We talked options, me suggesting whites and blues with accents of greenery, her nodding with each flourish. The familiar rhythm of customer chatter settled me back into place, even if my pulse still hadn’t found its normal beat.
At least Marianne’s order would be paid in full, a bright spot against the stack of overdue invoices waiting on my desk.
Then she tilted her head, eyes narrowing with amusement. “By the way, was that Sawyer James I saw walking out a minute ago?”
My stomach dipped, but I managed a steady smile. “It was.”
Marianne’s laugh bubbled over. “Well, I’ll be. Never thought I’d see him in here buying gifts.”
I busied myself gathering snipped stems, careful not to let my hand tremble. “He didn’t buy anything,” I said lightly, as though it didn’t matter. “Guess even Sawyer James can’t commit to birthday gifts for a couple of kids.”
Marianne chuckled again, satisfied with the joke, and shifted the conversation back to vase sizes and ribbon colors. Within minutes, her order was sorted, and she left in a whirl of sunshine, promising she’d pick up the arrangement on Friday afternoon.
The door clicked shut behind her, and the quiet rushed back in. I exhaled slowly, my shoulders dropping.
Sunny padded over, nudging my hand with her nose until I scratched behind her ears. “Don’t look at me like that,” I whispered. “It was nothing.”
But the echo of Sawyer’s voice lingered in the space between the flowers and the silence, and I knew the truth I’d never admit out loud.
The sight of him—even for a moment—still made my pulse race.
Chapter Two
The Light in the Distance
Sawyer
Ipushed through the door ofBloom & Vinewith nothing in my hands but the weight of my own bad decisions. The door chime sounded behind me, too cheerful for the ache in my chest.
My truck sat in the lot, its hood glinting in the pale afternoon sun. The pavement was still damp from the morning’s rain, patchy with puddles that caught bits of sky. A chill rode the breeze, sharp enough to sneak under my collar.
Birthday gifts. That was the story I’d told myself. Colt and Tessa’s twins were turning one, and I’d convinced myself it was reason enough to step into Lilly Mitchell’s shop. Grab a couple of stuffed animals, maybe a picture frame, and be on my way.
Easy. Clean. Professional.
Except I didn’t buy a damn thing. Truth was, I hadn’t gone in there for the twins. I’d gone in there to see her. To hear her voice, to test if Hawaii had been a fever dream or if she’d look at me like she had that night.
She didn’t.
Lilly kept her gaze trained on the flowers, her shoulders stiff under that apron, her words clipped like she was choking them out just to get me gone.
Should’ve expected it. Should’ve stayed out at the ranch, thrown a saddle on my mare, let her steady gait work the restlessness out of me. Horses never lie or try to deceive. They carried your weight without complaint. They didn’t make a man second-guess every damn thing he said.
But Lilly… she looked at me once, just once, and it hit harder than a sniper’s scope reflecting a ray of sun.
And then the memory shoved its way in before I could lock it down.
Hawaii. Salt air clinging to her skin. Moonlight slicing through the porthole and catching the shock on my face when she shut that cabin door behind her. The way she pressed against me, daring me to stop her.
Heat, need, the kind of raw hunger I thought I’d buried overseas.
I clenched the steering wheel until my knuckles went white, dragging myself back to the present. That was then. This was now.
Lilly had taken a different flight home when we left Hawaii and then vanished to Arizona, leaving me with only those memories. She’d come back eventually, slipped right back into her shop like nothing had happened, like we hadn’t burned the damn ocean down between us.
And me? I was still sitting here, a grown man with a bank account full of zeroes, parked outside a flower shop like some lovesick ranch hand.
I turned the key. The engine rumbled to life, steady and familiar. I should’ve felt grounded. Instead, every nerve in me still buzzed, restless, raw.
