Eeny Meeny Miny No More

The smell of a flower shop, they say, is the smell of a promise. A promise of a happy anniversary, a hopeful first date, or a comforting farewell. For CassiAnn Shaw, it was just the smell of Monday.  At "Island In The Sun-Flower Shop, " her family's cornerstone of Brooklyn, New York, CassiAnn was more than just the Manager; she was an expert in the language of flowers-but sadly, not so much the language of men.
Her romantic life had been, to put it mildly, a horticultural disaster. Five dates. Five varieties of utter dread. She'd decided her heart needed to be professionally pruned and put into storage. The dating game was an endless, fruitless loop of "Eeny, Meeny, Miny... No More!" CassiAnn was comfortable in her solitude, content with the vibrant, silent company of roses and tulips. That weekend, her best friend Lily, sensing CassiAnn's need for a break from floral arrangements and spreadsheets, had insisted she attend a small house social.
And suddenly, for the first time in what felt like forever, the phrase "Eeny, Meeny, Miny, No More!" didn't feel like a declaration of defeat, but a silent, electric promise of something new. A friendship, sparked by the creation of a beautiful bouquet, was about to bloom into the romance and love she always longed for.