“My Harold loved roses too.”
Maya smiled.
“Then he would have liked these.”
Eleanor examined the ceramic pot.
The surface was uneven, with small blue patterns pressed into the clay.
“Did your father make the pot as well?”
“He did. Pottery was his hobby. He made that one shortly before he passed away.”
Maya’s voice grew quieter.
“I keep the rose here because it reminds me of him.”
Eleanor nodded.
“I understand.”
For a moment, the two women shared the kind of silence that needs no explanation.
They had both lost someone whose absence still lived inside ordinary objects.
Then Vanessa approached.
“Are we finished admiring houseplants?”
Maya stepped back.
“Of course, Ms. Pierce.”
Vanessa glanced at the rose.
“What’s this?”
“It’s a rose variety my father developed.”
“Looks ordinary.”
Maya said nothing.
Vanessa reached toward the pot.
Eleanor noticed how carelessly she moved around the display.
“Be careful, dear,” Eleanor said. “That belongs to the florist.”
Vanessa turned.
“Excuse me?”
“The pot is handmade. It means something to her.”
Vanessa gave a small, impatient laugh.
“Everything seems to mean something in this shop.”
She moved the pot aside to make room for a display sample.
The ceramic base caught the edge of the table.
It slipped from her hand.
Maya reached for it, but too late.
The pot fell onto the tiled floor.
A crack ran through its side, and damp soil scattered around the broken pieces.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Maya stared at the floor.
Then she knelt beside the rose.
“Oh, Papa.”
The words were barely audible.
She lifted the plant carefully, trying to keep the roots together.
Vanessa looked down.
“It’s a flowerpot.”
Maya didn’t answer.
“You can buy another one.”
Gordon hurried over with a towel.
“Let’s get this cleaned up.”
Maya held the damaged pot in both hands.
“My father made this.”
Vanessa glanced at her watch.
“Then you should have kept it somewhere safer.”
Eleanor felt a familiar anger rise inside her.
It wasn’t the anger of someone who wanted to make a scene.
It was the colder disappointment that came when a person was given an opportunity to show compassion and chose indifference instead.
“An apology would be appropriate,” she said.
Vanessa turned toward her.
“Who asked you?”
Eleanor met her eyes.
“Nobody. But I thought it worth mentioning.”
Vanessa smiled without warmth.
“Perhaps you should take your flower and go home.”
Maya stood slowly.
Her eyes were bright, but her voice remained steady.
“Ms. Pierce, I’ll finish your arrangements. But I would appreciate it if you treated the staff respectfully.”
The shop became completely still.
Gordon looked alarmed.
“Maya—”
Vanessa stared at her.
“You work for me today.”
“I work for Mr. Pratt,” Maya answered.
“And Mr. Pratt is being paid by me.”
Gordon stepped between them.
“Let’s all calm down.”
Vanessa looked at him.
“I want someone else handling my wedding flowers.”
Gordon hesitated.
“Maya is our most experienced designer.”
“Then perhaps your most experienced designer needs to learn how to speak to customers.”
Maya lowered her eyes.
Eleanor watched Gordon.
He had a decision to make.
He could defend the woman who had worked for him for nine years.
Or he could protect the large contract sitting on his desk.
He chose the contract.
“Maya,” he said quietly, “perhaps you should take the rest of the day off.”
Maya looked up.
“After nine years?”
Gordon couldn’t meet her eyes.
“We’ll discuss it later.”
Vanessa folded her arms.
“I don’t want her anywhere near my flowers.”
Gordon swallowed.
Then he said the words that would haunt him for weeks.
“Maya, I think it’s best if we end your employment.”
Maya stood perfectly still.
The damaged rose rested in her hands.
For a moment, Eleanor thought she might argue.
Instead, Maya nodded.
“All right.”
Gordon looked miserable.
“I’m sorry.”
Maya glanced at him.
“I know.”
But her voice made it clear that knowing was not the same as forgiving.
She carried the rose toward the workroom.
Eleanor watched her disappear through the doorway.
The shop seemed colder without her.
Vanessa turned back to the flower samples.
“Now, can we finally finish this appointment?”
Gordon nodded weakly.
“Of course.”
Eleanor remained beside the counter.
She had learned enough to know that Vanessa was capable of extraordinary selfishness.
But she hadn’t yet seen the full extent of it.
That came a few minutes later.
Vanessa was looking through the floral proposal when she suddenly touched her wrist.
Her expression changed.
“My bracelet.”
Brie looked up.
“What?”
“My diamond bracelet. The one Julian gave me.”
She examined her other wrist, then the table.
“It’s gone.”
Gordon approached.
“Perhaps you removed it while trying the flowers?”
Vanessa shook her head.
“I took it off near the sink when I washed my hands.”
She glanced toward the workroom.
Then her eyes narrowed.
“Only one person was back there.”
Gordon stiffened.
“Vanessa, surely you’re not suggesting—”
“Call Maya.”
Eleanor looked carefully at Vanessa.