Tahira in Bloom Page 5

  “Still.” Gia paused. “Sucks there’s no pool—he could have seen me in a bikini all summer. Although maybe he still can—where does one buy a kiddie pool? Because I need to find a way to tear you away from your fashion this summer. You’re getting a little two-dimensional—like your drawings.”

  “Ooh, savage.” I laughed. I already missed Gia, and we’d only been apart a day. She never failed to make me laugh. I could be a bit intense and focused at times, which was why we got along so well—we complemented each other. Gia sometimes needed a little push to keep the hustle in her life, and she reminded me to have fun sometimes.

  “Ugh. Mom’s yelling for me,” Gia said. “She’s in full-on panic mode about what food we’re bringing up. She’s trying to figure out how to make a porchetta with no pork. I should go. Warm up that influencer hater for me, will ya? I’m going to need a country boy to corrupt.”

  “Ha ha. Love you, G.”

  “Love you, too, T.”

  Smiling, I ended the call with Gia and opened the door.

  “What the hell! Thirst Trap is now in my yard?” said a familiar voice.

  Ugh. Rowan Johnston was home from work. And he did remember he hated me. Wonderful.

  5

  THAT JAW, THOUGH

  Ugh. I was alone in the backyard with Rowan Johnston’s frown. And the rest of him, of course, but his disappointed scowl that I was in his precious garden was the defining feature of the space right now. Still wearing that ridiculous Star Wars flowery shirt and frayed shorts, and holding a metal shovel, he glared at me from beside the flower bed.

  Ignoring him, I walked to the patio, sat on a sofa, and scrolled my Instagram. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me squirm after seeing him.

  Rowan huffed with displeasure. Finally, he spoke. “I should have known. You are Shar’s niece. This is just adding to my already crappy day.”

  “Wow,” I deadpanned. “Small-town hospitality is even more welcoming than I expected.” The sarcasm dripped from my voice.

  He stabbed the shovel into the dirt, leaving it standing next to him. “Do you know how long it took me to clean up the manure from the gravel?”

  I did feel kind of bad about that. I sighed. “I am sorry I made that mess. That’s why I offered to clean it and to pay for it. But you and your sidekick were incredibly rude. Whatever happened to ‘The customer is always right’?”

  “You weren’t a customer! You weren’t going to buy anything. You’re an influencer. You think your presence alone is something we should be grateful for!”

  He said the word “influencer” like some might say “street rat.” Whatever. I could’ve told him I was there with my mother—an actual paying customer. Or that influencers are actually entrepreneurs—and it was super cool to be able to inspire people while making a bit of money from sponsorships. But I’d encountered his type before. He thought there was a negative correlation between a girl’s IQ and her Instagram follower count.

  I turned my cheek and looked back at my phone. He grunted his displeasure again and went back to digging.

  Juniper came out of her house with a box of cookies and headed toward the patio. “Oh, hey, Row. When’d you get here?”

  “Five minutes ago,” he said, not looking up from his mound of dirt.

  As Juniper sat across from me and offered me a cookie, Mom and Sharmin Aunty reappeared from my aunt’s house with more snacks. Indian chevdo and some chips and salsa.

  “Rowan, did you meet Tahira?” Sharmin Aunty asked as she sat and motioned for us all to help ourselves to the snacks. “She’ll be working at the store with Juniper all summer.”

  Mom sat next to me and handed me a small bowl.

  Rowan sighed. “Leanne and I had the pleasure of meeting her at Wynter’s today.”

  I glared at Rowan. I disliked the fact that we were stuck together as much as he did, but unlike him, I wouldn’t broadcast my displeasure to everyone.

  But focusing on him, even like this, caused a problem. It made me notice that Rowan looked different in his own garden. His dark, wide-set eyes were darker. His cheekbones higher. His jawline sharper. His skin glowed more, and his lips seemed soft. I’d thought both he and his friend were pretty attractive when I first saw them, but right now? Rowan wasn’t just cute; he was stunning. Exquisite. Even in that dumb shirt. If it weren’t for his personality, I would love to photograph this guy. He was, like, model-level good looking.

