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Everything was under control. Her control.
“Fine.” She didn’t elaborate.
He nodded, his disappointment evident in his open blue gaze. “About the flowers. I normally buy from—”
“Don’t say it.” She held up a hand. If he’d come to her for flowers, she’d help him find a small, affordable bouquet even if she had to throw something together on the fly. She glanced at the lemon tree and rabbit’s tail. Though cost didn’t seem to be a huge factor for him. “You have your plants. What type of flowers were you looking for?”
“She likes roses.”
All she heard was she. She who? But her professional smile never faltered. “What sort of relationship is it?”
“Excuse me?”
“Different colors of roses signify different things.” To help distract herself, she strode to the glass-fronted cool case that held an impressive rainbow of roses. She had a fondness for them too, though her preference ran to the rarer—and therefore more expensive—varieties.
“Oh yeah?” His eyebrow ring winked in the sunlight as he gave her his full attention. “Like what?”
“Well, red typically means love.” He better not pick red, unless he wanted to endanger certain vital parts of his manhood. “White stands for purity of intention. Coral can mean desire, and purple…“ She fell silent.
“What about purple?”
She cleared her throat and narrowed her eyes hard on the display so she couldn’t see him out of the corner of her vision. “Purple means love at first sight.”
He didn’t reply for so long that she chanced a glance his way, only to discover he was smiling. “Purple’s your favorite color. You must have a romantic soul.”
The sound she made in her throat embarrassed her, but not as much as the flush creeping across her cheeks yet again. “This was just some poetic type’s idea of how to sell flowers.” She hurriedly stepped behind the counter. “It’s not reality.”
“Who’s to say what is reality?”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re not one of those types, are you?”
Dillon prowled to the counter and leaned in, just close enough that she could smell the foresty scent of his aftershave. Or his soap.
An unexpected image of him rubbing a mint-green bar over the hard planes of his body formed in her head and her mouth went dry. Damn. It looked as though she’d be spending some quality time with madame butterfly tonight, since her rooftop sex-o-rama hadn’t taken the edge off. Or maybe it had honed a whole new one.
“What sort of type would that be, Lex?”
She jolted from his usage of her nickname. “Call me Alexa.”
“Why? Too personal?” His smile spread as he traveled his gaze down her form. “When we’ve already gotten so personal already…”
“Shh.” She cast a quick look over her shoulder and sent up a prayer that Travis hadn’t abandoned his post in the back office.
“Afraid your friend will hear?”
“Employee.”
“He doesn’t look at you like you’re his boss.” Considering, he scratched his smooth jaw. “Then again, maybe I’d be similarly starry-eyed if any of my bosses had looked like you when I was in college and full of—”
“Let’s just stop right there.” She didn’t want to think of Travis as full of anything. The boy was barely twenty, for God’s sake.
“Fair enough,” he agreed with a chuckle. “So about those flowers.”
“In a hurry to get back to work?” she asked pleasantly. In a hurry to buy roses for your anonymous she?
“Not in a hurry, but yeah, I’ve got some stuff going this afternoon beyond your bathroom work. I figured I’d ask since I know you have privacy issues and all.”
“I do not have ‘privacy issues.’ I just wondered if you were as conscientious and all-knowing with everyone.”
