“Because you’re making money, and that means we on the street reap those benefits, too.” She lifts her glass. “The other day when you were slammed, we had a wave of people come in here, too. So honestly, keep sending them. If you want some of those gentle giants holding jewelry, I am thrilled to host them.”
Lucy tilts her head. “I don’t know many single women who would be able to handle Sawyer Stockton at such close quarters. A hockey heartthrob, in your shop. Constantly.”
“Right?” Vivian’s eyes light up. “Constantly.”
“It’s not like I begged for him to be,” I say immediately. “There’s nothing to see there.”
Lucy grins. “One thing I’ve learned is that people always say these exact words when there is, in fact, something to see.”
Vivian leans across the counter. “I think he’s sweet. He brought donuts and gave her shop assistant tickets to a game. And I’ve seen the videos. The man has main-character energy.”
“It’s like the perfect meet cute in a romance book, isn’t it?” Lucy says dreamily, batting her lashes dramatically. “Sawyer Stockton: Book Boyfriend. Man, to have a hot single guy dumped right in your lap…”
“I am standing right here,” I remind her.
“And you,” Vivian continues, unfazed, “have not dated in years.”
“That’s because I was busy being married, and since that ended, I’m now working on ‘emotionally stable and financially responsible,’” I say.
Lucy snorts. “Booooring.”
“I mean it,” I insist, doing my best to not laugh nor buckle under the humorous pressure of these two. “This is a business arrangement. I’ve got plants, he’s got a media presence and his own agenda to deal with. That’s it.”
Vivian hums. “Still.”
Lucy squints thoughtfully. “She’s right Viv. Again. He’s on track for his mid-life crisis Porsche, any day now.”
“Which is another reason this conversation is ridiculous,” I say, feeling slightly vindicated. I point at Lucy. “Mid-life crisis dater. Not my thing.”
“But he’s not dating anyone we know of now,” Vivian says, eyes dancing.
“I came here for wine and to relax before we film and now…” My voice trails off. I can tell with these two I won’t be getting anywhere.
Lucy points at Vivian and nods. “But, he is spending time,like nights off, at a very cute plant shop with a very cute single mom.”
“You two are ridiculous,” I say, picking up their bottle of wine. “What is in this?”
Vivian lifts her glass. “I’m just saying…sometimes life sends you things wrapped in extremely tall hockey players.”
“And sometimes,” I say dryly as I open the door to make a swift exit from these two, “it sends you emotional chaos disguised as a social-media campaign.”
Their laughter follows me onto the sidewalk, but somehow, I’m smiling when I walk back toward my shop.
“Take three,”I say, watching Sawyer angle the plant like it’s a newborn. “You’re about to drown it. Again.”
He squints at the pot. “I’m being gentle.”
“You’re beingenthusiastic,” I say. “Those are not the same thing.”
He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I swear, I can take a hit from a two-hundred-pound defenseman, but this plant is making me nervous.”
“Good,” I say. “It should.”
There’s music playing from my phone on the counter—his idea, because he showed up with that bone-deep tired look that says away games, practice, and being a functioning adult have all conspired against him. He took my phone without asking and built a playlist like he belongs here, leaning over the counter, scrolling with easy confidence. Somehow it feels less rude than it should. It’s familiar. Comfortable.
The shop settles into it. Leaves rustle when the heater kicks on. The lights glow warm against rows of green. It’s just us, the muted hush of a store that should be asleep, and music filling the space in between.
A new song starts and I watch as Sawyer freezes. Not in a big, obvious way, but enough that I notice.
