Sylvie smiled and pulled the small card out of her pocket. She read the card silently, giggled, then said, “Oh Meg, this is a good one. It says, ‘Roses are red, violets are blue, sugar is sweet, unlike you. I’ll take you anyway. Love, Kent.’”
Both women chortled. Phae eyed them disdainfully.
“Yep, pretty good,” Meg agreed. “My favorite is the one with all the little red roses shaped into hearts. You know, the one that says, ‘Be my crotchety Valentine.’”
“Yeah,” Sylvie said, “but I also thought that other one was great, where he wrote, ‘Phae, you walk in beauty like a really stormy night.’”
They laughed louder, ignoring Phae’s censorious glare.
“And then, the one that went, ‘How do I love thee? Let me count the ways … If you weren’t so mean I’d be able to think of something here. Love, Kent.’” Sylvie fanned herself as tears ran down her cheeks. “Oh, he’s got you, Phae.”
“Enough,” Phae said, standing up. “Let’s rinse that hair, Aunt Meg.”
Meg smiled sympathetically. “I know this is hard on you Phae-phae. And I know you’re embarrassed. But you shouldn’t be. Everybody thinks it’s wonderfully romantic.”
“Yeah, and it’s good for business. We’ve been swamped thanks to his antics. How many times have you been in this week, Meg?” Sylvie asked.
“I can answer that,” Phae said. “Three.”
“Surely not that many,” Meg said.
“Well, at least you’re getting your hair done. Some of these jokers have only been coming in to get a few laughs at my expense and then they just leave,” Phae grumbled.
“Not true,” Sylvie said. “We’ve made more money this week than ever before.”
“Whatever,” Phae said, lowering Meg back down into the sink. “But if one more corny fool comes in here and places an order for flowers with the old, ‘Oh, I thought this was must be a florist,’ joke, I won’t be held responsible for what I do.”
Sylvie sighed as she flipped though her appointment book. “I wonder where Neesa is?”
Phae turned on the water. “Neesa’s coming in again? Good Lord. If you trim off any more of her hair, she won’t have any left.”
“That’s what I told her. She said she’d just get a style today.” Sylvie wandered to the front door. “She should have been here ten minutes ago. She wanted to be here for the daily delivery, and she’s never late. I hope nothing’s … oh … my … god … I …”
Phae stared at Sylvie who was peering out the small square windows in the door. “What’s wrong?”
Sylvie whirled around. “Nothing. I saw Neesa. I think I’m going to see what’s been keeping her.” And with that, she dashed out the door.
Phae tried to look out the display window, but the mass of flowers made it impossible to see anything. All she could see through the small window in the door was a few heads bobbing around, a common occurrence in the past week. Half the people in Zeke’s Bend had strolled by at one point or another to gawk at the flowers.
Phae hurriedly finished rinsing Meg’s hair. After tossing her a clean towel, Phae headed out the door, telling Meg she’d be back in a second.
She had a bad feeling as she opened the door, a sensation that only worsened as she realized dozens of people were milling around, spilling off the sidewalk and onto the street.
She craned her neck to see around them. They were circling something. She thought she heard chanting, but the crowd was so loud that she couldn’t be certain.
Phae shoved her way past several chuckling adults and into the center of the circle. Her eyes widened.
Three of her teenaged cousins, the most rascally of the Jones clan, Tonio, Neptune and Jackson, were picketing her shop. She blinked. It couldn’t be true. Nope. It was. They were actually picketing her shop.
The three teens marched in a circle, holding large signs above their heads as they chanted in unison, “Kent will not relent. Kent will not relent. Kent will not relent.”
Phae shook her head in disbelief as her goofy cousins paraded past. They slowed their march and waved their signs in her face. In professionally printed, bold red letters, the signs carried the same message: “Phae Jones Is Unfair to Repentant Suitors.”
Tonio broke ranks to tell her quickly, “It’s easier than mowing lawns, and it pays good, too.”
So much for family loyalty, Phae thought.
