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To say that Tex had lived through better days would be an understatement. Even though he’d managed to collect every last one of his letters, and had even offered them to Marge with the original ribbon wrapped around them in a nice bow, Marge had refused the present with untypical coolness.

And so it was that the good doctor sat in the kitchen, drowning his sorrow with a glass of apple juice, when Vesta walked in and found him like that.

Since she’d had to corral four cats through a thorough medical examination—never their favorite pastime—and had had to accept defeat at work that day, suffice it to say she wasn’t feeling like some Florence Nightingale of old. Still, the moment she caught sight of her son-in-law’s sad face, her mother’s heart bled.

“Don’t tell me you’ve got cancer, too,” were her first words as she started making herself a cup of hot chamomile tea—a habit before retiring for the night.

Tex looked up.“Cancer? Who’s got cancer?”

“Harriet thought she had skin cancer. Turns out it was a piece of dried food stuck to her nose.” She shook her head. “If all cancers were as easily removed as hers, our work at the doctor’s office would be a lot easier.”

“Marge refused to take back my letters,” said Tex sadly. He gestured to the little pile on the kitchen table.

“So you got them all back, did you?” said Vesta, picking up the collection and idly rifling through it.

“I did. Took me all afternoon, but I finally managed.” He sighed deeply. “I’ll never be able to face these people again. Even Ted Trapper stopped me in the street to tell me how much he admired my penmanship. And if I’d considered publishing my letters. Said they’d be a big hit in certain circles.”

“What circles? What is he talking about?”

“He says a lot of guys have trouble expressing their feelings to their prospective girlfriends, and my letters would be a great primer on the subject. His exact words were, ‘There’s gold in them thar hills, Poole!’”

Vesta grinned as she poured hot water from the kettle into her favorite‘Greatest Grandma in the World’ cup. It was the same cup Odelia had gifted her many years ago, when she was just a little girl. Vesta took great care of that cup, and didn’t let anyone else touch it. “Maybe he’s right,” she said. “Maybe there is gold in them thar hills. Good old-fashioned love letters may have gone out of fashion in this day and age of tweets and texts and WhatsApp, but I still think there’s nothing more romantic for a girl than receiving a long letter from a boy.”

“I guess,” said Tex, but clearly his head wasn’t in monetizing his letters, but in reconciling the girl he’d written them for in the first place—many years ago.

“Look, if you want to show how sorry you are, and get Marge to forgive you,” said Vesta, as she took a seat at the kitchen table, “you need to do something more than simply return those letters to her. You need to wow her, buddy. Show her how much you still care—you do still care about my daughter, don’t you?”

“Of course I do! Even after twenty-five years Marge is still the only one for me.”

“I believe you,” said Vesta. “But it’s not enough to say it. You have to show it. Make her feel your affection. And the best way to do that is by—”

“Buying her dinner? Giving her a foot rub?”

“—saying it with—”

“Diamonds? Lingerie?”

“—flowers!”

Tex stared at her.“Flowers?” he asked, as if the concept was alien to him.

“Buy Marge a nice bouquet of flowers. Or better yet, buy her several. You’ll see how she’ll perk right up.”

“Is that so?” said Tex. If anyone had perked up, it was him. Clearly the notion of not having to splurge on diamonds or lingerie appealed to his tightwad nature.

“You do know what Marge’s favorite flowers are, don’t you?”

“Um…”

“Oh, Tex. How long have you known my daughter?”

He gave her a sheepish look.“Long enough to know what kind of flowers she likes?”

“Roses, Tex. Especially the pink variety. So if Marge were to arrive home from work tomorrow, and find her house festooned with roses in every shade of pink, I think she’d forgive you that silliness with those letters of yours in a heartbeat.”

Which actually gave her an idea. If she could figure out what kind of flower Natalie Ferrara liked, and whisper the idea in Tom Mitchell’s ear…

“Where do I buy so many flowers?” Tex mused.

“Oh, Tex. Do I have to do everything for you? Just buy them online.”

“Online?” he said with a frown.

“Yes, online. You order them, and they deliver them.” She drained the last of her cup and got up. “Just do it.”

“But…”

“See you tomorrow, Tex. I’m beat. Who knew working all day was so exhausting?”

And so she left her son-in-law googling‘How to buy flowers online,’ and turned in for the night. She was feeling invigorated. This flower business could just turn this whole situation around. All Tom had to do was buy Natalie her favorite flowers, and maybe—just maybe—Dear Gabi could still work a miracle!

CHAPTER 17

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