Leaving Normal by Stef Holm (whitelam books txt) 📗

"No," he said at length. "Nothing hard to deal with."

"You hear about terrible accidents at this time of year." Natalie stuffed her hands into her coat pockets. As she breathed, tiny clouds of misty air left her pale lips.

He completed the task, then rested the shovel against the wall of her garage. He ran cold fingers through his short, damp hair. He'd worked up a light sweat. As he'd been standing in only a long-sleeved T-shirt, his skin was hot.

"Thank you so much for the help." She seemed calmer, a little less keyed up. "And please, come by Hat and Garden anytime."

"Tony!" A little girl's voice called from across the street.

Parker stood hi the front of their house wearing a coat and snow boots, her backpack on her shoulders.

"Hey, Parker."

She had her hair in pigtails, the blond strands appearing silky and curled. "Look at my snowman."

He hadn't noticed it when he'd pulled into the driveway. His gaze was redirected to the lopsided snowman in the yard. It wasn't very tall. Patches of dormant grass were visible where she'd rolled the large ball of snow to make the body. She'd decorated it with a scarf, a carrot and what looked to be some charcoal briquettes for the eyes.

"Come see it, Tony."

"Okay. I'll be right there."

"You better go," Natalie hastened to say. "I shouldn't have taken up your time."

"Hey, don't apologize. I was happy to help." He gave her a smile, one that he knew would be contagious. She returned the smile just as he knew she would.

Tony crossed the street, heading toward Parker, who was fixing the scarf on the snowman. Kim stood in the doorway wearing a pair of sweats and an oversize shirt—one of his. He loved the look of her hair, tousled and sleep-messed. The corner of her mouth turned up, a half effort that said she was only half-awake.

In that moment, he realized with a certain clarity that he'd missed his wife last night. Missed sleeping with her.

As soon as they got Parker off to school, he was going to show her just how much she meant to him.

"Who is that man?" Sarah questioned from behind the sales counter. "This is the third time he's been in the shop in the last three weeks and each time, he stares at you."

Natalie gave the man a cursory look. About fifteen feet away, he stood by a rack of greeting cards; their eyes met, and he quickly looked down with a shy smile.

She was assailed by a strange sense of familiarity and got the vague impression she knew him but couldn't remember from where.

He was tall, broad in the shoulders in his suit, and his brown hair was cut short and neat. His facial features were masculine; he had a mustache and his lips were full.

"I haven't noticed him in here before," Natalie replied. Which was the truth. She'd been running on overload for the past three weeks since Hat and Garden had opened. Sales were doing well. She had a steady stream of customers and Christmas was mere days away.

Sarah put her hands on her hips. "I think you should say hello to him. Ask him if he needs any help." Natalie frowned. While she normally had no prob-lems with that, it was Sarah who was outgoing enough for the both of them and she always made it a point to greet everyone with a smile and offer of assistance. It was Natalie who preferred to be in the flower shed out back, making the arrangements.

The shed was an old garage they'd converted into a workstation. All the fresh flowers were stored in a large refrigerated unit, plus there was a long bench that had every color of ribbon imaginable on various spools; on a shelf below were vases of all sizes. Baskets, too. Floral tape, putty and foam to create stellar arrangements. Natalie loved the creative end of owning her own business. The paperwork end left her less than enchanted, but it was all part of proprietorship.

She'd hired a young clerk, Meagan, to help Sarah inside the shop. A male student, Carl Brewster, who went to Boise State University part-time, made deliveries in the mornings, and on Friday and Saturday afternoons, her dad came in and drove the delivery van. Sarah worked several days a week at the counter, and a few times Steve brought BreeAnn and Sydney after school to help with inventory. It was a good blend of people who were all helping to make the flower shop a success.

"I have to look at some receipts in my office," Natalie countered, not in the mood to spar with Sarah. Sometimes her sister's romantic energy and enthusiasm for finding Natalie a boyfriend got on her nerves.

"You do not. You just don't want to talk to him."

"I have nothing to say to him. He clearly knows what he wants. A greeting card. Let him pick it out himself—sentiments are very personal and I'm sure he has something in mind for whatever the occasion is."

"He doesn't want a greeting card," Sarah insisted. "He's looking at you."

Natalie glanced toward the man once again and caught him staring. She straightened, smoothed her hands down the front of her green apron and said, "Fine. I'll go talk to him."

Her acquiescence was more out of curiosity than to quiet her sister.

Weaving her way around the coffee-cup display, Natalie approached him.

"Hi. Is there something I can help you find?"

"You don't remember me, do you?" His voice was deep, resonant.

Just then she knew she knew him but couldn't quite place how.

She caught a hint of nice cologne surrounding him. Dark in color, his eyes connected with hers. "You used to work at Blooming Floral."

"Yes…I did."

And in that instant, she knew. She'd done the floral arrangements for his wife's funeral about three years ago.

His name was on the edge of her mind. She struggled a moment, then uttered, "Jonathon Falco?'

He nodded, a slow and sad acknowledgment. Sympathy came to her, full-blown, as if he had