A few hours later, I’m at the counter in city hall, waiting for the clerk to finish processing my garden permits, when I spot him.
Hayden.
My stomach does that flip-flopping thing again and I’m acutely aware of how much my palms are sweating. He’s even more striking than I remember. Of course he is…frustratingly handsome even under city hall’s harsh fluorescents. The sharp angle of hisjaw, the way his slicked-back hair falls freely, the intensity in his eyes that feels like it could pin you in place.
“You’ve had this paperwork for a week,” he says through clenched teeth. “If there’s another issue, tell me.”
The clerk, unfazed and meltdown proof, gives him the official Stonevale shrug. “Like I explained before, Mr. Harlow, the decision isn’t mine. You’ll need to take it up with management or fill out an inquiry form.”
Hayden pinches the bridge of his nose in a move I’ve dubbed “the Migraine Preventer.” For the briefest second, the air around him ripples. Like heat on asphalt or that weird optical illusion when you stare at something too long. I blink and shake it off, telling myself it’s the fluorescents. Or lack of sleep. Or both.
“Fine. Just give me the damn form.”
I hover awkwardly, caught between eavesdropping and pretending to be extremely interested in a random brochure about retirement planning. Before I can commit to either, Hayden turns and his eyes meet mine.
“Levi,” he says, clipped, not entirely unfriendly, either. It sends an unexpected shiver down my spine.
“Hayden,” I reply, aiming for cool indifference and landing in mild gay panic. Up close, the air feels a degree cooler. Or I’m probably imagining it. “What brings you here?”
He eyes me briefly. “Paperwork.” He says it like the word has teeth.
I offer a sympathetic smile. “Ah, the never-ending joys of adulting.”
His lips twitch. Barely a smile, but I’m counting it as a win.
“And you?” He glances at the thick stack of folders I’m clutching.
“Community garden permits,” I say, tapping the pile way too eagerly. “For my customers. Well, all of Stonevale, I guess. Dirt-covered plant enthusiasts.”
Stop. Talking.
He nods slowly, unreadable, and I panic I’ve said something stupid.
Silence stretches like taffy, but just before he walks away, I blurt, “You should come to the garden. Once it’s open. It’s…healing.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Healing?”
“Yeah. Sun, soil, photosynthesis. Side effects may include reduced scowling,” I say, grinning awkwardly. “Plants have a great track record with moods.”
He gives me the faintest smirk. “Hm. We’ll see.”
He again turns to leave and more words tumble out. “Or I could buy you a coffee? Right now…Apology, Part Two. Now with caffeine.”
His eyes narrow, amusement flickering just beneath the surface. “Breaking into my office wasn’t enough for you?”
I blink, momentarily speechless, then grin sheepishly. “I was aiming for charmingly spontaneous, not felonious. Clearly my technique needs work.”
He shakes his head, the barest trace of amusement showing. “I’m not mad. Just suspicious of your motives.”
“Motives?” I reach for my invisible pearls. “My motives are pure caffeine-based apology. One cup, no strings attached.”
He looks ready to bolt. Calculating his escape route, no doubt. It’s the look plants get when they’re rootbound too long. Straining against the edges of their pots but too stubborn to admit they need a bigger space. Hayden’s whole body feels like that. Contained. Tense. Afraid of what happens if someone gets too close.
He checks his watch like he’s conflicted.Nobodylikes city hall that much. But finally, he sighs in defeat. “Fine. One coffee.”
I gesture toward the exit before he can reconsider. “Great, café’s just down the block.”
5
