“Hey,” he says. He steps inside, bringing a blast of cold air and the scent of winter. He’s holding a takeout cup in one hand and a greasy paper bag in the other. He hands me the cup. “Hot chocolate. Extra whipped cream.”
I take it, the warmth seeping into my frozen fingers immediately. “You didn’t have to come by. It’s midnight.”
“You didn’t text me all evening,” he replies, his tone matter-of-fact but his eyes soft. “I got worried. I figured something happened. I saw your text but I was already on my way here.”
“I’m so sorry about tonight,” I say, feeling terrible all over again. “I had a bride who just… she couldn’t decide. She missed her appointment and came in late. Then she was here for four and a half hours, Eli. Four and a half.”
He winces sympathetically. “Ouch. That sounds brutal.”
“It was.” I sip the hot chocolate; it’s rich and decadent, exactly what I need. “I just finished cleaning up the floor. I still have to put the returns away.”
“Have you eaten?” he asks, lifting the paper bag.
My stomach growls loudly in response. “Not since lunch.”
“Good.” He opens the bag and the smell of fries and grease hits me—mouth-watering and comforting. “I brought supplies. One beef burger, one chicken burger, and a large order of fries. I wasn’t sure what you’d be in the mood for.”
“Elijah, you really didn’t have to,” I say, my eyes stinging. This is too much. It’s too sweet. I don’t know how to handle this kind of care without feeling unworthy of it.
“I don’t mind,” he says, shrugging like it’s no big deal. He smiles, that crooked, charming smile. “And besides, you can’t exactly enjoy the chocolate tarts on an empty stomach. You need a base layer of grease first.”
I laugh, a wet, shaky sound. I set the hot chocolate down on the counter and take the bag from him. “Okay. Thank you. Seriously. Let me just finish putting these flowers in the cold room, and then we can eat. It’ll take me ten minutes.”
I turn to grab a vase of white roses, but Eli stops me. “What are you doing, sweetheart?”
The endearment hits me in the chest, tightening my stomach in the best possible way. It’s not condescending. It’s warm. Possessive, but gentle.
“I have to put these away,” I explain, gesturing to the mess of blooms. “If they sit out here all night, they’ll wilt. The humidity… well, it ruins the petals.”
He looks around the shop, then back at me. He peels off his coat, draping it over the back of a chair. “That’s why I’m here. I’ll do it. You eat.”
“No, you’re the guest. You’re not here to work.”
“I insist,” he says, stepping closer. He reaches out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear. His fingers are warm, his touch grounding. “You’re exhausted, Amber. I can see it in your eyes. Please. Let me help.”
I want to argue. I want to be the capable, independent woman who doesn’t need saving. But the truth is, I’m tired. I’m so tired I can barely think straight.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Thank you.”
“Good.” He leans in and kisses me. It’s a soft kiss that tastes of cold air and mint. He pulls back just enough to look me in the eyes, and I’m left dizzy, my lips tingling. “Now, direct me, baby. Put me to work.”
He walks over to the rack behind the counter, scanning the array of canvas aprons hanging there. Most of them are pastel—soft pinks, baby blues, sage greens—and emblazoned with the shop’s logo, a delicate vine of ivy.
He selects a pink one, of course. He slips it over his head and ties the strings around his waist, the fabric straining slightly against his broad shoulders.
I try to stifle a giggle, but it escapes anyway. “You look ridiculous.”
“I look professional,” he counters, adjusting the neck strap. “And ready for duty. Where do you want me, boss?”
I take a bite of the chicken burger. The breading is crispy, the meat juicy, and a ripple of gratitude goes through me. I didn’t realize how starving I was until the food hits my tongue.
“Okay,” I say around a mouthful, pointing toward the piles of greenery on the workbench. “Start with the eucalyptus. Those need to go into the big bucket in the cooler, second shelf on the left. They need to be in water immediately or the leaves will curl.”
“You got it.” He picks up the bundles, his movements efficient. “How’s the burger?”
“Heavenly,” I moan. “Seriously, Eli. You’re a saint.”
“I’m just a guy who knows what it’s like to be hangry.” He balances the buckets easily. “We’ve been slammed at the restaurant. The winter storm kept everyone inside, and now that it’s cleared, they’re all flooding out. Knox is in a perpetual state of stress about the inventory.”
