Tempting Brooke (Big Sky 2.5)
“Derek Snyder,” she says, then looks up at me with a sigh. “We need to make a similar bouquet to this one and deliver it to his widow today.”
“Sunflowers? Don’t most people get calla lilies or roses?”
“He preferred sunflowers,” she says. “I met with him several times, and he was very specific about what he wanted.”
“He planned his own funeral.”
“Every detail.” She nods, passes me another flower, and then gets to work helping me. “Let’s finish this up so we can work on his wife’s arrangement.”
We spend a good hour working on the massive arrangement for his casket, and then Brooke reaches for a vase, another green foamy thing, and we built a similar bouquet to the one for the funeral.
“This is lovely,” she says, turning the finished product around in a circle, checking for holes. “Derek would have liked it.”
She walks over to her desk, opens a drawer, and retrieves an envelope.
“He didn’t have a card filled out; he wrote her a letter,” Brooke says and passes it to me. “It’s not sealed. You can read it.”
“This is an invasion of privacy.”
She shakes her head. “I helped him write it. Go ahead. I’m trying to show you that my shop is important to the community, and this is part of it.”
I pull the letter out, lean my hips against the table, and begin to read silently.
My dearest Shelly,
If you’re reading this letter, it’s because Brooke has come to our home with a bouquet of flowers for you, after I’ve passed on. I’m so sorry, babe. I know you’re having a hard time now, and I hope the flowers make you smile.
You’ve been amazing over the past two years since my diagnosis. You never left my side, spending every minute with me at the hospital, at the doctor’s visits, and you saw things that no wife should have to see.
I don’t know that I can ever thank you enough for your love. Being your husband was the greatest joy in my life, and I know that once I’m gone, I’ll miss you every day. The way your hair hooks around your ear. The way you laugh when I tell my stupid jokes, and especially the way you sigh when I make love to you.
You are precious, and wonderful. You are the reason I held cancer back for as long as I did, because I wanted to eke out every moment I could with you.
I’m not going to get into boring things here. There’s a will for that. This is to remind you how very loved you are. I will always be with you, and you will always be with me. I know we’ll be together again, but take your time, Shell. Live your life to the fullest. Laugh and cry, sing and dance. Travel. And, when you’re ready, marry again and have the babies we always longed for.
You have so much love in you. Don’t keep it all to yourself.
I love you, babe. Forever.
XO, Derek
I fold the letter, blinking my stinging eyes, and return it to its envelope.
“Wow. He was young.”
“Twenty-eight,” she agrees with a nod, accepting the letter from me and tucking it in among the blooms. “His wife is a year younger.”
“That’s sad.”
She nods again, lifts the bouquet, and says, “Let’s go.”
She secures the flowers in the back of her SUV and drives us the short distance to Shelly’s house.
“This must be the hardest part of your job.”
She considers for a moment, and then shrugs one shoulder. “Yes and no. I liked Derek, and I was heartbroken when he passed away. But delivering flowers like this is actually beautiful. I get to help comfort people during a time of great sorrow. It may seem like something small, but when they see the flowers, they have a moment of happiness, and that’s important.”
I reach over to take her hand and give it a squeeze.
“I agree. It’s important.”
Her brown eyes fly to mine in surprise as she parks the car and takes a deep breath.
“Here we go,” she says softly.
We ring the bell, and the door is answered quickly.
“Hi, Blake,” Brooke says, reaching her arm out for a hug. The younger woman smiles sadly, her eyes on the flowers.
“She’s in the kitchen,” she says, then looks at me. “Hi.”
“Hi. I’m Brody. I’m just helping Brooke today.”
She nods as she steps back, gesturing for us to come inside. “Nice to meet you. My sister will love these flowers.” Her eyes find Brooke’s. “Are these the ones?”
“They are.”
“Oh man. I didn’t think I could cry anymore, but it turns out I was wrong.” She reaches for a tissue and leads us through the house to the kitchen. There are already dozens of bouquets of flowers set about, ranging from small to big, and all different kinds of flowers.
And when we reach the kitchen, a tall woman, probably five foot eight, with long blond hair, is standing at the island, dunking a tea bag in hot water.