MissFields. The apple. “I’ve never toldanyoneabout—”
“When the other girls talked about boys they liked, you had to think about it really hard, right? I bet you had a name all ready to go in case they asked you. Someone acceptable.”
Five minutes. It had been five minutes, maybe a few more, and this unfamiliar woman was pulling out bits of Anne’s past with the confidence of someone who’d watched her closely since childhood. “How the hell could you know all of that?”
“Because,” Julie said softly, “you aren’t alone.”
Anne opened her mouth. Closed it again.
All those years. All those years of feelings that stayed below until they couldn’t and became spills she’d cleaned up fast before they could stain her with the truth.
She’d always felt so goddamned alone.
“Family,” she managed. “Right. I see.”
“So, you wanted to talk about volunteering. There’s an orientation in a couple of weeks, and we’ve got to fingerprintyou first before you can start, but what’s your cup of tea? Pride Month’s almost here, so there’s plenty to do. We’re prepping the AIDS Walk, the fundraising team’s about to launch their second quarter campaign, our elder initiative is just getting off the ground, and the poetry writing class needs a new instructor. Any of that sound interesting?”
Still reeling a little, Anne heard herself ask, “A poetry instructor?”
“Yeah. You interested?”
“Oh God, no. But—I know a poet who teaches. My, ah, best friend.”
“Your best friend?” Julie repeated, lifting her eyebrows.
“You should read Sadie’s work, it’s—well, I haven’t read a lot of it”—she winced, embarrassed—“but she’s extremely talented. She sees potential everywhere, even when it doesn’t see her. She pays attention to things you’d never even notice. Somehow, she knows how to pick out just the right detail and show it to you in a way that makes you see it differently. Or for the first time.”
“Sounds pretty amazing,” Julie said gently, “this Sadie.”
“Yes.” It was all Anne could get out.
“Are you—?”
The unfinished question hung between them. How many different ways could Julie end it?Attracted to her? With her? In love with her?
It didn’t matter. The answer was the same. “I am,” Anne said.
Julie nodded just once, a firm downward tilt of her head, punctuating a sentence that never started.
Anne swallowed. “So,” she said, looking around. “Have you ever thought about what flowers could do for this space? Some tasteful arrangements would really brighten it up. Not just for events, but for classes, envelope-stuffing sessions, that sort of thing. Flowers have a significant impact on mental health, youknow. Just being around them makes people happier and more motivated.”
“Flowers?” Julie looked startled. “Well, no, I hadn’t thought about that. I love flowers, and you’re right, they’d really add a lot, but they tend to be pretty expensive, and there are bigger priorities. We’ve got a tight budget.”
Anne wouldn’t tell Julie, but after Arthur had mentioned the center the other day, she’d spent a few hours doing some research; the center’s financial statements were available on their website, hidden underneath layers of menus. Julie was right—they didn’t have much money—but what they did have, they appeared to use judiciously. “And if you had some financial support from a new volunteer and a cost-reducing partnership with a local shop? I’ve used Purple Poppy in Calabasas for years, and they have a Pride flag in their store window. I bet they’d like to help. I could reach out.”
Possibilities unfolded in front of Anne like fresh, clean clothes. If she didn’t ask for payment—God knew she didn’t need it—maybe Purple Poppy would be willing to let Anne help with preparation and arrangement as part of a deal with the center. Anne’s hands understood flowers like little else; underneath them, blooms preened in combinations her guests raved over.
But this would be better than that. This would be for a community.
Her community.
“Anne Lowell,” Julie said with wonder in her voice. She grinned. “I’ve been waiting foryearsfor someone like you to walk into this place.”
They chatted for a little longer about the fundraising campaign before Anne reached out to shake Julie’s hand, promising to return soon. Maybe it was Anne’s imagination, but Julie seemed to hold on just a second longer than absolutely necessary.
“Your best friend.” Julie pulled back her hand. “Sadie. She’s a very lucky woman. Assuming she’s smart enough to know what she’s got. And if she isn’t—” Julie’s cheeks were pink. “The maple-bacon donuts over at Glitz and Glaze, around the corner? They come in twos.”
Anne hid a smile. “I’m spoken for. But thank you. Really.”