“Is that so?” she asked. “Most of my customers, ninety percent of my customers at least, are more interested in deciding what they want and not paying a dime extra for it, no matter how creative. It’s enough of a challenge to keep the price within their budgets.”

“Well, maybe I’ve spoken out of turn, but my shop was much larger and served a much wider area. My clientele were looking for something very special.”

“How lovely,” she said.

She asked him a few questions about how he was accustomed to handling billing, repeat customers, what vendors he used for ordering fresh stock, that sort of thing. She wondered if he was accustomed to the upkeep of his own shop or if he hired a cleaning crew and, no surprise, he didn’t do any of the cleaning himself. He had assistants who helped with everything. It sounded as if he didn’t like the grunt work.

Finally she couldn’t think of another question. “Well, thank you for coming in, Mr. Germain. It was a pleasure to meet you, and it was nice of you to take the time. I’ve had a number of applicants so I’ll be in touch.” She stood and put out her hand, but it was of course dirty and green from the stems and florist’s tape.

“Have you had any applicants who are professional florists?” he asked, also standing.

“Actually, no. Not a one. But my last assistant, who was amazing in every respect, was trained by me. So of course there was never any controversy—we were always on the same page.”

“You speak as if you’re already convinced we won’t work together well,” he said.

“I think that idea began with no babies in the workplace,” she admitted.

“I’m much more flexible than I let on,” he said.

“Ah, but I’m not looking for flexibility so much as an assistant who sees things the way I do. Still, let me consider all the data, taking into account your amazing résumé, and I’ll be in touch. It’s a very small shop, Mr. Germain. Small and simple and hopefully beautiful, and my clientele has been happy so far. And it’s a profitable store. I wouldn’t want that to change.”

“And if you don’t find a productive assistant before...” His gaze dropped to her belly.

“I’m not worried,” she said. A lie. She was worried. If she didn’t find good help, she would have to close the shop for a while. That would probably mean rebuilding her entire customer base when she opened up again. “Thank you again.”

He shook her hand. “When will you make a decision?” he asked.

“In a few days,” she said. “Have a lovely day, Mr. Germain.”

Grace sat again at her worktable, but her heart was a little heavy. That was a disappointing interview. A person like that would never do in Thunder Point. The last thing her friends and neighbors would tolerate was someone who believed he was too good for them. And while her experience in the flower industry had been relatively brief, she’d seen his like before—the artsy-fartsy flower shops that tried too hard to be different, to be chic. Oh, she was familiar with the high-end market, the regionally famous, upscale resorts and hotels, and they were especially appreciative of a hard-working florist who was more eager to please than to be congratulated for her artistry and high prices. Even the fanciest markets wanted good work from talented people and the best price. After all, hadn’t Grace grown up with one of the richest women in Northern California? She knew class, she knew style. She knew pretention.

Twenty-year-old Justin Russell came to the shop an hour later for his deliveries. “How you getting by, Grace?” he asked.

“Excellent,” she said. “You?”

“Also excellent,” he said. “You have a lot of deliveries today?”

“Just five, but they’re all out of town. Take the delivery van. I’m going to close the shop for an hour or so and walk across the beach to check on the fireplace man.”

He looked at her doubtfully. “You want to use my car?” he asked.

“The walking is a good idea, Justin. I’m not handicapped, just pregnant.”

“Right. But... Well, seems like you’re getting real pregnant these days.”

“That’s the idea, Justin. Then poof! I explode.”

He winced. “Don’t do that, okay?”

“Okay,” she laughed. “Your deliveries are all tagged and in the refrigerator. Lock the back door please?”

“Sure. If you’re not here when I bring the van back, I’ll leave the keys on your desk.”

She really wasn’t worried about the stone man or the fireplace, but after that lousy interview, she thought a little fresh air and perspective might help. She needed her jacket because the air on the beach was cool, though it was a beautiful, sunny, fall day. She walked up the beach stairs to the deck and Keebler turned to look at her.

“Looking very nice, Keebler,” she said.

He grunted.

In the living room she found Mikhail sitting in Winnie’s favorite chair, his feet up on the ottoman, reading his electronic book. She shed her jacket, hung it on the back of a dining room chair and gave him a kiss on the forehead. He reached up and patted her hand.

“How long has Mother been asleep?” she asked.

He glanced at his watch. “Better than hour,” he said. “Lin Su folds the clothes.”

As Grace went to her mother’s bedroom she passed Lin Su in the hall, pulling linens out of the dryer and folding them. They nodded at each other and Grace went to her mother’s room.

Winnie was resting peacefully, lying on her back, her eyes closed and the merest smile on her lips. Grace sat on the edge of the bed and her mother’s eyes fluttered open. Winnie yawned gracefully.

Grace pulled Winnie’s thin and frail hand to her belly to feel the movement and Winnie laughed. “She’s romping now,” Winnie said in a faint whisper.

“She’s wild. She takes after her grandmother, I think.”

“You were very active. I didn’t enjoy it as much as I should have. I wanted the pregnancy to be over so I could skate. I was so shortsighted.”

“Nah, that was just the place you were in at the time,” Grace said.

“Something is bothering you,” Winnie said.

Oh, indeed, Grace felt bothered. She had very little hope of finding the right person, someone like Ginger, to run the flower shop while she excused herself to have a baby, to spend the first few weeks with the baby. She feared she’d have to close the shop for at least a couple of months. And, oh! She’d worked so hard to build that store, to stock it, to learn to run it, to make it a good working shop that made money. She’d worked easily twelve hours a day, seven days a week. It was her whole life.