Page 93 of The Florist and Her Alphas

I catch him watching me three different times when he thinks I’m not looking. Each time, the look on his face is soft, focused. It makes my stomach flip so hard I have to steady myself against the counter.

By five, we’ve had a steady, busy day. The cash drawer is full. The chalkboard is half-erased. My back aches in that good, satisfied way that means I’ve done real work.

I flip the sign on the door from OPEN to CLOSED. Turn to reach for the broom in the corner. The bell over the door rings before my fingers close around the handle.

Ezra, Cole, and August come through the door together.

I stop breathing.

They are all in suits. Tailored, immaculate, fresh-from-the-barber suits. Ezra in charcoal, the fabric so dark it almost looks liquid under the shop lights. August in soft cream, his sandy hair combed back, his tortoiseshell glasses catching the light. Cole in dark navy, his jaw clean-shaven for once, the scar along his neck standing pale against his skin. White shirts. Polished shoes. Haircuts within the last twenty-four hours.

I stare at them.

Julian is grinning beside me like a man who has known something all day that I have not. His arm is still around my waist, and he doesn’t move it.

Pepper is on Cole’s shoulder this time. The parrot is freshly bathed, his emerald feathers gleaming, his bright yellow head practically luminous in the late afternoon light. He has a small green ribbon tied loosely around his right foot, and the moment he sees me, he fluffs all his feathers up to twice his normal size and announces at the top of his lungs, “Gorgeous!”

“Aww, he missed me. Hey Pepper,” I say, smiling.

Ezra crosses the shop slowly. His eyes are on my face, and nothing else. He stops in front of me, close enough that I can smell the bergamot on his skin, and cups my jaw in one hand. His thumb brushes my cheekbone.

“How are you feeling?” he asks quietly.

“Okay,” I say, swallowing nervously. “The day was good. Julian was useful. Mostly.”

Behind me, Julian makes an offended sound. Cole is leaning against the wall just inside the door, his arms folded, the corner of his mouth twitching in what might be the closest thing to a smile I’ve ever seen on his face.

August comes up to me and hugs me. Holds me for a long time, his arms tight around my shoulders, his honey scent wrapping around me like a blanket. I hug him back.

Ezra is watching me. His pale gray eyes are steady on my face.

And then he lowers himself to one knee.

Twenty-Four

LIANA

My flower shop goes dead silent.

I could swear the alphas could probably hear my heart beating audibly as I watch Ezra on one knee, looking at me so intensely. He is just looking up at me. I am just looking down at him. My brain has stopped working entirely.

There is a single pale petal stuck to the cuff of his charcoal jacket, from a flower bucket he must have brushed against on his way in, and it is the most human thing I have ever seen on him.

His gray eyes are wet as he takes a small breath, keeping his eyes on my face the entire time.

“I was wrong,” he says quietly. “I came to your shop to buy you out without caring.” He pauses. “I was a cold man before you came into my life. I did not even know I was cold until you walked into that café and something in my chest softened.” His jaw tightens, then releases. “I love you. I will give my life protecting you. My brothers and I want to spend the rest of ours proving that we are for you.”

My throat closes. My eyes spill over before I can stop them. He’s proposing to me. Like really proposing.

Julian steps forward next, clearing his throat, and looking serious for once. “I’m more in love with you than I have ever been in my life,” he says. “I’ve been wanting to do this since the carnival. I knew, even then, that I was never going to get over you.”

Cole steps up beside him. He doesn’t say anything at first. He just looks at me until my face goes hot.

“You didn’t deserve those scars,” he says finally. Low. Rough. “Not one of them. I am going to spend the rest of my life making sure nobody ever hurts you again.” His slate-blue eyes are bright, wet, and it undoes me more than anything else because Cole doesn’t cry or become emotional. “I love you. All of you. Every bit of you.”

Tears are pouring now. I can’t stop them.

August comes last. His eyes are bright behind his glasses, but he’s holding it together, barely.