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“What about the floral shop? Dad always kept it open until five. It doesn’t look like it’s been open all week.”
He looked at her for a long moment. “It hasn’t been open for a lot longer than that. We don’t go in there much, unless we’re doing payroll or the books. The majority of our business happens out back.”
She glanced around, trying not to let her heart hurt with that tidbit of news. The floral shop was the only part of this whole operation she thought she could handle. And like Jake had said earlier, it was a glorified office. First rule in marketing was understanding what your business was selling. So like it or not, she had to understand the business as a whole. Including the warehouse.
“So bark dust and gravel?” she asked. “That’s what all this is? That’s the business now?”
“Home and garden supplies,” he corrected.
“But the garden shop is closed. And flowers are part of what this place is known for.”
“Was known for,” he said. “We deal with big projects now. We have a steady cast of usual customers that keep us comfortably busy all year. Like people needing lumber for houses and sod for landscaping design. The flower shop is ambience and holds the copy machine, but that’s about it.”
“It should be open,” she argued.
“You know how many corsages you’d have to sell to even come close to the kind of profit I get from one bark supply order?”
“Clearly you don’t even know that comparison, since the place is closed!” she snapped. The one good memory she had was of the flower shop. It had been lovely once upon a time. It had also been booming back then. Now it was just a glorified storefront of what once was, while Jacob Lock sold manly supplies out of the warehouse in the back.
“If you want it open more, then come in and run the shop, Miss Owner.”
“That’s what I intend to do.”
“Great,” Jake said, and she could tell from his tone it was anything but great.
“Well, then.” She looked around. That bounce in her step—which came from rainy-day shoe destruction instead of walking on sunshine—was starting to physically hurt, and her confidence was dissipating. She had no idea what she was expecting, or even what to do now. She had suitcases waiting and a broken shoe, and currently she was staring down the only man who had made her feel hot and bothered in a long time. He was also the man her father loved. Walt may have left her the flower shop, but he’d left everything else to Jacob. Including job security.
Wait . . . not everything.
“My father said I basically have the house to myself, since he’s living with”—she swallowed back the horror—“his girlfriend.” A topic she’d dive into later with him.
“That’s right. You have his old place.”
Finally, something resembling peace was on the horizon. She couldn’t wait to get back to the home she’d grown up in. With the dahlia garden in back. Would it still be there? She could cut flowers and remember her mother. Remember the good moments. Maybe bring a bunch of them to the shop the way they used to and put arrangements in the cooler and start the floral shop off right.
Jacob smiled, those straight white teeth making her dizzy. Her breasts, however, were on full alert, standing to attention at the sight of his lips spreading. Where was a set of headgear when you needed it, because Jake Lock was too damn handsome for his own good and she needed a distraction from his perfect face and his stupid perfect teeth.
“I’d be happy to take you there.” He grinned. The way he said that made her think he knew a secret she didn’t. “I’ll lock up, bring the truck around, and you can follow.”
“I know how to get to my old house.”
“That’s not where I’m taking you.”
Before she could ask more, he turned to leave.
“Follow me and stay close.”
She nodded. But she had the feeling that—irritation, frustration, and expectations aside—being near Jacob Lock was a bad idea, especially when her mind was churning out thoughts of just how much of her skin those big hands of his could cover.
This was going to be more stressful than she’d realized.
Chapter Two
“It’s beautiful,” Laura said, looking at the large house on the outskirts of town. Her father must have built a new house! It was an A-line cottage style with massive windows and surrounded by trees. It was a far cry from the small house Laura had grown up in. Maybe he’d planted a garden out back?
“Thanks,” Jacob said, shutting his truck door and grabbing Laura’s suitcases out of her trunk. The rain had let up, which was nice, since her suitcases would have gotten drenched otherwise. “Took a year to build.”
“You built this?”
