It was a typical Tuesday. I had enough orders to keep me busy for birthdays and anniversaries that getting into my shop a few minutes early made sense. No reason for me to stay home anyway, with the wife gone and all. I was busy finishing up the bouquet for Mr. Finch's latest squeeze, when I looked up at the clock. It was five past nine.
Caroline was late.
Caroline was never late.
I finished tying the bow on the bouquet and put it in a pail of water. I went to the front door of my shop, and there was Caroline, skipping up the road with a giant grin on her face. No book in front of her nose. No timid steps. She was skipping.
I quickly walked back to my desk, and busied myself with the next bouquet on my list of things to do: an apology bouquet from Mr. Dorian to Mrs. Dorian, apparently, for being an ass, and quite a large one. A dozen roses, mixed in with the most expensive flowers in my shop suggested such.
Caroline burst in the door, jangling the bell wildly. "Mr. Golden!" she exclaimed. "I think there's a boy who likes me!"
I blinked twice at her. This was not typical Caroline behavior. I hired Caroline because she was a quiet little thing, and had extreme attention to detail. Not to mention, whenever she was working, sales from any of the men in Nowhere skyrocketed. Something about having a pretty little thing straightening flowers meant men bought flowers. After I regained my composure from her outburst, I asked, "Is he a good boy?"
Caroline thought for a moment. "I don't know," she said, "but he listened to me when I said I wanted to finish my book, instead of talk to him. That means something, right?"
I thought for a moment. Caroline, with her bright eyes and youth, was pretty naive in the ways of the world, and extremely naive in the ways of men. She hadn't ever talked about a boy, and she had worked for me for over four years now. I didn't want to crush her hopes, as she had not had as many suitors as would befit a pretty girl like her. However, I also did not want her being taken advantage of. "It means he might be a good listener," I responded, cautiously.
"Well, I told him I would see him tomorrow morning at the coffee shop, because, well, he's there every morning. He's the one who drinks all the espressos and hardly says a word to Marcie. The fact that he even said a few sentences to me was impressive. His name is Clem. Do you know him? Has he ever bought flowers here?"
I thought for a moment, and slowly opened my record book. I'm 84 years old, far too old to be learning new-fangled technology in a little town like this. I have this copy of my records, a copy in my office, and a copy at home, just in case. I looked back two months: no record of a Clem. "How long has he lived here, Caroline?" I asked.
"I'm not sure," Caroline responded, honest as always. "He started coming to the coffee shop every morning about 3 months ago. Never spoke to anyone but Marcie until this morning. I'm also positive he was late for work, later than me anyway. Sorry about that, Mr. Golden. You can dock me if you'd like..."
"It's no problem, Caroline," I said with a little smile. "It is good to see you so excited about something. I just hope it will not compromise your work today..."
"It won't. I promise," Caroline responded, sounding much more like herself.
"Good," I said. "Now, please begin the morning tidying up. Even though we're just a small town florist, we need to look respectable: cleanliness is godliness."
Caroline smiled back at me. "Of course, Mr. Golden." She turned away to go to the closet to find a broom and dust pan.
"I'll just make a few phone calls, dear," I said, turning to my address book, "It's rather important for me to know if this Clem is a good boy."
Caroline smiled at me. "Thanks, Mr. Golden," she said. "It's nice to know that someone is looking out for me."
"By the way, Caroline," I asked, before picking up the phone to call the coffee shop, "how is your uncle?"
"Oh, he's doing swell," Caroline said, a dark look crossing her face. "I think his daisies will be prize-winning this year."
"Fantastic," I responded, ignoring her expression. "Well, please tell him that if he could send you with some for the shop, it would be most appreciated."
"Of course," Caroline responded. "I'd be happy to."
After a few rings, Marcie picked up the phone. "Hello, Marcie," I said into the receiver, "this is Frances. Caroline came in here this morning happy as a lark. She was skipping in fact. She tells me she met a boy at the coffee house this morning. He sat next to her while she was reading her book. His name is... Clark?"
"Clem," Marcie corrected me. "His name is Clem. Frances, I was bad this morning. I was playing matchmaker again. Your pretty little Caroline and Clem would make such a cute couple."
"What do you know about Clem?" I asked, trying not to sound stern.
