“Juliette,” Carol announces, practically vibrating with delight, “meet Sawyer Stockton.”
He is also beautiful. The universe has a sick sense of humor.
Sawyer steps inside and the shop physically shrinks. Or maybe that’s just my lungs. His very presence is, well, to put it quite simply it’sbig. He’s much more than I am prepared for—which is saying something because I watched him pretty much demolish a plant on a screen a minute ago and knew he wasn’t small. Dark hair slightly messed from the wind, whiskey-warm hazel eyes that sweep the shop before landing on me, and an expression that’s half-apology, half-mischief.
There’s also a hockey bag slung over one shoulder. Because of course there is.
“Hi,” he says, and his voice is low, a little rough, like he’s been yelling or laughing or doing whatever hockey players do. “You must be Juliette.”
My mouth has gone completely dry. I’m aware that I should say something. Words. Human language. The thing I’ve been doing successfully for thirty-two years, yet nothing comes out.
Charlie, bless him, steps forward with his hand extended. “I’m Charlie, Juliette’s shop assistant and a fan of the Dominion. Welcome to Leaf & Letter.”
“Hey, man.” Sawyer shakes his hand easily, that smile never wavering. Then those hazel eyes come back to me. Expectant, patient, and definitely amused.
Say something, Juliette. Literally anything.
“You’re…Sawyer,” I manage.
His eyes light up at the sound of his name. “That’s me.”
“And you’re starting today?”
“Oh, no.” His grin widens. “My coach and this committee wanted me to stop by, get a feel for the place while I had free time.” He glances around, taking in the plants, the afternoon light filtering through the windows, the carefully curated chaos that is my entire life. “This is great. Really green.”
“It’s a plant shop,” I say flatly.
“Right. Yeah. That makes sense.” I follow his gaze as his eyes land on the back wall, where our stationery is displayed. “Cards, too?”
I’m at a loss. He’s pointed out the obvious…again. “Yep. Cards, too.”
There’s a beat of silence. Carol is beaming at us like she’s watching children meet for the first time at a playdate.
“Well!” she says brightly. “We’ll just leave you two to get acquainted. Sawyer, you have my number if you need anything. Juliette—” She reaches out and squeezes my arm. “Thank you for being such a wonderful sport about all of this.”
Sport? Like I had a choice.
Ian gives a little wave. “Good luck, you two.”
And then they’re gone. The bell chimes behind them like a death knell.
It’s just me, Charlie, Sawyer, and a store full of fragile, innocent plants that suddenly feel very breakable.
“Mom?” From the back of the shop, Theo’s voice cuts through the silence. “Did I hear someone say that man plays hockey?”
Oh no. This has got to be what they mean when they say all the chickens are coming home to roost.
Sawyer’s face lights up. “Someone here likes hockey?”
Charlie’s hand starts to float in the air, but I’m pretty sure the look I give him is also what makes him snap it back by his side again.
“I love it!” Theo appears from behind the potting table, eyes wide, face flushed with the kind of excitement usually reserved for Christmas morning. He’s clutching a handful of soil and completely vibrating with joy. “Wait. You’re Sawyer Stockton. From the Dominion?”
“That’s me.” Sawyer crouches down to Theo’s level without hesitation, shifting the bag on his shoulder as he does so it rests securely on his back. Something about the gesture makes my chest tighten in a way I absolutely do not have time for. “What’s your name?”
“Theodore Gianelli, but you can call me Theo.”
“Nice to meet you, Theo,” he chuckles. “You watch the games?”
