"This is crazy," Jamie said, his voice a mix of exasperation and disbelief, leaning back slightly in his chair while tapping the edge with one finger. "I have orders for other people and then for the decorations. I don't even know how I'm going to finish this in time." His eyes flicked toward the sunlight streaming through the restaurant's large windows, highlighting the faint mess of pastry crumbs and napkins scattered across our table.
I looked at him with pity. He must be working over time because of the festival. I knew he was one of the biggest florist in the pack but they had to be other people that could do this job. Why did they give him everything?
"Aren't there other florists in the pack?" I asked, genuinely curious, trying to reconcile this monumental task with the size of the community. I swirled my coffee absentmindedly, watching the steam rise in lazy spirals.
