Misty exhaled her discourse, learned from college. “I know that since ancient Greece, olive branches have been a sign of outreach, and forgiveness. A universal symbol of peace. And, The Flower Field has a client who could use a big dose of that forgiveness and peace about now.”
“I see.” He palmed the counter between them.
She was acutely aware of his large hands, the calluses on the tips of his fingers as he gave them a slight rub with his thumb.
He caught her looking and tilted his head. “And all this would be for them?”
Misty nodded.
“Tell you what.” Cain turned to his stock and removed several items, placed them on the counter in stair step order. “Let’s call this commission for your sale: the dipping oil, our award winning citrus oil, and three seedlings. Take a picture of the basket and e-mail it to me.” He flipped his business card to her. “We’ll see about that partnership.”
“Great. I’ll set up a meeting for you with the owners.” Misty gathered up the wrapped packages before he changed his mind, heart like a rainbow, lighting from the inside out. “Thanks again.”
“Hey, this one’s for you. It’s not for sale, at any price, got it?” He extended the small potted plant along with an extra envelope.
Misty nodded at the plant, her arms full. “Where shall I put it?”
“Take it home.” He tucked the small, gray-leafed seedling in an open space at her elbow, and tucked in an envelope. “With these tickets for the Friday show. I hope you can make it. And, bring your grandmother along—my whole family’s a huge fan of hers.”
She
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