"He's a banker. Clive Finch hired him about a month ago. He came in that afternoon for an espresso to celebrate. Told me he was moving into town, and asked if there were any nice houses he could buy. Not rent, Frances, buy. I think he's loaded. The banking job could just be a front. I know he's single. He doesn't wear a wedding ring, and in this town, a girlfriend, mistress or wife would be obvious. I mean, he could be divorced, or a widower, but I doubt it somehow. He seems like a man who could use a woman in his life, not one who ever had one."
"Do you think he would treat Caroline well? I mean, her uncle has been sick for months. No one has seen him around town. She's probably horribly lonely, and could use a friend, but if he's a banker, and works for Clive Finch... I'm not sure he'd be a good influence on Caroline."
"Have you met Clem?" Marcie asked me.
"No," I said surprised by her question, "and he has never purchased flowers here. I just finished checking."
"Further proof he's single," Marcie said. "You know Caroline better than anyone. Wouldn't it be nice to see her happy for a change? If it doesn't last, this is a small town. He'll leave rather than deal with our gossip!"
I thought about that for a second. It was true. Moving into a small town, by choice, and choosing to date someone in the town was risky in and of itself. My wife had been from a few towns over, just for that very reason. However, Caroline was happy, and I had no doubt that Marcie was right about the gossip. "All right," I said, "I'll let Caroline know what she hasn't already overheard from our call. Apparently, she was extremely impressed by Clem, because he let her finish her book."
"I hope Clem understood that," Marcie said. "He told me she had said, 'No.'"
"I'll make sure to relate that to Caroline," I said. "If she's truly interested in Clem, she may have to work on being more direct in her methods of communication."
Marcie laughed. "Good luck with that, Frances! The girl has said two words to me since she started coming in here alone. How's her uncle doing? Any better?"
"Gardening, apparently," I said, smiling at the thought of the daisies I would get soon. "Hopefully, we'll see him around town soon. Well, Marcie, I need to let you go before I forget all the things I need to tell Caroline. Have a good day," I finished, hanging up the phone.
"Well," Caroline asked, pausing in her sweeping, "is he a good boy?"
"No," I said, resolutely, "but if you like him, you may find out he's a good man."
Caroline dropped the broom, jumped up and down twice and clapped her hands. Then, she looked down, and saw she had spilled the dust from the dustpan all over the floor. "Sorry!" she exclaimed, and began to clean it up.
I smiled, and returned to work on Mr. Dorian's apology bouquet.
A screenshot of a Mr. Golden custom miniature from HeroForge.com
Caroline was late.
Caroline was never late.
I finished tying the bow on the bouquet and put it in a pail of water. I went to the front door of my shop, and there was Caroline, skipping up the road with a giant grin on her face. No book in front of her nose. No timid steps. She was skipping.
I quickly walked back to my desk, and busied myself with the next bouquet on my list of things to do: an apology bouquet from Mr. Dorian to Mrs. Dorian, apparently, for being an ass, and quite a large one. A dozen roses, mixed in with the most expensive flowers in my shop suggested such.
Caroline burst in the door, jangling the bell wildly. "Mr. Golden!" she exclaimed. "I think there's a boy who likes me!"
I blinked twice at her. This was not typical Caroline behavior. I hired Caroline because she was a quiet little thing, and had extreme attention to detail. Not to mention, whenever she was working, sales from any of the men in Nowhere skyrocketed. Something about having a pretty little thing straightening flowers meant men bought flowers. After I regained my composure from her outburst, I asked, "Is he a good boy?"
Caroline thought for a moment. "I don't know," she said, "but he listened to me when I said I wanted to finish my book, instead of talk to him. That means something, right?"
I thought for a moment. Caroline, with her bright eyes and youth, was pretty naive in the ways of the world, and extremely naive in the ways of men. She hadn't ever talked about a boy, and she had worked for me for over four years now. I didn't want to crush her hopes, as she had not had as many suitors as would befit a pretty girl like her. However, I also did not want her being taken advantage of. "It means he might be a good listener," I responded, cautiously.
"Well, I told him I would see him tomorrow morning at the coffee shop, because, well, he's there every morning. He's the one who drinks all the espressos and hardly says a word to Marcie. The fact that he even said a few sentences to me was impressive. His name is Clem. Do you know him? Has he ever bought flowers here?"
I thought for a moment, and slowly opened my record book. I'm 84 years old, far too old to be learning new-fangled technology in a little town like this. I have this copy of my records, a copy in my office, and a copy at home, just in case. I looked back two months: no record of a Clem. "How long has he lived here, Caroline?" I asked.
