Excerpt from A Love Song for Ricki Wilde by Tia Williams, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Excerpt from A Love Song for Ricki Wilde

When Wilde Things held its grand opening on the first, it was an instant hit. Sure, some of it was due to the festive season. But at a time when flower trends were minimalist, Ricki's shop was an over-the-top winter wonderland! Think Christmas cactus and candy-cane-striped amaryllis; Kwanzaa bouquets with tropical red, black, and green blooms; and Hanukkah wreaths mixing blue poppies with white orchids.

By New Year's Day, she'd earned double her projection. And by the end of January, she'd lost every cent.

People just ... stopped coming. Ricki couldn't figure it out. In December, she could barely keep blooms in stock, the orders were so fast and furious. What did she do wrong?

"I know what you did wrong," offered Tuesday one evening after closing. Foot traffic had been brutally slow that day. Now she and Ricki were stirring bowls of recycled, plantable paper infused with wildflower seeds. Ricki wanted to package the home-made paper into chic note card sets, offering them as a last-minute purchase at the register. If she ever had any more sales.

"Those weekly January promotions," continued Tuesday. "They were too esoteric to resonate with consumers."

Ali, who was crouched in a corner, repairing an exposed nail, stopped working long enough to look up "esoteric" and "resonate" on his phone. No one was more surprised than Ricki that they were still dating. It was a thrice-weekly hookup thing, but his sweet, uncomplicated presence was calming.

"But the themes were so punny!" exclaimed Ricki, fighting back tears. "Seize the Daisy? Hibiscus and Gravy? No one even tried my homemade gift-with-purchase biscuits."

"I love your biscuits." Ali made grabby hands at Ricki, grin-ning at his euphemism. And then he added, "But in keeping with my radical honesty practice, I should say your actual biscuits were mad dry. Did you use Crisco?"

Ricki stopped stirring the paper, her shoulders slumped in misery. "I offended you!" Ali hopped up and slipped an arm around

Ricki's waist. "I can't believe I said something so dumb."

"No?" Tuesday cocked a brow. "Ten minutes ago, you asked me if I paid Illuminati fees in blood."

"And you didn't answer."

"Please stop watching hoax YouTube, Ali. I beg of you. Read a book."

"Only sheep value books. A book is just a collection of some random individual's thoughts ..."

"But you are some random individual."

"And I vibe off my own thoughts. My own interior work. My

own journey towards living with energetic intention."

Tuesday groaned. "Ricki, your man's Jada Pinkett Smith-ing again."

Ricki was too lost in rising worry over Wilde Things to even register this exchange. She needed to get outside, touch some grass. Back at home, when life got too hectic, escaping to the for-est behind her parents' house gave her instant serenity. That was what she needed.

"Hey, is there a garden nearby? Something small, maybe? I need some nature."

Born in Harlem, Tuesday knew its contours by heart. "There's a cute community garden over on 145th."

"But it's dark out," protested Ali. "I'll go with you for protection."

Ricki smiled. "In this 'hood? Protection from who, ad execs and finance bros?"

Handing her spoon to Ricki, Tuesday said, "They're the scariest thugs of all."

* * *

It was chilly, but in a fresh, invigorating way. And Ricki was weatherproofed in her earmuffs and teddy coat. She walked ten blocks. At the entrance was an ornate wooden sign painted in childlike rainbow-colored letters: 145th street community garden.

Beyond the ornamental gate, there were perennial flowers, herbs, berries, fruit trees, and a small goldfish pond. Ricki fol-lowed a brick walking path through the foliage, to the center of the garden. She knelt down, taking a few deep, restorative breaths. Closing her eyes, she dug her fingers into the earth, the heart of everything. And it worked the way it always did.

Adapted Excerpt from A LOVE SONG FOR RICKI WILDE by Tia Williams. Copyright © 2024 by Tia Williams. Reprinted with permission of Grand Central Publishing. All rights reserved.