Whatever this thing is between Elsie and I, I want to see it through. I want to see if there’s a possibility we can have something tangible and lasting, something to build a real relationship upon.
Bringing her to orgasm in the greenhouse was easily the hottest moment of my life, and fuck, I definitely want more ofthat.But for the first time, it’s not theonlything I want. I also want the sappy shit I sometimes can’t bear to watch with Sean and Frankie.
I want her to look at me like maybe I hung the moon, too, or at least a few stars.
CHAPTER 24
Elsie
Fridays always seem to be our busiest day of the week. The upcoming weekend gets people feeling happy and hopeful, the kind of mood that lends itself to surprise bouquets andjust becausearrangements.
I can’t help wondering how many people in town have recently received flowers for the first time in a long time, with our help. I know not everyone thinks so, but I believe a flower shop is a precious commodity in a smaller community like ours, making it easier for people to express their affection and let their loved ones know they’re appreciated. I’m honored to be the one providing that much-needed service to my community, even on long days like today.
“What about zinnias?” Mable Tompkins, who owns The Lakehouse, one of several bed and breakfasts in Port Myles, suggests.
“That could work,” I agree. “Or maybe marigold. Those would look nice with some daisies and baby’s breath.”
With the lunch rush over with, Mable is our only customer at the moment. She stopped by to talk about floral arrangements for The Lakehouse during Olivia’s wedding weekend. Olivia booked a handful of rooms there for extended family and friends who will be coming into town, since the inn where the wedding is being held doesn’t have enough rooms to accommodate everyone.
Mable thought it would be fun to coordinate the floral arrangements in the guest rooms and dining room with the wedding colors.
“Oh, I love that idea,” she says, clapping her hands. “That sounds…”
Her voice trails off and I notice she’s distracted by something behind me.
Mable leans in closer and lowers her voice. “There’s a tall, dark and handsome man over there who I think is waiting for your attention.”
I turn to look and my stomach plummets toward the tiled floors when I see Declan in the doorway between our shops. He’s leaning casually against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his broad chest. His faded green Red Sox T-shirt is pulled taut against his muscled torso, and my hungry eyes rake over him. I can’t help it – he’s beautiful.
“Hi,” I say, waving. He doesn’t smile, but his eyes crinkle just slightly, like he really wants to.
“Hey,” he says back, tipping his chin down in a nod.
“I’ll let you go,” Mable says, patting my arm. “I’ll drop in on Monday so we can talk a bit more about the big weekend.”
Before she’s even left the shop, another customer comes in, the bell over the door announcing their arrival.
“I’ve got this,” Noah says, swooping in with a smile on his face and his hand already outstretched to greet our latest arrival.
Declan pushes off from his perch in the doorway and strides over to me. Without a word, he reaches down and grabs my hand, linking his fingers with mine. He does it so casually, like it’s something we’ve done a hundred times before. I have no choice but to follow as he heads toward the back of the shop.
With Declan’s hand engulfing mine, I can’t help the part of me that worries about our small, yet public display of affection. Port Myles is a small town full of people wholoveto discuss everyone else’s business, whether they mean well or just like to gossip. Between Mable, the customer who just arrived and the people walking by outside the shop,someoneis bound to have noticed our linked hands.
The news will be all over town by dinnertime.
Ignoring my rising panic for now, I let Declan lead me out to the backyard and I try to ignore the riot of butterflies taking flight every time he strokes his thumb across the back of my hand. I half expect him to pull me into the greenhouse for a repeat of yesterday’s performance, but he surprises me by leading me over to the bench along the back wall of the building instead. He plops down onto it and pats the open seat beside him.
“Sit,” he tells me. Then, as though an afterthought, “Please.”
I perch on the opposite edge of the bench, leaving space between us. Declan just chuckles and slides an arm around me, tugging me close so our hips and legs are flush against each other.
“I don’t bite,” he says. “Not unless you ask me to.”
I’m a bit ashamed of the way that makes my pulse race. I’ve certainly never wanted anyone tobiteme before, but something about the way Declan says it makes it sound equal parts dirty and delicious.
His arm is still draped across my shoulders, and I’m surprised to find that I like the weight of it there. I left my hair down in loosewaves today, and I watch over my shoulder as Declan idly twirls a strand around his inked fingers.
“So,” he says. “You’re not hiding from me anymore.”
