Chapter 275: Carla

Who said life was fair?

~Grandfather in The Princess Bride

Carla picked up another red rose and snipped it short, plucked the baby's breath from its pile, and wrapped it all up quickly with florist tape, her fingers conducting the dance without missing a beat.

She could probably make boutonnières in her sleep.

She probably had at least once, come to think of it, during a late-night push. Boutonnières never had the good graces to come in gentle waves, but were rather like tsunamis, burying unsuspecting florists beneath their onslaught.

"Aunt Carla, we want to play Go Fish," whined Noah, her adorable 7-year-old nephew.

Or, at least he was adorable when he wasn't whining and complaining.

So, not so adorable right now.

"I know, dear," she said, setting a third finished boutonnière down. Only 61 more to go. "I have to finish these first, and then we will, I promise."