Читать книгу The Boy Under the Mistletoe: A Short Story - Katey Lovell - Страница 8

Chelsea Lafferty looked at the clock for what felt like the hundredth time that day. Both its black hands were pointing directly northwards – midday. Four hours until she could clock off. Four hours until the doors of the florist closed for the holidays, not to open again until January 3rd.

And it couldn’t come soon enough.

Working at The Rose Bowl, the flower shop on the high street, wasn’t her dream, not by a long stretch. It was a means to an end, a way to make a bit of pocket money when she was home from uni. And because it was her Mum’s shop it was almost expected she’d chip in, helping out in busy periods.

Busy periods like today.

Christmas Eve.

Who’d have thought so many people would buy their loved ones extravagant flowers the day before Christmas? Mum thought they did it to brighten up their homes before the festivities started, to add an extra splash of colour to match the sparkling baubles and twinkling fairy lights. But most of the customers simply said it was because they’d be home more than usual, they’d be able to watch the flowers bloom without the constraints there were during the rest of the year. No alarms rudely interrupting their beauty sleep, no tiring commutes. Ten days without the daily grind. And the flowers were a part of that, symbolic of freedom.