Casual Hex by Vicki Lewis Thompson

Author:Vicki Lewis Thompson [Thompson, Vicki Lewis]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2011-04-11T04:00:00+00:00

“Bigger.”

Gwen pulled out the next-larger size. “Like this?”

“That should work.”

Gwen set the vase on the table she used for making arrangements and walked over to the refrigerated case where she kept her cut flowers in water. “By the way, I appreciate you and Bob offering to put Marc up for the night.”

“The boys were disappointed he didn’t come over. They wanted to ask him if he knows Lance Armstrong.”

“But Lance Armstrong lives in Texas.” As Gwen placed several stalks of iris in the arrangement, she thought about the paperweight Marc had given her with its fleur-de-lis center.

“I know, but the boys connect him with the Tour de France, and they think everyone in France probably knows him.” She hesitated. “So what’s he like?”

“Lance Armstrong?”

“No, silly. Your French guy.”

Hot. But Gwen couldn’t very well say that. “He’s . . . nice.” Very nice, indeed.

“I’ve heard he’s really cute.”

Cute was too tiny a word for him, in Gwen’s opinion. Gorgeous was more like it. “He’s attractive, I guess,” she said. “If you like the type.” Personally, she loved the type. Dark, wavy hair, dark blue eyes, square chin with a small cleft, hands that knew how to stroke a woman, and male equipment that made her want—

“Um, Gwen?” Peggy gave her a funny look.

“What?”

“You’re the flower arranger and all, but are you sure a big ol’ pussy willow looks good in the middle of those roses and such?”

Gwen glanced at the arrangement and discovered a very phallic, sausage-sized pussy willow sticking straight out of a vase that was otherwise packed tightly with every variety of bloom in her case. She’d obviously been shoving flowers in there until the vase was ready to crack down the middle from the strain. Then she’d added the phallic symbol for good measure.

“You’re right,” she said to Peggy. “That doesn’t go at all.” She plucked it out and returned it to the case. “In fact, I think this arrangement looks a little crowded.”

“I was thinking the same thing, but I didn’t want to say. I’m not artistic. But I wanted something pretty in the front room, in case . . . well, if your Frenchman happened to stop by for a visit. I mean, the boys would love it. I—”

“Gwen!” Madeline Danbury, who waitressed at the Hob Knob, charged through the front door of the shop, her cheeks pink and her frizzy white hair tousled by the breeze. “We just heard over at the diner that the Frenchman will be having lunch there today. We need little bud vases of flowers on every table.”

“For Marc?” Gwen blinked.

“That’s his name?” Madeline frowned. “I’d heard something different.”

“His full name is Jean-Marc Chevalier,” Gwen said, “but I call him Marc.”

Peggy sighed. “How manly.”

Gwen said, “It’s what all his close friends call him.” Then she realized that put her in the close friends category, and she blushed. “I mean, his family members.”

“We know what you mean,” Madeline said. “It’s no secret that you’ve been hoping to meet up with a French guy for years.

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