Prompt: Write about a tall woman who is married to a jockey.

From our Workshop write today:

Valerie watched him with the baby out of the corner of her eye. She didn't want to disturb them. More than that, she didn't want him handing the bundle over, which he would do the instant he knew she was awake. It wasn't that he didn't like taking care of the infant, or that he didn't like to carry his fair share of the work. He did so much for her she felt guilty. He just had no onfidence where the baby was concerned. Which was so unlike how he was when he raced. A smile tugged at her mouth and she closed her eyes to savor the chance to think.

It had been poetic justice, to be sure. Valerie had been riding a horse of a different stripe. It had taken years of stubborn determination to build her florist business, and when it started turning a solid profit her arrogance grew right alongside the bank balance. Of course, had anyone pointed that out to her at the time, she would have reacted faster than Alice in Wonderland's Queen-of-Hearts to lop off a head--verbally of course. She had had no idea that she was becoming impossible to tolerate. Employees came and went like tourists, but she chalked it up to the way the game was played and hired the next person desperate for an entry position.

Then she managed to land the contract for the race track. Not the roses; she couldn't have handled the winner circle contract with only the part-time assistant she had. But she was in charge of the plants for the executive suites and other bouquet orders for whatever the ocassion.

Jeffrey had first come to the shop to send flowers to his sister on the birth of her child. Valerie didn't even notice who he was, just what he ordered and how he paid. He however, noticed everything there was to notice about her, and started needing flowers quite frequently. He seemed to like calla lilies and carnations.

Then he asked.

"I don't suppose we could go to dinner sometime?"

Valerie couldn't summon the grace to keep her jaw from dusting the floor. She turned around to look behind her in case there was an employee there she'd forgotten about.

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

"Dinner." Right. Here she stood looking down on his head full of tight chestnut curls. And he wanted to have dinner?

"I bet we don't notice the height difference if we're sitting at Rudolpho's," he said, demonstrating that uncanny ability he still had to read her mind.

"I don't know. I mean--"

"Is there someone else?"

"Someone else? Excuse me?"

"Someone else you're dating."

"Well, no. But I hardly know you--"

"I know. That's why we should have dinner."

"To get to know each other? You mean like a date?"

"We can call it something else if you'd like. I'd just like to talk for awhile."

"Talk? Why?"

"Because you're quick and you have a brilliant artist's flair, and if you haven't looked in the mirror lately, you're sweet on the eyes as well."

"But, but--who are you anyway?"