"I'm not sure," Caroline responded, honest as always. "He started coming to the coffee shop every morning about 3 months ago. Never spoke to anyone but Marcie until this morning. I'm also positive he was late for work, later than me anyway. Sorry about that, Mr. Golden. You can dock me if you'd like..."
"It's no problem, Caroline," I said with a little smile. "It is good to see you so excited about something. I just hope it will not compromise your work today..."
"It won't. I promise," Caroline responded, sounding much more like herself.
"Good," I said. "Now, please begin the morning tidying up. Even though we're just a small town florist, we need to look respectable: cleanliness is godliness."
Caroline smiled back at me. "Of course, Mr. Golden." She turned away to go to the closet to find a broom and dust pan.
"I'll just make a few phone calls, dear," I said, turning to my address book, "It's rather important for me to know if this Clem is a good boy."
Caroline smiled at me. "Thanks, Mr. Golden," she said. "It's nice to know that someone is looking out for me."
"By the way, Caroline," I asked, before picking up the phone to call the coffee shop, "how is your uncle?"
"Oh, he's doing swell," Caroline said, a dark look crossing her face. "I think his daisies will be prize-winning this year."
"Fantastic," I responded, ignoring her expression. "Well, please tell him that if he could send you with some for the shop, it would be most appreciated."
"Of course," Caroline responded. "I'd be happy to."
After a few rings, Marcie picked up the phone. "Hello, Marcie," I said into the receiver, "this is Frances. Caroline came in here this morning happy as a lark. She was skipping in fact. She tells me she met a boy at the coffee house this morning. He sat next to her while she was reading her book. His name is... Clark?"
"Clem," Marcie corrected me. "His name is Clem. Frances, I was bad this morning. I was playing matchmaker again. Your pretty little Caroline and Clem would make such a cute couple."
"What do you know about Clem?" I asked, trying not to sound stern.
"He's a banker. Clive Finch hired him about a month ago. He came in that afternoon for an espresso to celebrate. Told me he was moving into town, and asked if there were any nice houses he could buy. Not rent, Frances, buy. I think he's loaded. The banking job could just be a front. I know he's single. He doesn't wear a wedding ring, and in this town, a girlfriend, mistress or wife would be obvious. I mean, he could be divorced, or a widower, but I doubt it somehow. He seems like a man who could use a woman in his life, not one who ever had one."
"Do you think he would treat Caroline well? I mean, her uncle has been sick for months. No one has seen him around town. She's probably horribly lonely, and could use a friend, but if he's a banker, and works for Clive Finch... I'm not sure he'd be a good influence on Caroline."
"Have you met Clem?" Marcie asked me.
"No," I said surprised by her question, "and he has never purchased flowers here. I just finished checking."
"Further proof he's single," Marcie said. "You know Caroline better than anyone. Wouldn't it be nice to see her happy for a change? If it doesn't last, this is a small town. He'll leave rather than deal with our gossip!"
I thought about that for a second. It was true. Moving into a small town, by choice, and choosing to date someone in the town was risky in and of itself. My wife had been from a few towns over, just for that very reason. However, Caroline was happy, and I had no doubt that Marcie was right about the gossip. "All right," I said, "I'll let Caroline know what she hasn't already overheard from our call. Apparently, she was extremely impressed by Clem, because he let her finish her book."
"I hope Clem understood that," Marcie said. "He told me she had said, 'No.'"
"I'll make sure to relate that to Caroline," I said. "If she's truly interested in Clem, she may have to work on being more direct in her methods of communication."
Marcie laughed. "Good luck with that, Frances! The girl has said two words to me since she started coming in here alone. How's her uncle doing? Any better?"
"Gardening, apparently," I said, smiling at the thought of the daisies I would get soon. "Hopefully, we'll see him around town soon. Well, Marcie, I need to let you go before I forget all the things I need to tell Caroline. Have a good day," I finished, hanging up the phone.
"Well," Caroline asked, pausing in her sweeping, "is he a good boy?"
"No," I said, resolutely, "but if you like him, you may find out he's a good man."
Caroline dropped the broom, jumped up and down twice and clapped her hands. Then, she looked down, and saw she had spilled the dust from the dustpan all over the floor. "Sorry!" she exclaimed, and began to clean it up.
I smiled, and returned to work on Mr. Dorian's apology bouquet.
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