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ignore the underlying weirdness that had descended on the conversation.
    Matt and Tara were doing her a huge favor tonight, and repaying their generosity by seeing tension where there most likely wasn’t any didn’t fit with her agenda. “Aw, thanks. I agree about Tommy, by the way. He’s a sweetie and a spitfire. Matt was showing him some slick moves on the dance floor tonight. How old are your kids, Tara?”
    Tara picked up a bundle of white roses and arranged their heights. “I have a five-year-old girl, Brittany, and an eight-year-old boy, Len. But enough about me,” she added with a wave of dismissal. “We’ve got a lot to do tonight, so we’d better get to it. I can fill you in on all the details of my family and some pretty embarrassing stories about Matt as a kid once we’re working. You said the bride’s colors are pink and white with a shabby chic look. I can’t manage sweet peas this late in the summer, but peonies and rose will do the trick. And these stephanotis for the bridal party’s updos will look beaut—”
    Tara’s face puckered. She backed away from the table and sneezed about twenty times in a row. With a hand over her nose and mouth, she ran to the desk for a tissue. She blew her nose loudly, then sneezed at least a half dozen more times, then blew her nose again. When she returned to the flower table, her eyes were bloodshot and watering.
    “Are you okay?” Jenna asked.
    “Tara is allergic to flowers,” Matt said dryly.
    “What? But you’re a florist!”
    Tara wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Geez, Matt, you could at least paint an accurate picture.” Her watery eyes met Jenna’s. “I’m allergic to everything God put on the Earth. Dust, pollen, perfume, animals, nuts, gluten, soy. You name it.”
    “Except tattoo ink,” Matt muttered with a bemused smile.
    Tara took his jab in stride. “Except tattoo ink and loud music. The only way I could go through life without stuffed-up sinuses, weepy eyes, and itchy skin would be to sit alone in a sterile room. And that is not acceptable to me. Other than the food allergies and bee stings, which might actually kill me, nothing’s going to stop me from doing what I love, least of all my own body. And what I love most is creating beautiful pieces of art using flowers.”
    Go, Tara. “That’s why you named your flower shop Carpe Diem?”
    “Damn straight. I almost named it Screw You, Immune System, but that didn’t quite have the same ring to it.” She blew her nose again and tossed the tissue like a basketball into the trash can. After wiping a tear from her eye with the back of her hand, she picked up a set of shears. “Time’s a-wasting. Let’s get to it.”
    Jenna sipped her coffee and tucked in close to Matt, listening while Tara launched into a motor-mouthed explanation of their game plan for the night.

Chapter Five
    Matt awoke to find he was still sitting upright on the tattered sofa in the back room that he, Jenna, and Tara had collapsed on sometime around three. Jenna was asleep with her head propped against his shoulder, her hair fanning over his shirt and her body heat seeping through his clothes into his skin.
    He turned his nose into her hair and luxuriated in her honey-almond scent, fantasizing about hauling her onto his lap and waking her with a kiss. He bet she’d feel just right in his arms, as she had while they were dancing.
    A look over her head revealed Tara sleeping on the opposite end, curled over the sofa’s arm and snoring through her open mouth. It had probably been hell on her allergies to spend a whole night in the shop, and he bet her nose would be impossibly stuffy for days to come.
    The air glowed a faint yellow-orange from the lights still shining in the main part of the store. Through the walls, he could hear the hum of activity from the dry cleaner next door, but he didn’t need to look at the cheap plastic face clock hanging on the wall to know it was just about six o’-clock. As