Chapter 1

Where should I put these dahlias? The window at the front of the flower shop had an open spot that the basket would look perfect. I placed the flowers down and looked out the window. Across the street stood a tall dark looking figure. Whoever it was wore a fedora tilted over the person's face and a trench coat, concealing its identity. I shouldn't be freaking out. This is New York, after all. There are hundreds of people who are odd here. Once more I drew my attention to the figure, but no longer found him standing there. He must have left while I was thinking. I walked back to the cashier's counter and took a seat in the stool awaiting the first customer of the day. This flower shop, Hyacinth Corner, belonged to my mother. She loved flowers ever since she was young. While she was pregnant with me, after the fact that her boyfriend abandoned her, she found this little place for sale. Using most of her savings, she bought the place and started the flower shop. Her passion for her love of flowers, and her unborn child that was soon to be me, drove her through the ups and downs of her career. When at last I was born, the business got better and she was able to support not only herself, but a baby me, as well. I grew up in Hyacinth Corner and was home schooled by a kind elderly lady who lived across town and was a retired school teacher. As I grew, I came to consume the same passion that my mother held towards her career; when I was old enough, I started working with her in the shop. I would run errands for her and deliver bouquets. On my eighteenth birthday, she gave me the store's key that she wore around her neck all the time.

Then one day, the accident happened. We had been on our way, in our little minivan, to an appointment for a young couple's wedding. As we pulled out into an intersection, a taxi driver, who I later found out to be driving under the influence of alcohol, slammed into the side of us. Our van rolled twice and left the taxi driver dead and my mom and I severely injured. We were rushed to the hospital soon afterwards. I was worse than her, yet as I got better, she seemed to get worse. That is when my dad showed up. Somehow, he had heard about us and came to the hospital quickly.

My mom introduced us to the best of her ability and he did the rest. He was a lawyer in a law firm five blocks from our apartment above the store who my old teacher was taking care of until we could return. Greg, my dad, apologized for not being there when we needed him and vowed to be with us whenever he wasn't at work, but that infuriated my mom. She yelled at him for fifteen minutes; anybody and everybody could hear her from where they stood. As she continued her rant, something happened and she stopped breathing. All I can remember from that day was all the nurses rushing into the room to help her and getting me outn of the room. She died that day. I returned home as soon as I was released. Of my father, I never saw him again and I was glad of it; he was the reason my mother died. Everyday, as I worked in the shop, I swear I could hear her telling me "Tanya, move those roses next to those orchids." or "Tanya dear, could you please go get me the pink daisies from the refrigerator."

The bell on the door of the shop jingled as somebody walked in. "Welcome to Hyacinth Corner. We have..." my voice trailed off as I found myself watching the same figure that I saw earlier across the street browse the shop. Now that I could see the person better, he was a man. He stopped at the refrigerator and grabbed a bouquet of red and pink roses then proceeded to walk towards me.

"I'd like to buy these." Oh. My. Gosh. He is French! His voice was low snd had a thick French accent. "Excuse me miss. Are you deaf?"

"Oh. No, sir. That will be thirteen fifty-six." 'How embaressing!' The man handed me a twenty. As I collected the correct amount of change, he looked around the store studying every detail.

"This is quite a nice little business you have going here. How long has it been around?" he asked.

"Nineteen ninety-five. My mother started it. I practically grew up here." I answered and handed him his change.

"Six forty-four is your change. Thanks and have a very nice day. Might I ask whom these beautiful roses are for?"

"For a person very special to me." His voice was filled with adoration and I instantly knew it was probably his girlfriend, which I was pretty sure of because who doesn't like a French guy.

"I see. Well, I just know she will love these." I smiled. He walked to the door and turned back to me with a wave. "Please come back anytime." I really hope you do...