Wendy The Florist Novels & Stories

Taking a deep breath, she exhaled heavily and took a few steps closer to Freya, who stood her ground as she observed Wendy intently. With her face inches away from Freya's, Wendy stated, "You’ve been compensated for the job, Miss Williams. I would appreciate it if you refrained from probing into my motives any further. I despise being questioned, but what I detest even more are those who meddle in others' affairs. Do you understand?" Her tone turned serious as she continued, "So, why don’t you be sensible, take the money, and leave without asking any more foolish questions?" Freya was momentarily taken aback by Wendy’s response. Stunned into silence, her heart raced as she registered the ann

I asked. "She's good_ she's trying something new, something out of the league" "...and what could that be? She didn't even visit me for once" I questioned as I reached out for the fruit placed on my side table. "Oh_ don't say that 'cause She did, she got you flowers but you didn't get to meet them, she got your favorite roses." Wendy objected. "Should I peel the orange?" "No, I'm good. I will take them later." I said, letting out a short breath as I proceeded, " It feels like a hundred years gone in my life. It feels shortened"

She growls and curls her hands into tight fists before bellowing, “Fuck you, Fraser!” * * * Wendy, all of five years old, with bright red hair and tawny skin, like most foxes in her direct family line, slides a tiny paper flower onto my desk and quickly backs away. She tucks her small, paint-smeared hands behind her back and waits. I adjust my glasses and set down the paper I was in the process of grading to inspect the gift, and when I smile at her, she beams with pride so rich I feel it in my bones.

She didn’t know what she would tell her mother if she questioned her about those clothes. ‘I hope she wouldn’t see his clothes.' She mentally prayed, and the doorbell rang again. ‘I think even Dad is here.' She thought and went to open the door, only to see Wylder standing on the other side of the door, holding tulips, her favorite flower, and a small parcel in his hand. "Wild… what.." "This is for you." Wylder cut her in between, passing her the flowers. "Umm. Thank you. Where were you all these days? Why are…"

Shayla's voice when she talked about it had a quality to it that Wendy had not heard from her before, something settled and complete underneath the exhaustion. Wendy cut into the pancake. She had promised to come by the hospital this afternoon, before her shift started, and she meant it. She would bring something, flowers probably, the white gardenias Shayla had mentioned once in passing as her favorite because Wendy had been paying attention when she said it. She ate slowly and looked out the window at the street below. A woman walking a dog. A delivery person on a bicycle moving through the gap between two parked cars. The ordinary Saturday morning life of the city going on below her windo

Two weeks to knit it. When he received it, all he said was, "Not bad." But he wore it the entire winter. Now it was shoved into the back of the closet like a secret no one was supposed to find. I looked away and pretended I hadn't seen it. "These flowers..." A soft, hesitant voice drifted down from the top of the stairs. I looked up. Wendy was cradling a bouquet of white roses against her chest. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to cause trouble." She held the bouquet out in front of her, turning it slowly, her brow furrowed with what looked like genuine distress.

Wendy looked at me hesitantly, then walked over to the watch. She lowered her gaze. The worn back revealed the deep engraving: "WLFK." Her expression faltered, but Hayden noticed it and pulled her into his arms. "Wendy, my hand hurts. Look." Sure enough, Wendy's attention shifted to him. She took out some antiseptic and carefully dabbed it on his hand. "You're so careless. What if you get a scar on your pretty hands?" she scolded.

The attention, the admiration, all of it. Then the day of the Founder's Day ceremony arrived. Westwood High pulled out all the stops. A red carpet ran along the front entrance. City education officials, reporters, and notable alumni filled the venue. It was the biggest event the school had ever put on. Wendy's father, Evan Smith, had bought out every flower arrangement at the school gates and hired a personal security team just to walk his daughter through the crowd. Wendy arrived in a custom diamond-encrusted gown and worked the cameras like she'd been doing it her whole life. Samantha trailed two steps behind her the entire time, holding up the heavy train of Wendy's dress, a wide smile fi

Wendy Fisher loves me with all her heart. Ten years ago, she was willing to trade her life to save mine. I give up my money, power, and identity without hesitation to elope with her. But when I go into shock from blood loss after a car accident, I can't get through to her on the phone. At that moment, her assistant posts a picture on Instagram with the caption, "Reunited as a family of three, safely and happily." In the photo, I see Wendy holding the baby's hand. She's so happy that she's even forgotten to take off her wedding ring. It turns out even a love forged in life and death amounts to nothing more than this. I smile bitterly and dial my stepmother's number. "I want to restore

The door closed with finality, leaving her standing there, alone. The boutique staff member approached cautiously, her voice tentative. "Ms. Hall, would you like to start trying on the dresses now?" Wendy withdrew her gaze from the departing car and shook her head. "No. I don't want any of them." After all, at their wedding, the only bride present would be a "dead" one.