Iris sat back in her chair and chewed on her pen. “Troy, what about this is a problem?”

He shrugged and looked down.

“Spit it out before I start guessing.”

“I don’t feel good enough.”

“Ridiculous,” she scoffed. “Your individual incomes have nothing at all to do with your worth. After all, Grace didn’t earn hers, did she? She was born to it—that’s nothing but luck. You should start playing the lottery, maybe you’ll get lucky.”

“Tell me how to get past this,” he said. “My brain is telling me it makes no sense to feel this way and I don’t know why I can’t shake it. I’m a smart person. I don’t discriminate against anyone. What the hell is this?”

“I think it’s testosterone,” she said. “Really!” she said, her tone indicating some disgust.

“Where’d you come up with that?”

“It sounds like just another version of ‘let’s get ’em out and measure ’em, boys.’ Men have this competitive thing, this need for mastery. You have a hard time if you think you’re not in control, especially in control of your woman. Something about Grace’s family money makes you feel vulnerable and awkward. And yet the girl lives in a tiny loft! She drives a flower delivery van!”

“I’ve never been like that,” he said. “I’ve never been controlling toward women. If you knew my mother or sister, you wouldn’t even suggest that.”

“Then what is it?” she asked.

“I don’t know. It’s just...I wonder what I could ever get her if she has everything. What can I do for her if she can pick up the phone and hire it done?”

Iris stared at him in wonder. She leaned toward him and her voice was disarmingly soft. “Troy, I want you to think about those questions—what could you give her, what could you do for her? When you come up with the answers, you will have solved the problem. I’m not going to be able to answer for you. But can I just tell you one thing?”

“Please.”

“The important things Seth gives me never come out of his pocket.”

* * *

Grace didn’t sleep as well without Troy as she had with him, but after all he’d done for her the past week, she’d never complain. She was up early, not because she was ambitious but because she didn’t want to struggle again and again to fall back to sleep. The look it left on her was less than gorgeous. After the past week, including her four days in San Francisco, she had dark circles under her eyes. She used a little cosmetic concealer and hoped she wouldn’t yawn all day.

She got into the shop early and found it was as clean as an ICU, her flowers all well cared for and chilling, her desk clear and the front of the store sparkling. Even the scarred, stained worktable had been scrubbed and if she wasn’t mistaken, the floor had been thoroughly mopped, something she didn’t bother with more than once a week. That workroom saw a lot of action and keeping it pristine was a never-ending task.

Ginger wasn’t due until nine but she came in at eight, using her own key. She was clearly surprised to see Grace and her face lit up with a happy smile. “Welcome home! How was the trip?”

“Productive,” she said. “And very tiring. I’m going to want to speak to Ray Anne at her earliest convenience. Is she awake?”

“Awake, already left the house and said to tell you she’s planning to come down to talk with you today, probably before noon.”

“Outstanding,” Grace said. “The place looks great, Ginger. It looks like you were scrubbing all night.”

“No, not at all. There wasn’t much business. I only tried my hand at one arrangement, which didn’t turn out too well, then I stopped. I didn’t want to waste flowers on practice.”

“Well, we get a new shipment tomorrow and since they’re mostly for the wedding, I’ll order yet another for Monday. Later today you can feel free to practice. Flowers that have reached their life expectancy have to be disposed of anyway.”

“It must kill you to throw away flowers,” Ginger said.

“It kills me more to get a phone call from a customer saying their centerpiece lasted two days! Fresh is beautiful, remember that.”

“Can I make you some coffee?” Ginger asked, going to the workroom.

Grace thought about it, then lied. “I’ve already had coffee, thanks. Go ahead, make yourself a pot. The minute we have time, I’ll show you how to use the designing computer programs I have.”

While they were in San Francisco, Grace had stayed away from wine and caffeine, though she could have used a full tank of each. She’d let Troy pour her a glass of wine, then nurse it. She’d take a sip and complain of being too tired to enjoy it and once she tipped it into a potted plant when he wasn’t looking. She poured coffee down the drain. No one seemed to notice. She wasn’t sure Troy would question it but since she wasn’t ready to confront it, she kept silent.

Tonight, however. Tonight it had to be done. She was afraid, of course. She hoped he wouldn’t suggest they terminate to give themselves more time, because in the days since she’d peed on the stick she’d been seeing a real, beautiful baby in her mind. Now there was no direction for her other than to have it, to hold it and love it.

It was late morning when Ray Anne came into the shop.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Grace said. “I’m afraid I have to do everything I can to find a place for my mother and quickly. I knew that old house in the Bay Area wasn’t going to work for her—everything is a challenge, from the bed to the stairs to the bath. We practically have to have her doctor flown in and she’s pretty much captive in that bedroom with no fresh air or—”

Ray Anne was smiling. “We’ve got the solution. Everything you need, everything you asked for.”

“Really? How’d you find it?”

“I’d love to take credit, but Cooper will rat me out eventually. He has three spec houses that can be occupied in three months or less and he’s given me the contracts.”

Her face fell. “Ray Anne, we don’t have three months.”

“Not to worry. The exteriors are nearly finished on all three and one of them only needs a little... Oh, listen, come with me, come and see. Ginger can stay here, can’t she?”