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Chapter 1
I want you so much, Eve.
I can’t stop thinking about you.
You’re the one who got away.
He’d said all those things to me tonight.
My dream man.
The guy I’d been obsessing over for the past eight years. Okay, more like seven and a half, but close enough. I didn’t take the word obsess lightly either. I always felt that when it landed in the middle of a sentence—and it’s a really big deal—it should be punctuated with a capital O. The small o is just too puny for those of us who obsessed frequently.
I was guilty as charged.
My O game was strong.
I couldn’t lie. Hearing him say those words rocked my effing world. I’d been waiting for him to say that for so long. So long! It was a dream come true—as well as my absolute worst nightmare. Firstly, I didn’t love having my world rocked. I was more of a stationary-type gal. Feet solidly planted on terra firma at all times. I liked things in their proper slots. Order was beauty. When life was unbalanced, my entire soul felt off-kilter.
Secondly, he had a fiancée.
A fiancée!
“Knock, knock, is anybody home?” Poppy asked, settling a hand on my shoulder. Poppy Albright was one of my best friends in the entire world. I’d met the most amazing three women during my freshman year in college, and trying to get through life without them would be unthinkable.
I snapped out of my daze, practically bounding off my stool, glancing around the empty storefront of my brand-new soon-to-be floral business, surprised to see that everyone else had left our kickoff celebration party. I kind of remember making my goodbyes. At least I think I did.
I’d deal with that embarrassment later.
Brushing an errant strand of red hair behind my ear, I shook my head, more than a little flustered. “Sorry. I was thinking about something else. My mind is going in a million directions these days.”
To help cover my befuddlement, I hurried over to one of the tables to start tidying up. The caterers had taken all the food and dishes away, which was a relief. I wasn’t up for a full clean at the moment. My brain was too busy whirring like a spin cycle stuck on Extra Panic Attack for me to tackle anything more than a simple tidy-up.
Poppy eyed me like I was an unsteady toddler. “It was a great party,” she began, her tone nice and light. “Everyone had a ton of fun. The Watering Can is going to be completely amazing! I can’t wait for it to open. I’m going to buy all of my flowers here. I swear.” She settled one hand over her heart and gave me a three-finger salute, making me smile. I could always count on her for that. “I won’t even demand a best-friend discount.” She fiddled with a red rose, rubbing a petal between her index finger and thumb. It was one of my favorite things to do. I loved the silky feel and how the scent lingered on my fingers. “Well, maybe sometimes because, you know, flowers are expensive. But most of the time, it’ll be ‘give me the works!’”
I laughed. “Of course you’re getting the best-friend discount. Each and every time. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Realizing my dream of owning my own flower shop—an innocent wish as I’d stood next to Nana as a child, trimming beautiful long-stemmed roses and placing them in glass vases—was incredible. I had to pinch myself. This was really happening.
It was happening!
My mind should be completely focused on my new business venture. I had so much to do, order, prepare, decorate, hire. I’d sunk a ton of my blood, sweat, and tears into it already. Years of saving, scrimping, scratching, taking extra accounting jobs, trying to make ends meet while living in a tiny apartment, just so I could make my dream a reality.
But instead of being laser-focused on the task ahead, I’d allowed myself to become completely Obsessed with Marco Cruz. The urgent words he’d uttered before tugging me into the closet tonight were front and center in my cerebral cortex, like a blinking billboard in Times Square. Those words weren’t going away any time soon.
It was actually our closet.
The man was my business partner. He’d pulled me into our closet. The one we co-owned. Or co-leased. But it was still ours together.
Then he’d kissed me like a knight in a medieval tale of unrequited love, sweeping me back over one arm and going in for the kill. Except this love was very much requited. I’d loved him nonstop for seven and a half years, so it was quite possibly hyper-requited. I’d pawed at his face like a cat and lapped at his tongue like a dehydrated pony.
I’d been a goner for the man from the first time I’d laid eyes on him at the student bookstore where we’d both worked those first few months of college until right this very second.
Now my Obsession was billboard-bright.
How did I get rid of something seared into my brain by a hot, scorching kiss? A kiss I’d been waiting for my entire life.
I had no idea.
