Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 40859 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 204(@200wpm)___ 163(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40859 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 204(@200wpm)___ 163(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
“Are you wanting the tiger lily blooms by themselves or arranged in a vase?” I ask as I fill out my sales slip. I don’t have a computer here, yet. One day I hope to, but just starting I need to save where I can.
“No vase,” he mutters low.
“I can do a nice hand-wrapped bouquet for you, sure. Would you like greenery and filler flowers or just the tiger lilies?”
“Has to be small so it fits in my saddlebags,” he explains as he gestures to the front windows of my shop. I look out and behold a bright yellow Harley-Davidson motorcycle is parked at my front door.
I nod my head understanding.
“Don’t need fill flowers or greens, just tiger lilies.”
“Okay, I can do a nice bundle that will fit in your saddlebag for twenty dollars plus tax. If you pay by card, there is a three percent processing fee.”
He reaches in his back pocket pulling out his wallet. Tossing a fifty dollar bill on my counter, I retrieve it.
“Just a moment and I’ll get your change from the back.”
“No need,” he mutters, “keep the change and I’ll be back nine am on Monday.”
He turns around to head out my door.
“Sir, I need a name to put the order under please.”
He looks over his shoulder at me, “call me whatever you want.” Then he turns back around and strolls out leaving me shaking my head.
What have a learned in three years? He goes by Rogue. For some reason that is his nickname. When he goes out of town the few occasions he does, another man in a leather vest picks up the flowers. He goes by Havoc.
Menacing doesn’t begin to explain the look on that man’s face. Luckily, it doesn’t happen often that Rogue can’t get his flowers personally.
In my time here I have learned about the Kings of Carnage MC from other people. They are pretty much everywhere in Creekdale. You can’t go anywhere without seeing one of them around. While they aren’t overly friendly, I have yet to have an encounter where any of them have been rude or violent or any of the common misconceptions of a biker gang.
That said, I don’t get out much so maybe they are full blown maniacs bringing destruction everywhere they go. I can only judge by my encounters and while I wouldn’t call them pleasant, they haven’t been bad. Cut and dry, to the point, I have the flowers ready, he drops his money, and leaves. The same process is rinse and repeat every week.
Moving to my shop front door, I unlock it to face the Monday crazy. I have been in the shop for an hour listening to my messages from the weekend and organizing my day into time blocks based on my deliveries already scheduled before even going to that door. It’s eight fifty-five in the morning when I turn the lock.
Three minutes later, I hear the rumble as it approaches and then stops in front of my shop. One minute after that, he is standing by his ride looking at his watch. At exactly nine am he struts in my front door.
Lifting his sunglasses up as he approaches, I fight back my smile. Why I want to smile when he comes in is beyond me. It’s like this weird subconscious reaction I have to him. I guess I like his loyalty to my shop. I really don’t know.
“Wrapped bundle of tiger lilies,” he states like he does every week while dropping a fifty dollar bill on the counter.
No matter how many times I tell him his total is only twenty-one dollars and eighty cents, he always gives me fifty.
“Got them ready for you,” I reply while turning to the display cooler behind me to retrieve the wrapped bouquet. “Would you like a card?” I ask swinging back around to him and waving my hand at my small enclosure card rack on the front counter.
“Nope,” he remarks taking the flowers from my hand. Our fingers briefly brush and this shock wave shoots through me at the contact.
I seriously need to get a life and a man. It’s been too long if a simple touch can light a fire inside me.
He steps back, turning to exit and like usual I call out, “Rogue, do you want your change?”
“Nope.” His last words before strutting right out of my shop and over to his motorcycle.
“I hope you have a great day,” I call out to the empty space around me.
Really, I do hope he has a good day. I don’t know what it is about him, but he never cracks a smile. Nothing about his demeanor or our interactions ever change. In three years I haven’t even gotten the tip of his lips in a semi-smile.
There is a sadness to his eyes that calls to me. For just a moment, I wish I could crack this solid exterior and learn something, anything about the man who apparently appreciates flowers as a gift for someone.