Even Declan’s side profile is enough to knock the wind out of me. The slope of his jaw, the perfectly straight bridge of his nose, the eyelashes that I can’t see from here, but I know are so long and dark, they make me sick with envy. His hair is messier than usual, like maybe he’s been running his hands through it. His simple, plain black T-shirt stretches taut against his shoulders, and when I notice the way his bicep flexes as he holds his tattoo machine, I have to look away.
He’s so achingly, obviouslymine– and yet I’ve never felt further from him in all the time since we met. The wrongness of it all makes me nauseous.
I don’t know what to say to Erica, which turns out to be fine, because she’s oblivious to my inner turmoil. “You seem to be happy, and I’m glad to see it.”
“Happy,” I repeat, my voice sounding hollow. “Yes, of course,” I lie.
It would have been the truth a few days ago.
“I’d better be getting back to the inn,” Erica says, glancing at her watch. “If you have a business card, I’ll take one and get ahold of you before our next check-in.”
Still reeling from seeing Declan for the first time in days, I don’t respond, instead hurrying over to the back counter where I keep our business cards. I grab one and bring it back over to Erica.
“I’m looking forward to working more with you,” she says, smiling. “It was great to see you.”
“You, too,” I tell her, and at least that part isn’t a lie. I can breathe a little easier knowing she doesn’t hate me for the way things fell apart. Like some small, broken piece of me has been repaired. I never needed closure with Nathan – we said all we needed to say when we broke up. It was everybody else around town, all of thepeople I disappointed, who I’ve always felt like I had loose ends with. At least one of them is now tied up in a nice, neat bow.
Erica leaves through the door that Noah, with drinks and a bakery bag in hand, holds open for her.
“One iced lavender latte and a blueberry lemon muffin,” he announces, setting my goodies on the big table I’m hovering near. I desperately want to turn and catch another glimpse of Declan, but Noah is too perceptive. He’ll see the anguish written all over my face and then I’ll have to come clean about what happened.
I’m still not ready.
“You’re the best,” I tell him, grabbing my latte and taking a sip. For one too-brief second, there’s only bliss.
I’d inject lavender straight into my veins if I could, especially on a day like today. The smell, the taste, the color – all of it reminds me of home. It’s a little dose of peace when everything else feels like chaos.
“You paid for it,” he reminds me. “Now sit and eat, and let’s discuss what we’re going to do for one last push to win this competition.”
The town’s end-of-summer festival is three and a half weeks away, and the closing ceremony is when the Chamber of Commerce will announce the winner of the Best New Business competition. It’s decided on by a public vote, and the voting period opens up next week. The county-wide competition that each local winner is entered into is then voted upon by the Chamber. Of course, I’d love to win that one as well, but being named the Best New Business in Port Myles is what I really have my sights set on. Having the people I know and love and pass on the sidewalk each day vote for The Floral Chic would be the highest honor of all.
Noah’s distraction works. We sit at the big work table and chat while we eat our muffins and sip our drinks, and I scribble notes all the while, careful to keep my back to the window. Now and then, Ican feel the weight of eyes on me, but I try to ignore it. It takes everything in me not to turn and look, to seek out the dark eyes I already miss looking back into mine.
“Elsie?” Noah says softly at one point. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
It’s only then that I notice my leg is bouncing up and down and I’ve been tapping my pen on the tabletop.
Not even close, I want to scream.
“I’m fine,” I assure him quickly. “Now, let’s talk booth decor.”
CHAPTER 46
Declan
“Whoa, whoa, whoa – at least buy a guy some dinner first, will you?”
I toss the shirt I just took off at Sean’s head, but he ducks before it makes contact. “Fucker,” I mutter.
“Don’t let him fool you,” Frankie says from her spot perched on a stool near the front desk. “He’s enjoying the view, too.”
“Too?” Sean demands. “What’s thistoo? You’re not enjoying anything.”
Frankie grins wickedly at her husband. She knows exactly which buttons to push to rile him up, and she takes every opportunity she gets. “Sure, honey.”
“Sit down,” Sean barks at me, glaring like it’smyfault his wife is joking about checking me out.
I can’t help needling him, too. “Maybe if you served something better for dinner, she wouldn’t be checkingout the menu.”
