“You didn’t answer my question,” he points out.
“Questions,” I correct him. He grins and leans back on his hands again, stretching his long legs out in front of him and crossing one ankle over the other. The top few buttons on his shirt are undone, leaving more inked skin showing than he usually has on display. It only leaves me wanting more.
“I never really wanted to work for my dad, but I didn’t know what else to do,” I admit. “I’ve always loved flowers, but I didn’t know the first thing about actually working with them. Last summer I finally got the courage to sign up for a weekend course to learn the basics, then I took a couple more. They were held at the college nearby, but they were part of an adult education program.”
“Makes sense,” Declan says, nodding along. “What made you pull the trigger on opening your own place?”
I fidget with the cap to my Diet Coke, unsure how honest I should be.
“Do you want the real answer?”
“Always,” Declan says immediately. “When it comes to you, I want everything.”
My pulse ticks up at his declaration. I try not to let my mind consider what else he could mean byeverything.
Because I’m starting to think that with Declan, I might just wanteverything, too.
“There were days where I felt like I was suffocating,” I confess. It’s the first time I’ve spoken the thought out loud, the one I tried so hard, for so long, to just ignore. Declan studies me, giving me his full attention, and it gives me the courage to continue. “I would look around at my cramped, messy office in the back of the store, with my desk covered in spreadsheets and purchase orders, and I would just think —what the fuck am I doing here?
“I even had a few panic attacks. I’ve always dealt with anxiety, but it had never led to a full-blown panic attack until the last couple years. The first time it happened, I almost called 9-1-1 because I thought I was having a heart attack. I stood there hyperventilating in the parking lot behind the store, with my phone clutched in my hand, debating whether or not to call an ambulance, and I just knew I needed to make some changes.”
I quit fidgeting with my Diet Coke and look up, meeting Declan’s eye. That softness in his gaze that he sometimes gets when he looks at me is back, and it makes my stomach clench. Nobody has ever looked at me that way before. Not before him.
“Anyway,” I continue, “the scariest part was telling my family I was going to be opening my store.”
“Why was that scary?” Declan asks. “Weren’t they happy for you?”
“They were.” I shrug. “I just don’t like disappointing people. Telling my dad I was leaving my job, telling them all that I was changing things up, putting a wrench in things – it’s not me. I put it off until I was about to sign the lease.”
“I can’t imagine anyone being disappointed in you,” Declan says softly.
“It’s a rare occurrence,” I say, forcing a laugh. “But only because I aim to please.”
The moment the words leave my mouth, the air between us shifts. The heaviness of our conversation gives way to something else.
“Do you?” Declan murmurs, shifting so his leg is pressed against my knee. It’s just the slightest contact with layers of clothing between us, but my body reacts the way it always does when Declan touches me. Any kind of physical contact between us immediately sets my nerve endings on fire.
We linger for a bit longer, snacking on what remains of our feast and chatting about all the little, inconsequential things we’ve never had the chance to talk about, like funny customers we’ve had, some of the ridiculous tattoos Declan has inked, and the budding romance between Noah and Ty.
We only pack up when the rain starts to fall.
“Shit,” Declan curses, stuffing boxes of crackers, half-eaten cheeses and our discarded fruit back in the basket. I quickly fold the checkered blanket, shaking it out first to remove the bits of grass stuck to the bottom. All through the park, people are hurrying to wrangle their kids and get their belongings packed up to beat the unexpected weather.
Declan grabs my hand and I let him tug me along as we jog back to his truck, the rain coming in a pelting sheet now. I look over and see the giant basket swinging from his other hand, his button-upplastered to his chest and his hair matted to his forehead, and I can’t help but laugh. He looks over and meets my eye, and his answering grin makes my pulse tick upward.
We finally make it to the truck down the block and Declan fumbles in his pocket for his keys. By the time he gets the doors open and we stuff our haphazardly packed-up picnic inside, we’re both absolutely drenched, right down to our bones.
“I’m so sorry,” Declan says, slamming the back door of his pickup. “I swear, the weather forecast didn’t show a drop of rain when I checked this morning.”
“If I really minded, I’d be inside the car right now,” I point out. Instead, I’m standing in front of Declan, with my long, heavy hair plastered down my arms and my back, my skirt stuck to my legs, and my tank top –
Shit. I glance down, only now realizing I’m wearing a very white, verysee-throughtop. Without a bra underneath, because I didn’t need one – or so I’d thought.
Declan notices my predicament the same moment I do, and even through the steady rain, I hear his sharp intake of breath. He steps closer, settling a hand on my hip and flexing his fingers, like he’s holding himself back from touching me elsewhere.
“Declan?” I say, stepping closer and tipping my head back to get a better look at his beautiful, rain-soaked face. I watch as droplets of water dance down the sides of his temples and cling to the end of his long, dark lashes. He licks a bead of water off his top lip, and the quick flash of his tongue has my mind barreling down a wayward path. I want to lean in and taste him.
I want to taste himeverywhere.
