"Professionally speaking." He pushed off the counter and began wandering the perimeter of the shop before she could object, examining the carefully arranged displays. A variety of potted plants mingled with the flowers and an eclectic collection of garden objects ranging from an old wheelbarrow to a delicate wrought iron table. The flowers ranged from traditional roses and lilies to a spray of ghost orchids in a temperature-controlled case that must have cost a fortune to install.
"You don't just source these locally," he said, stopping in front of the orchids. "Some of these species are?—"
"Endangered. Yes." She'd followed him warily, still holding the wire cutters, though she didn't seem aware of it. "I have licensed suppliers. Everything is legally obtained."
"I wasn't accusing you of flower crimes."
Her flush deepened. "I didn't think… I just…" She set down the wire cutters with more force than necessary. "People ask. Sometimes people assume?—"
"That you're trafficking in illegal orchids?"
"It's happened."
He turned to face her, genuinely curious. "You're serious."
"There's a thriving black market for rare botanicals. Ghost orchids can sell for thousands on certain websites." She crossed her arms over her chest, defensive and clearly waiting for mockery. "I get inspectors from the wildlife service twice a year."
"So you're telling me that beneath this charming small-town florist exterior, you're actually a reformed plant smuggler?"
"I never—" She stopped, caught the gleam of amusement in his eyes, and her jaw tightened. "You're teasing me."
"A little." He smiled, softer this time, letting some of the performative charm drop away. "You're easy to tease, little flower."
"And you find that amusing."
"I find you amusing." He watched her process that, watched the pink in her cheeks deepen to something closer to rose. "You're not what I expected."
"What did you expect?"
Someone who would smile and flutter and be easy to figure out. He'd spent so long being what people expected—the charming satyr, the flirtatious winemaker, the good time waiting to happen—that he'd almost forgotten some people came in different shapes.
"I'm not sure," he admitted. "But not this. You look like you'd bolt for the door if I raised my voice."
"I wouldn't?—"
"But you've got claws." He nodded toward her, still smiling. "You just hide them well."
She stared at him, visibly off-balance, and he decided he liked that look on her. Liked the way it made her green eyes spark with something other than wariness.
"Is this how you normally conduct business meetings?" she asked finally. "By wandering into people's shops unannounced and analyzing their personalities?"
"Only the interesting ones."
"I'm not interesting."
"You keep saying that." He moved closer, not crowding her but definitely entering her space. Testing. "Almost like you're trying to convince me."
"I'm trying to establish boundaries."
"I know." He grinned. "How's that working out for you?"
She opened her mouth, closed it, and made a sound that was almost a growl. That was… unexpected, and, frankly, more attractive than it had any right to be.
"You're impossible," she said.
"I've been called worse."
"I believe it."