She crossed her arms over her chest when the crowd parted and Kent strolled jauntily into view. He wore a light summer suit and a white, styrofoam skimmer hat with a little sign stuck in front that read, “I Won’t Relent.”
He grinned broadly as he approached. Gallantly sweeping off his hat, he bowed deeply. “Do you surrender, Ms. Jones?”
Phae gave him a dismissive glance then turned back to the shop, pushing her way through the nosy spectators.
Kent called out behind her, “Do you see, ladies and gentlemen, how she refuses my company? Am I wrong to suggest that her treatment of my affections is unfair considering how much time and effort I’ve spent trying to woo her fair hand? What say you, sir? And you, kind madame? Is she not unfair? If you were me, wouldn’t you picket her?”
Phae ignored the responses flying freely from the tittering crowd. She stomped into the shop and headed straight for the phone. Picketing indeed. She’d see about that.
Meg looked at her with concern. “What’s wrong? Is someone hurt?”
“Someone’s going to be,” she answered, “and he’s big, dark-haired and annoying as hell. Oh, and he’s picketing me, the jerk.”
“What?”
Phae punched in 911 on the shop phone. “You heard me. Picketing. It’s so stupid.”
“Hair be damned. I’ve got to see this,” Meg said, wrapping the towel around her head again and heading for the door.
Phae rolled her eyes and listened to the phone ring. She heard the door jingle, assuming it was caused by Meg leaving.
Then Meg said, “Uh, I think I’ve changed my mind, Phae-phae. I need to get home. Don’t worry about my hair. I’ll take care of it and bring your towel back later.”
Phae turned in surprise. Meg was tossing her plastic smock on the counter and snatching up her purse. She rushed out the door with hardly a glance back. Then Phae saw why.
Kent stood in front of the window, hands clasped casually behind his back as he admired the flowers.
Phae opened her mouth to speak, but she heard a voice in the phone ask, “911. What’s your emergency?”
“Um,” Phae struggled to regain her footing. “Um, yes. Hello 911. I’m calling to report illegal assembly in front of a private business. Someone’s doing that … to me. I mean, to my business.”
Kent softly whistled a tuneless ditty and didn’t appear the least concerned that she was calling the cops on him. Phae wanted to smack him.
“Illegal assembly?” the operator asked. “Oh, is that you, Phae?”
Phae recognized the voice then. “Kendra? Is that you?”
Kendra, another one of Phae’s many cousins, answered, “Sure, it’s me.”
“I didn’t know you were working in the sheriff’s office.”
“Only this month. I’m filling in for Freda. She had her baby last night.”
Phae sighed. Now was not the time for this sort of thing. “Well, good for her. And you, too, I guess. Anyway, I need you to tell James to get over to my shop. There’s an illegal gathering over here.”
“A what? Oh, right,” Kendra said. “James told me you’d probably call.”
“That’s not possible.”
“It is, though. I’ve got it written down right here, and he told me to read it to you. He writes that Kent applied for and got all the permits he needs to do everything he’s doing. He can assemble, picket, sell souvenirs, disperse refreshments and have a parade.”
“What?” Phae screeched, surprising herself that her voice could go so high. “What?” she repeated, deeper and more restrained this time.
“That?
?s all it says, cousin,” Kendra said. “Is your billionaire really throwing you a parade? You are so lucky, girl! I mean, damn.”
“Oh for God’s sake. He’s not a billionaire. And he’s definitely not mine.” She blew out a loud breath. “Say hey to your folks.”
“Will do. Later.”
Phae ended the call. “There’s got to be some kind of law against what you’ve been doing,” she told Kent.
He stopped his annoying whistling and reached into the breast pocket of his lightweight summer blazer. He pulled out several slips of paper and held them out to her.
“What’s that?” she asked.
He smiled. “Permits to assemble, have a concession booth, sell trinkets, have a parade. The works.”
Phae crammed her phone in her jeans pocket and stalked toward him. “Let me see those.”
She snatched the papers and scanned them. As far as she could tell, they were for real. And signed by her Aunt Trinny, the city clerk. What a traitor.