At Hattie's Floral Shop, a striped cat sat on the stoop. In the display window, a calico dozed among vases and baskets. "Oh yes," Emily murmured as she held fingers down for the outdoor cat to sniff. "I would love to work here."
The "help wanted" sign no longer stood in the window though. Perhaps Hattie had forgotten to put it back up after dusting. Perhaps the cat had knocked it over. Or perhaps— "Oh, stop perhaps-ing!" Emily told herself.
She glanced at her reflection, gave her sunhat a jaunty tilt, and brushed at her skirt. Not a slim pencil skirt as the fashionable young things wore but a calf-length, swirly, flower-patterned full skirt that had brightened her closet for a decade. At her age, comfort meant more than style.
Her long gray hair hung in a tidy braid. Bachelor's buttons tucked in the hat's ribbon and corsage pinned to her blouse, Emily swept through the door.
A teenager sorted spools of ribbon behind the counter. At the door's jingle, the girl looked up and put a smile on her face. "How may I help you?"
"Just wondering about the 'help wanted' sign I saw in the window a couple days ago," Emily said.
"The position has been filled." The girl's smile turned smug. "This is my first day."
"Oh. I see."
A back door swung open and Hattie came through with two buckets of long-stemmed roses, the thornless variety. "Why hello, Emily! You're out bright and early. Meet Flora, my new assistant. Once I heard her name, I couldn't help but take her on! Isn't she perfect?"
Emily laughed ruefully. "I'm sure she is. I wouldn't have stood a chance. I took too long considering applying for the spot myself."
"You? Tired of retirement already?"
"I can only rock on the porch so many hours in a day."
"Tell you what," Hattie said. "I've got a big order for a wedding reception next weekend, and Flora is still learning the craft. I'll pay you by the hour to fill in on rush jobs. I see you've a good hand with corsages." She nodded at the rosebud and fern confection Emily wore. "Have you done large flower arrangements before?"
"Yes, quite a few."
"Come in this time on Friday?"
"I'd be delighted!"
Another customer jingled through the door, and the striped cat sneaked in on her heels.
"Catch that cat!" Hattie told Flora. "He's like a bull in a china shop." While they all scurried to intercept the tom, the calico in the window rose, stretched, sprawled with one leg in the air for a good lick, then resettled -- without disturbing a single vase.
Calling on her cat-sight, Emily saw gossamer threads of the calico's passage, twining in and out among containers of all kinds sitting on shelves and tables. One dainty cat!
As Hattie carried the striped interloper toward the door, she asked Flora, "Did you water the live plants yet?"
"Yes, ma'am," the girl chirped.
Emily arched her brow. There was no tracery of Flora's movements anywhere near the shelf of potted plants. Should she say something to Hattie? But what? Unable to explain how she knew it for a fib, what would be the point?
.
prompt: "pointless"