for two reasons.
Number one, she honestly wasn’t sure what the reaction and reception to her products would be outside her clientele list. Aphrodisiacs weren’t exactly a commonplace commercial product, and anything that was even remotely sexual in nature was often viewed in a less than positive light. At best, her products might be snickered at if Rosie advertised them, and at worst, they might fall under suspicion. The citizens of Northaven—at least the ones who purchased her special orders—were surprisingly open-minded about the herbal aphrodisiac teas she blended for them. But it was still a small town in New England, with its Puritan sensibilities, and Rosie preferred to err on the side of caution.
Her second reason for not advertising her aphrodisiac teas was the same reason she didn’t much advertise the floral side of her business. Maintaining a low profile was essential to Rosie’s well-being. Hell, it was essential to her very life. Her aphrodisiacs were very effective, and they were the sort of thing that might even potentially achieve cult status popularity among the university or online crowd. Worst-case scenario, it was possible she could see some press for them. Even locally, that could be disastrous. The last thing she needed or wanted was to draw attention to herself. When she’d been in the spotlight before, she’d nearly ended up dead. So, like everything else in her world, Rosie kept the aphrodisiacs under wraps and relied on referrals and word of mouth to promote them.
So far, so good.
Now she fished a pouch bearing Shannon’s name out of the basket before replacing the rest of the assortment in the cabinet. Then she returned to the front of the store where her client stood fairly humming with anticipation. Rosie extended the fabric bag toward the young woman, who immediately made a grab for it. But she snatched it back before Shannon could claim it.
“Go easy on this stuff,” she cautioned the girl. “There’s more to college than partying, you know. You need to get an education in there somewhere.”
Shannon nodded impatiently. “It’s not for me,” she told Rosie. “It’s for Devin.”
“Sure it is,” Rosie said. She’d heard that one before. All the girls said they were buying it for their boyfriends, that the guys were the ones who really needed it. But Rosie knew the women enjoyed the results just as much as their menfolk—probably more.
Shannon dug into her pocket for a rumpled bill and handed it to Rosie, who then reluctantly handed over the pouch. “I mean it, Shannon,” she said as she released it. “I know classes just started up again a month ago, but you need to focus on your studies, not Devin.”
Shannon nodded again, more slowly this time, seeming to feel a little calmer now that she had what she’d come for. “I know,” she said. “I’m totally focused on my studies, honest. But Devin is so fine, and I want to be with him. I want him to be happy. And I want to be happy, too.” She smiled and leaned in a little, lowering her voice some as she added, “We’re getting married next summer after graduation, did I tell you?”
Rosie smiled back. “No, you didn’t,” she said, genuinely delighted to hear the news. “Congratulations. That’s great. How long have you two been together?”
“Since high school,” Shannon told her, sounding almost bashful now. She held up the fabric pouch Rosie had just handed her. “Maybe you can give me a lifetime supply of this for my wedding present, huh?”
Rosie shook her head. “Not a chance. You won’t need that once you’re married.”
Shannon expelled a dubious sound. “Are you kidding? That’s when I’ll need it the most.”
Rosie shook her head again. “I’m sure it’s just the pressures of college that are making Devin…you know.”
Shannon made a wistful sound now. “I hope you’re right,” she said. She fiddled with the pouch again. “I guess it would be pretty bad to have to rely on this stuff for the rest of our lives, wouldn’t it?”
“You won’t need it,” Rosie assured her. “You guys will be fine.”
Shannon eyed her thoughtfully for a moment. “As long as you’re here for now,” she said, “supplying us with what we need. Thanks, Rosie.” And with that, she spun on her heel and left the store.
Kids, Rosie thought, ignoring the fact that there was barely a decade between her and Shannon’s age. Some people grew up a lot faster than others. And Rosie should know. She hadn’t been a kid since… Well. She hadn’t even been a kid when she was a kid.
Before more thoughts of the past could put her into a less-than-cheerful mood, she pushed them to the very back of her brain, where she relegated all the things that threatened to stain the picture-perfect life she was trying to paint for herself in Northaven. She’d struggled through a lot to get where she was, dammit. She was a survivor in the strictest sense of the word. She’d worked hard to achieve a fragile kind of satisfaction—with her life and herself—that she wouldn’t mess with for anything. And she was still working hard, still trying to move forward. Even if Kabloom wasn’t a booming success, she was still turning a profit at the end of every month.
Okay, so maybe she hadn’t shown the best judgment, opening a florist and organic gardening shop in a town that catered to young, carefree students who didn’t give a second—or even first—thought to such things. But there were only a handful of florists in the entire county—and none in Northaven proper—so when someone did need flowers, they called Kabloom to order them.
Besides, her aphrodisiac business had begun to flourish over the past six months, even though she hadn’t gone out of her way to advertise it. And that was a direct result of living in a college town. Rosie hadn’t consciously considered the benefits of that, but the college atmosphere here did foster a culture of more tolerance—and even enthusiasm—about her products. She was grateful to the campus crowd for taking such an interest. Word of mouth alone had been phenomenal.
It had even traveled beyond campus. She had clients now who were scions of the community. You really couldn’t judge a book by its cover. Or even the mayor of Northaven, since she was one of Rosie’s biggest customers.
Rosie sighed as she looked around her shop. Her empty shop. Her empty shop that was empty most of the time—save those busy lunchtimes when so many Northaven students came in to pick up their special orders. Rosie hadn’t even had to hire another employee, since she kept only daytime hours. Save a handful of feminine holidays like Valentine’s Day and Mother’s Day, any traffic she saw in the shop was sporadic. When she’d come to Northaven two years ago after everything went to hell in Boulder, she’d had hopes for building her business a little faster, but at this rate… Well, thank goodness people here died on a regular basis, so at least she had the funeral orders.
And that, more than anything, told Rosie she couldn’t afford to skimp on the aphrodisiac side of the business. Because, call her crazy, being grateful for the death of one’s neighbors did not seem like a sound business plan. In fact, it seemed kinda ooky.
Her gaze strayed to the back of the shop and fell on the cabinet from which she had just pulled Shannon’s special order. Maybe, if she was very, very careful, she could expand a little bit on her aphrodisiacs. Start looking into other preparations that might have the same effect as the teas she blended for her customers. Incense, maybe. Massage oils. Candies. As long as Rosie stayed behind the scenes herself and never became a public persona, she shouldn’t have any problems. That had been what caused the trouble in Boulder. Putting a public face onto her work.
Yeah, maybe she should start focusing a little more of her professional
