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“I just mean, it’s remarkable! You grew . . . in lots of ways.” She nibbled her bottom lip, and if she didn’t stop that, something else was going to grow in his jeans. Looked like any hope he had of her not affecting him was gone. Because she did then, and she did now.
“Still the same me, not that I was so bad before.”
“Of course not,” she said. “You were great. And now you work for my dad.”
“With.” Jake worked with him. But she didn’t look impressed. And she might not have meant to say that he was the stock boy earlier, but her polished facade was enough to show that she was not his type. Just like she wasn’t his type back then. A decade may have passed, but they were still in different leagues. Didn’t stop him from crushing hard on her, but it would stop him from repeating that giant road to nowhere again.
But damn, she was gorgeous. She wore a tight, white button-up tucked into that skirt, and he was starting to have fantasies about rucking the hem up to her hips and seeing what lay beneath. Thanks to the water, it was possible to see right through her top for a prime view of the lacy demi cups beneath. A full C, it looked like.
God bless the rain.
“So catching up is fun, but I really do need to find my dad,” she said. “Do you know where he is?” With her cell phone in one hand and a busted shoe in the other, she tapped a couple of keys a few times. “He’s not returning my texts.”
“That’s because Walt Baughman doesn’t text. In fact, he doesn’t usually carry his cell, either.” Not that Jake had seen. Granted, Walt didn’t come around a whole lot. He was more of a silent owner who popped in now and again instead of a steady worker.
She frowned at him. “I got him a phone last Christmas.”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t mean he uses it.”
With an exasperated breath, she continued tapping on her phone.
“There’s my girl!” Walt’s voice boomed from behind Jake as the man walked in. His silver hair was combed back and wet from the rain, and his usual Hawaiian shirt was soaked, as were his Birkenstocks. The man always looked like he’d just walked out of a Jimmy Buffett concert, no matter the weather. He loved that man like his own father and respected him even more. He gave Jake a quick pat on the back then headed toward his daughter.
“Hi, Daddy!” She hugged him, and Jake wondered if that’s what having a dad felt like. He wouldn’t know, since his had taken off when he was young. But Walt was a good man and Laura was lucky to have him.
“See you’ve gotten reacquainted with the Oregon weather,” Walt said, looking her over.
“Yeah, it’ll take some getting used to. Maybe we can expand the overhang in front of the shop. I got drenched waiting out there.”
“Great idea!” Walt said.
Whoa, great idea? Woman wasn’t here fifteen minutes and she was already talking about major work to the outside storefront. Which cost money. Something neither Baughman paid too close attention to, since Jake had basically taken over the shop and all the details.
“Ah . . . we can talk about that,” Jake said, trying not to interject but wanting to make sure he was on the same page.
Laura frowned at him. Okay, maybe he was a page off . . .
“I would love to talk about a lot of ideas I have, Dad,” Laura said, clearly not interested in chatting with Jake about this. Which irked him, since he’d been here for a decade and she hadn’t. But Laura always had had a knack for coming and going whenever she liked. They’d been on the student council together and she would show up randomly, turn everything he’d planned out upside down, then leave before the votes were counted. Yeah, he was well aware that Laura Baughman had ideas, and she had no problem fighting for them, no matter the time, place, or person in her way.
“Well, like I told you, sugarplum, the flower shop is all yours,” Walt said.
“What’s that now?” Jake said, shock going through him. When he’d started working for Walt ten years ago, Baughman Home Goods had been a small flower shop at best. But they’d built it up into a major home supplier of goods and products.
“The flower shop is mine,” Laura said, like he was an idiot with a hearing problem.
“I get that, but the warehouse—”
“Is yours,” Walt said, giving Jake a nod. “Jake here is responsible for all the store’s success.”
Laura looked between her father and him, and Jake couldn’t quite read the expression on her face. But he’d bet his salary she wasn’t happy.
“I don’t know about all this gravel and wood.” She waved her hand. “So you can go about your business with that. I’m just excited to revive the flower shop and really make it something special. Like Mom had.”
“Mmm-hmm, of course, sugarplum. Whatever you want,” Walt said. But the man was half paying attention now because he was tapping on—Jesus Christ—a cell phone?
“Can we back up here for a second?” Jake said. Because whatever you want was a dangerous phrase to use. “The warehouse doesn’t sell flowers. Hasn’t in years.”
“Well, that’s going to change,” Laura said.
