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“I’m fine,” I lie.
He watches me, questioning, unsure whether to really believe me or not. He shakes his head and adds, “Anyway, I shouldn’t have answered the way I did. I think years of being disillusioned have just made me cynical.”
I stare at him. “Why are you telling me all of this?”
Why is it so important for me to know this? Why does he care what someone like me even thinks?
His eyes wander across my face. He appears to be seriously contemplating that answer. “I don’t know.” His voice is raspy, low.
It strikes a nerve deep in the center of my chest. Like a fissure of electricity shattering, enveloping me. He looks hypnotized, captivated. Not by me. It couldn’t be. Yet he is leaning toward me once again.
This time is different. This time the feral hunger is replaced by something kinder. Something tender.
“Would you...” he hesitates.
Oh no. Is he trying to do what I think he is? My body stiffens. I’m not sure how to respond to anything. He hasn’t even asked me the question, and I am already shutting down.
“Have you picked up your order yet?” I ask him, distracting him with questions that actually suit our roles as customer and store employee. I move toward the counter, pushing down the flood of thoughts that emerge. “I can call someone to get them ready for you and bring them out to your car.”
I pick up the phone and start to dial.
Smooth, Aly. Just completely shut him down before even giving the man a chance.
Chapter Six
Zach
Iknow what she’s doing.
She’s stammering through her sentences. She can barely even look me in the eyes. And when it sounds like I’m about to ask her out, she focuses the conversation back on work.
Well, were you going to ask her out?
I wince. Do people do that in these kinds of situations? Isn’t there some unwritten rule against asking out women when you meet them in a customer-client capacity? I wouldn’t want to cross it anyway. But damn, what else am I supposed to do?
I feel a rush of panic settle in as she punches the number into her phone, paging whoever is on the opposite end of the store to come and haul me away. It can’t be what she really wants. She has to know as well as I do that there is something going on between us.
Somehow.Something.
Not like I even know what that is though.
“Actually.” I stop her, an idea striking me instantly. “I need to pick out some flowers.”
Her eyes assess me, suspicious. I guess I’d be suspicious of me too at this point. The last time we were alone together I tried to kiss her. Right there in the middle of the lumber aisle. And today, I tracked her down with some lame excuse of apologizing.
Great. I sound like some creepy stalker. We’re off to an excellent start.
“Flowers?” she asks.
“Well, plants,” I explain. “You know, all kinds of plants, really. We’re thinking about putting in a garden for some sustainable living.”
Her dainty little nose twitches in amusement. “Sustainable living in the city of Oakland?”
“People can tend to gardens almost anywhere. They could plant maybe one or two staple veggies, and they’d be giving their families access to important nutrients.”
Wow. Did you read that off of a poster somewhere?
What the hell is wrong with me? She isn’t the first attractive female I’ve ever met. So why am I acting like I’ve just spent the past ten years in a state penitentiary?
