Chapter 10: The Cold Room

I got to the shop at six with my blue dress in a garment bag and no plan.

Nate was in the cold room with the door propped open and a bucket of delphinium in each hand.

"You're supposed to be getting ready," he said.

"I am ready. I'm wearing the only dress I own that I chose."

"Then put it on in the back and help me carry."

I changed in the stockroom, between a stack of vases and a rack of ribbons.

When I came out, he looked at me and then at the floor.

"Good," he said, in a flat voice. "That's blue."

"Is that all?"

"It's a good blue."

I laughed.

We loaded the van together, and my hands turned the color of his arms.

I had two buckets of hydrangea in my arms when he told me about the lease.

He said it between one trip and the next, in the plainest words he had.

"Mallory says your father owns my building. He signs my renewal Monday."

I put the buckets down.

"Nate. I'll call him."

"No."

"I'm not going to cost you your shop."

"You're not costing me anything. I decided what I was putting in that room."

"You didn't decide it for me," I said. "You decided it for yourself. Why?"

He took a long time to answer.

"Because for six years I made you the wrong blue," he said. "And I knew."

He pushed the cold-room door open with his shoulder to let the last stems through, and I followed him in.

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