“But what if I don’t like it?” Grace asked him.

“You’ll like it,” he said. “Everyone likes my work.”

“And if it doesn’t seem to fit? The appearance of it, I mean.”

“You picked the stone. I reckon you can start over. My schedule is a little tight.”

It was obvious if they didn’t like the work, they’d be buying a second fireplace. But he’d done Cooper’s and it was beautiful. They all held their breath and watched the slow evolution of the outdoor hearth.

Meanwhile, Grace was trying to find a manager for the shop. She interviewed a few women from the area and it was taxing. She came close to hiring one just based on her enthusiasm, but in the end her lack of experience just wouldn’t do. Even though the best assistant money could buy had been Ginger, a woman with virtually no experience other than a love of flowers and other beautiful things and a fierce desire to be useful.

She was having an interview that afternoon and she was very hopeful. Ronaldo Germain had owned his own shop in Grants Pass, which he lost to the woes of recession. The last thing she expected was a slim blond man named Ronaldo. But it was rare for a man she didn’t know to come into her shop, so when he entered she stood from her place at the worktable and said, “May I help you?”

“Ronaldo Germain, here to see the owner,” he said. And he looked around her shop, his nose definitely in the air. As if her adorable little shop was somehow inferior!

For a second it occurred to her to say the owner wasn’t available today. She didn’t have a good feeling.

“I’m Grace Headly, Mr. Germain,” she said. “This is my shop.”

“Lovely,” he said insincerely.

“Come into the back,” she said. “I’m working on a piece and we can chat while I finish. I’ve already read through your very impressive résumé.”

He followed her and when they were in the back room he said, “Call me psychic, but I think I see the reason you’re in the market for a manager. You’re not one of those modern mothers, planning to bring the baby to work, are you?”

“You don’t like children? Babies?” she asked.

“Not in the workplace, no, but it’s your business, not mine.”

“Right. Well, I saw in your cover letter that you owned a shop that fell on hard times and had to sell. Are you employed as a florist now?”

“I am a barista,” he said, again the lift of the chin.

It was really at that point that Grace realized she’d struck out again. So, Mr. Lovely had lost his shop and now worked in a coffee shop yet looked at her shop with obvious disdain. But she continued with the conversation, now a little out of curiosity and a little out of fun. She wasn’t going to hire him but she wasn’t forgiving him for commenting first on her pregnancy and second on her plans for child care. It was her business, after all.

“Tell me, Mr. Germain, what led to you working in the floral industry?”

He sat down at an angle to her and folded his hands on the tabletop. “It was sheer luck,” he said. “I started to work with flowers through a friend who owned a shop and then, a few years later, opened my own. I discovered there’s a need for more creative designs, particularly for formal weddings. You do create for weddings, don’t you?”

“Of course. I won’t be serving weddings in December and January unless I find a skilled and talented florist, however. For obvious reasons. And then, of course, I will often be bringing my baby to work. Because I want to.” She smiled indulgently.

He glanced at her arrangement. He sniffed. “You might want to trim the stems on those mums and find a better color for the orchids. Is it supposed to be a birthday arrangement or something for the house?”

She ground her teeth and narrowed her eyes. “The customer was very specific. It’s for an open house—anniversary. Fall-themed anniversary, thus the rust and gold mums, yellow oncidium, dried maple leaves, curly willow and larkspur.”

“Hmm,” he mused, taking a slanted view. “I’d opt for some coral Asiatic lily. And Queen Anne’s lace. Maybe miniature gerbera.”

“That would be very pretty,” she said. “And not what the customer asked for.”

“I’m sure the customer would like it,” he said. “I can assure you, after ten years in the business, I can make a decent bouquet.”

“Of course,” she said. “I have a digital program that shows the price of each stem and stalk and illustrates their images on a computer screen. That way I don’t have to guess when the customer says, ‘Oh, just give me something pretty my wife would like.’ Though sometimes, depending on the customer, something pretty at the right price is safer.”

He stiffened. “No one has such a program.”

“I do. I helped design it with a programmer when I started out in flowers in Portland. The software writer was a friend of mine. We worked on it together. It’s wonderful. And it’s patented.”

“And you use this for events? Weddings? Funerals?”

“Not funerals. People either have specific desires or are too emotional to listen to a lot of explanation. I use the program for weddings mostly. Sometimes for event centerpieces or arrangements for businesses. I can email images to the prospective client along with a bid. It’s very convenient.”

“Are there a lot of business events in this, ah, Thunder Point?”

“Not so many, no,” she said. “I’ve been known to cover much of Coos County and beyond for specialty arrangements and accessories. Bandon Dunes plays host to many business meetings and special events and they seem to like my work.”

“Who helps you now?” he asked.

“My last assistant just left to get married. She’ll be living near Portland, which leaves me shorthanded. Why don’t you tell me what you’re looking for, Ronaldo.”

“Well, I was hoping for a management position and a larger shop, but I suppose this will do. If you’re willing to let me have a free hand with some design. Computer program or not, there’s no substitute for artistry and experience.”

“Really?” she asked.

“Sometimes people have to be encouraged to take a few risks for the sake of beauty, for innovation and creativity.”