The Perfect Arrangement

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Authors: Katie Ganshert
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far better things ahead than any we leave behind.”
—C. S. Lewis

    From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Fri, Oct 2, 2015 8:23 p.m.
Subject: Oh my goodness!!!!
    He e-mailed me back. The cute man I hit with my car emailed me back. He called me adorable. He compared me to Audrey Hepburn! Supposedly, he had to take an impromptu trip to New York to meet with a publishing house, and according to him, he thought about me the whole time?!?
    Seriously, Rachel, this guy is too good to be true. He’s smart and witty and absolutely charming. He quoted Mr. Darcy! He knows all the classic movies even better than I do. He listens. He asks good questions. He’s not even intimidated by my neuroses.
    Okay, deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. I’m giddy. Beyond giddy. I’m hopping around in my seat. Baxter isn’t even sure what to do with me. I want to e-mail him RIGHT AWAY, but I’m going to wait. I’m going to play it cool. Heaven help me, I really like this guy.

    From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Tue, Oct 6, 2015 9:31 p.m.
Subject: Re: The Shop around the Corner
    Dear Nate,
    Yes, I did enjoy The Man Who Knew Too Much . But then, I’ve yet to watch a Jimmy Stewart movie I haven’t enjoyed. I completely agree about The Shop around the Corner . I smile like a fool every time I watch it.
    My father was a carpenter. When I was a little girl, I thought this made him as good as Jesus. He was a good man. A quiet man. A hardworking, Wisconsin-to-the-bone fellow who loved to hunt and bled green and gold. He was building a house in Green Bay when he met my stepmother. Things happened pretty quickly after that. I don’t blame him. He was a working man with a very sad six-year-old daughter and a newborn son on his hands. He wanted me and William to have a mother. I can understand that.
    As far as running a flower shop being a romantic notion. Well, some days it feels that way. And some days it feels like I’m a chicken running around with my head cut off. Case in point. My first year on the job, I had this very large wedding. I brought all the beautiful bouquets, which I’d slaved over, to the chapel the night before. Put them in the cooler. And discovered the next morning that the setting was all wrong on the cooler and they’d all frozen. Every single one. The next morning was one giant, panic-stricken scramble with plenty of tears (all from me). It didn’t feel romantic at all.
    My favorite part, besides the beauty, is probably the customers. I don’t just love being a florist, I love being a small-town florist. I know almost everyone who walks in the door. I get to be a part of their lives. I have this one customer in particular—this ninety-year-old man named George. He comes in every single Monday morning to buy his wife a bouquet. He always has a cute, funny anecdote to tell me too. On the adorableness scale, this man has Audrey beat. My least favorite part would be the bridezillas. Thankfully, I haven’t had to work with many of those. A week ago I met with Bridget and William to go over flowers for their wedding. It went well. She’s not a bridezilla.
    I agree with you about the time. I wish I had a magical hour glass that could make everything slow down, especially in the fall. October is a beautiful month in Mayfair. The leaves will peak in color in a week or two. The air is crisp and the town square is decorated in pumpkins and hay bales. We have this darling little chapel that sits kitty-corner across the square from my shop—all white clapboard with a steeple that rises up over the trees. It’s where my parents married, and it’s where Bridget and William are getting married too. There’s this place called Sawyer Farm. Maybe you’ve heard of it? Along with a pumpkin patch, they have the biggest corn maze in Wisconsin. Every year William and I go. My parents used to take me, so now I take

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