Yes. It absolutely mattered. Because the thought of Cal Sterling buying flowers for someone—some mystery woman who warranted bouquets and thoughtful gestures—made my chest feel tight in a way I refused to examine.
“They're twelve dollars. You're giving me twenty.”
“Consider it a tip.”
“Cal—”
“Rosie.” He stepped closer, still holding out the bill. “Let me buy the damn flowers.”
He's being nice.That was all this was. A kind gesture from someone who'd already spent his entire morning helping me, who'd fixed my irrigation system at dawn, who'd shown up at the market with rescue dogs and stayed all day even though I knew he'd rather be anywhere else.
I took the money, my fingers brushing his for half a second. “Thank you.”
Cal studied the bouquets, his expression unreadable. I'd arranged them yesterday with such hope—wildflowers from the edges of the property, mixed with the cultivated blooms from Walt's garden. Pinks and purples and whites, tied with twine.
He reached for the largest one, the arrangement I'd been most proud of, bursting with color and life. “This one.”
I wrapped it carefully in brown paper, tying it with extra twine because my hands needed something to do. The silence stretched between us, comfortable but charged with something I couldn't name.
“Sharon's going to love these.” The words tumbled out as I handed him the bouquet. “I mean, they're perfect for—well, I don't know what her favorite flowers are, but these seem like the kind of thing she'd appreciate.”
Cal blinked at me. “Sharon?”
“Yeah.” My cheeks burned. “Unless they're for someone else? Not that it's my business. You can give flowers to whoever you want. Obviously.”
Stop talking, Rosie.
“They're not for Sharon.”
“Oh.” My stomach did something complicated. “Right. Of course. I shouldn't have assumed?—”
“They're for you.”
The market noise faded to white static. I stared at him, certain I'd misheard. “I'm sorry?”
“The flowers.” He held them out, awkward and stiff. “They're for you.”
I blinked at him. Then at the bouquet. Then back at him.
My brain short-circuited somewhere betweenfor youand the way Cal's ears had gone slightly pink. Relief flooded through me, warm and unexpected and completely inappropriate.
“But you just bought themfromme.”
“I'm aware.”
“So you're... giving them back?”
“As a thank you.” Cal's jaw tightened, like this conversation was physically painful. “For today. For finding Hank a home. Possibly Daisy, too—a few people seemed interested.”
My chest did something complicated. “Cal, you don't have to?—”
“I want to.”
The words hung between us, simple and honest. Cal stood there, looking like he'd rather be performing emergency surgery on a rabid raccoon than having this conversation. But his eyes—warm brown and steady—held mine without wavering.
“You're thanking me.” I tried to process this. “For helpingyoufind homes foryourdogs.”
“Yes.”