  Mmm, yes, I could see it. Smoldering eyes, disinterested glare, scowling mouth . . . wearing . . . my cropped gray men’s T-shirt with the leather epaulets? Matteo hadn’t looked right in it—my boyfriend was unfortunately short waisted. What shoes would I put on Rowan? Retro-style Jordans, or even black leather Pumas. Anything was better than those beat-up Chucks. What color were they originally, anyway? Blue? Gray?

  And . . . I was probably staring too long there. He managed to raise one brow at me while still scowling. This guy really needed to be in front of a camera.

  I turned away, helping myself to some chevdo.

  “Tahira’s seventeen,” Juniper said to her brother. “She’s got one more year of high school, like me.”

  “Half,” I said. “I’m on track to graduate early with honors.”

  Rowan looked at me. And I mean really looked . . . like he couldn’t quite figure me out. I guess he was entitled, considering the analysis of his appearance I’d just done. Then he turned away without saying anything—clearly deciding I wasn’t worth the mental energy to decipher.

  Rude.

  “Rowan’s graduation was last week,” Juniper told Mom and me. “He was backup valedictorian. What did you call it, Row? Understudy?”

  “Salutatorian.”

  “It’s such a weird word. I think they made it up at our school.”

  “Rowan’s best friend, Leanne, was valedictorian,” Sharmin Aunty said. “Her parents are Joanne and Leeland, who used to own my house.”

  I shrugged. So, Grumpy and the Sunshine Girl were smart, so what?

  “We’re hoping Tahira gets many awards when she graduates,” Mom said. “Art awards definitely, but hopefully academic, too.”

  “Rowan,” Sharmin Aunty said, “if you have a second, could you help bring a table out to the flat for Tahira and her friend to use?”

  His head shot around to me. “There are two of you?”

  “Yes, my best friend, Gia, is coming tomorrow. You’ll get the pleasure of both our company.”

  Rowan glared at me again. No problem; I could glare, too. I even bit my lip with a flash of amusement, which probably annoyed him more.

  “Well, everyone,” Mom said with a smile, standing. She wiped her hands on a napkin. “I really should get on the road. I need to stop at the office on the way home.”

  After Mom said goodbye to Rowan and Juniper, she thanked Sharmin Aunty again and told her to call if I gave her any trouble.

  “Tahira, come walk me out,” Mom said, and she and I walked around the house to her car.

  She hugged me when we got there. “I know this isn’t what you wanted this summer,” she said, “but I also know you’ll make the best of it.”

  I sank into the hug. I really was going to miss her. “I think it will be okay,” I said when I let go. At least I hoped it would be. Even if I wasn’t entirely happy to be here in Bakewell, that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to do the absolute best I could to make the summer a success. I needed the fashion experience too much.

  Mom put her hand on my cheek. “You’ll be amazing, Tahira. I know you can accomplish anything. I’ll miss having you around this summer. You girls are growing up so fast.” She opened the car door. “Oh, and go to jamatkhana in Niagara Falls with your aunt when she goes.”

  “I know, Mom.” Jamatkhana was an Ismaili Muslim place of worship, and we went to prayers regularly at one in Toronto. Mom didn’t have to nag me now; I didn’t mind joining my aunt for prayers here, too.

  “Okay. Love you, Tahira.”

>   “Love you, too, Mom.” I smiled and waved to my mother from the driveway as she drove away.

  As expected, Gia made an entrance when she arrived Monday morning. With a fresh spray-on tan and hair in perfect tousled waves, she clomped up the driveway in brown suede cowboy boots and a frothy pink floral dress that barely covered her butt.

  I stood on the porch, laughing. “Gia, what are you wearing?” She’d always been more adaptable with her style choices, but this was way more country than I’d ever seen on her.

  “You like it? I figured, when in cow town, right? Taylor Swift says we’re all supposed to be cottagecore these days.”

  “This isn’t even a cow town.”

  Gia’s father was behind her, carrying aluminum trays and bags that I knew would be filled with food. Gia’s parents were the type to constantly offer everyone around them meals, or salami. After I refused the salami a few times, they figured out I was Muslim and started buying beef salami, and they officially became my favorite friend-parents.

  “Tahira! This little town is so charming!” He kissed both my cheeks. “I did some research on Yelp, and you’ll have to order pizza from the place on Main. Their reviews are the best.” He smiled at Sharmin Aunty, who stood behind me. “I’m Joe Borroni. You must be Sharmin? We spoke on the phone.”

  After introductions, we went inside. Mr. Borroni presented Sharmin Aunty with two beef salamis, three homemade frozen lasagnas, and six big jars of homemade red sauce.

  While the adults talked about living arrangements, Gia’s dietary restrictions, and other parent-type stuff, I picked up two of Gia’s bags, leaving her with three (she’d brought even more than I had), and took her to see our new home.

  “Oh, wow, this is stun-ning,” she said when we got to the backyard. “You said the garden was overdone. This is magical.”

  I scrunched my nose. “You don’t think it’s a bit much?”

  She shook her head. “No! It’s amazing. My Instagram is going to be so good this summer. Maybe I’ll finally get some sponsorships. Okay, I watched tours of tiny houses on YouTube the whole way here. Show me the house.”

  I pointed to the granny flat.

  “Oh.” She frowned. “I thought that was a shed.”

  I laughed as I stepped up to the door of the flat. “You ready?”

  She nodded, so I opened the door.

  She frowned. “It looks really . . . flammable?”

  “It’s like living in a sauna but without the warmth,” I said, dragging her bags in.

  She stepped inside, her cowboy boots reverberating on the pine floor. “Or a tree house.”

  I nodded, agreeing. “A woodpile.”

  “Is this all of it?” she asked. She dropped a bag on the daybed, which was still made up to look like a sofa, with its floral bedspread and wood-print cushions.

  “Pretty much.” I pointed to the back of the tiny house. “There’s a tiny bathroom back there—thankfully not made of wood. That ladder leads to a sleeping loft with another bed.”

  “I’m not climbing that. I can’t even wear platform shoes.”

  “I figured as much.” Gia wasn’t a heights person. “I slept up there last night; it was fine.” Mostly fine. I woke practically at dawn from what sounded like eight dozen birds in the yard. I had been told it would be quieter out in the country. It wasn’t.

  “Oh, I forgot, I brought something to decorate!” She pulled a framed photo out of a bag. It was of the actor Chris Pine, in his gray-bearded phase. “You said it was pine themed.”

  I laughed. “Love it. Makes all this seem . . . intentional.”

  She leaned the photo on the table. “It doesn’t matter what the place looks like, anyway,” Gia said. “We get to live here. Just you and me. It’s going to be lit.”

  I wasn’t sure how “lit” it would be, considering I knew only Gia plus four people in town, and one of them was my fiftysomething-year-old aunt, and another found me as palatable as rotting roadkill, but sure. If Gia wanted to delude herself that this would be a party summer, I wasn’t going to be the one to burst her bubble.

  The plan for the day was for me to spend the rest of the morning getting Gia settled in and unpacked. Then Juniper would meet up with us late morning, and the three of us would walk together to Lilybuds at noon for our first day of training.

  Finding space for all Gia’s clothes was a bit tricky since my stuff was already everywhere, but somehow, we managed to get her stuff to fit. In every corner, under every piece of furniture, and even hanging from the walls were clothes, shoes, accessories, and hair products, but you could at least walk around the tiny house. And you could barely see the pine anymore. Mostly.

  After unpacking, I put on my most retail sales associate outfit: my black high-waisted dress pants with a paper-bag waistband and a blouse I’d made myself—pale gray with bold red stripes around the sleeves. I’d sewn it out of the softest French jersey, and I loved the way it draped over my body. I put my hair up in a half bun on the top of my head and started on my makeup.

  My phone vibrated with a text as I was doing my eyes. I checked the screen—Matteo. We’d talked on the phone until late last night, and I was still feeling warm and fuzzy from the call.

  Matteo: Hey baby, Good luck at your new job today!

  Tahira: TY! You’re the best. You on your way to work?

  Matteo: Yeah. On the subway. About to go underground, I’ll call you tonight. Miss you.

  Tahira: Miss you, more.

  I heard a knock on our door. I hadn’t quite finished gluing my false lashes on (they were short and “professional” looking), but I went out so I could be there when Gia met Juniper.

  “Wow, Tahira was right. You are adorbs,” Gia said.

  Juniper was in a calf-length black pleated skirt and a sleeveless white collared blouse. Her hair was in a higher ponytail than yesterday, and she had pale gloss on her lips.

  “Thanks!” she said. “You’re Gia, right? That dress is amazing! I love that shade of pink. I’m Juniper Jessica Johnston. You can call me June or Juniper.” She held out three small pink flowers. “I had Row bring rain lilies from the nursery for each of us . . . you can wear it as a boutonniere, or put in it a vase, or whatever. They symbolize big expectations, so I thought they’d be good for the first day at a new job.”

  “Ooh, pretty!” Gia took a flower and promptly found a pin to affix it to her hair. I took a flower, too—but didn’t know what to do with it. It was just one flower, but I didn’t want my eyes watering.

  “You don’t have to keep it if you don’t want to,” Juniper said as she slipped her flower into the elastic holding her hair. “Shar told me you’re allergic. It still works if you just look at it.”

  “Still works for what?” I asked.

  Juniper shrugged. “This is something my grandma did. She said smelling, or even seeing, the perfect flower could change your day. That’s why I gave you the welcome flowers. Did you know red tulips mean deeply in love? Like, real love, not just passion, like roses. And tansy flowers are given as a declaration of war? Grandma once had a bride ask for tansies in her wedding bouquet. Can you imagine? Grandma called it a declaration of divorce. Are y’all ready to go?”

  “In a minute.” I handed Gia my flower, and she slipped it in her hair with the other one while I headed back to the bathroom to finish my face. I could hear Juniper telling Gia her pronouns, her age, her grade, and her favorite books. Clearly no one would be bored during slow moments at the store when Juniper was working. This girl saw every silence as an opportunity.

  “It’s super cool that y’all are here this summer,” Juniper said as I slipped on my white platform sneakers. “I screamed with joy when Shar told me you were coming. I’ve never had a friend on the street. Row had Leanne, but she moved.”

  “Aren’t you and Leanne friends, too?” I asked.

  Juniper fidgeted with the locket necklace she was wearing. “Not really. She and Row have been best friends since practically kindergarten.
I’m just the kid sister.” She put her hand on the door. “It’s a twenty-minute walk to the store, so we should probably go.”

  “Ready,” I said, grabbing my blue suede hobo with my phone, iPad, and lipstick.

  “So, your brother has been best friends with a girl since he was five?” Gia asked as we walked down the street. “And they’re not together?”

  Juniper shook her head. “Just friends. Leanne calls Row her brother.”

  Gia grinned. “Ah. Give them time. Friends to lovers—I love to see it.”

  Juniper scratched the back of her neck before pointing out the nearby flower-themed playground. Had Juniper been on the receiving end of the same snarky rudeness this Leanne had shown me at the nursery? It wouldn’t surprise me, and it would explain Juniper’s current uneasiness.

  “I just started an Instagram for books,” Juniper said, “but I don’t have many followers yet.” After our chat yesterday, I was kind of used to Juniper’s habit of changing subjects quickly. “I want to learn to take better pictures. You have an Insta, right? How many followers do you have?”

  “About twenty thousand,” I said.

  Juniper nodded. “Impressive.”

  “Mine’s nowhere near that high,” Gia said. “Tahira is the real deal. I keep telling her she needs to get on TikTok or Twitter—”

  “Instagram is enough,” I said. I was better off focusing my efforts on one platform and honing my craft during the time I would otherwise be maintaining multiple accounts or editing videos. I spent hours a day either sewing, drafting, or researching trends and techniques, and there wasn’t time for much else.

  Although maybe I should have been working harder to build my platform—I still wasn’t getting the recognition that I needed. Maybe with more followers across different platforms, I’d get on that #IndieFashionWeekly page. Or maybe my designs just weren’t innovative enough, and I should’ve been working harder there.

  We turned onto a busier street, and Juniper pointed out a drugstore, a small grocery store, and the building where her mother worked. The town was laid out like most small towns I’d been to, but it was way more . . . colorful. Many of the buildings had brightly painted moldings and doors, and the store signs were super vibrant. There were flowers everywhere. Hanging in baskets from ornate lampposts and dangling from the edges of the awnings on the patios. There were window boxes on most buildings, planters on the boulevards, and even long boxes filled with flowers on the tops of the fence railings.