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Mason mumbles something I can’t hear.
I slide myself up the concrete wall to standing and inch backward. My foot slips on a wet tile, and I fall into a bucket. What the—? My butt is wedged in, and I squirm to get free. How’s that for a perfect fit? I didn’t know my hips had a circumference of a 35-inch bucket. I thrust my body forward to stand, bent at the waist as the container remains stuck on my backside.
I’ve heard of kicking the bucket, but this is a new twist on the saying. Death by humiliation. Mason cannot see me like this.
I swing my bucket butt against a steel pillar and the clank echoes throughout the high ceilings. Not smart if I want to avoid attention. I side shuffle further from the open doorway of the staff area. In country towns, people don’t respect keep out signs in the name of helping someone. Mrs. Baxter will come in here if I’m not careful.
I rub my bottom over the rough brick wall in the hopes of plastic surgery. The scraping is as bad as a jailbird clanging bars with a can. It finally loosens and crashes to the floor, rolling and clipping on each turn as the metal handle hits the tiles.
“Hello. Everything okay back there?” Mason calls with concern in his tone.
No other staff is here, so I must attend to him. Wonderful. Awesome. I’d rather clean the Georgetown sewer.
Sweat slicks my palms. I smooth my apron, looking oh so domesticated—not the image of success I want to portray to my ex-fiancé. He, on the other hand, wears a smart tailored suit, which snuggles every line and muscular curve of that hot bod. Ugh. So annoying. Perfectly dressed for any occasion. Neat freak.
I grab a few white carnations from under the stainless-steel bench. Next to them lay peach roses. My stomach knots at the sight. Those were the flowers I picked for our wedding—the wedding that didn’t happen. I shake my head and focus on adding lilac, yellow, and orange to my creation. Now I look like I’ve been busy.
I take tentative steps into the retail section and offer a small smile. “Can I help you?”
Mason straightens to his six-foot height and lifts his chiseled chin. “Lauren.” His eyes go all puppy-eyed on me.
No. No. I’m not getting sucked into his vortex. The black hole that was Mason and me. Going nowhere fast.
“How come you’re working here? Didn’t think floristry would be your kind of gig.” His smile comes easy.
I tippy toe to peek over the back row of shelving. No surprise. Mrs. Baxter’s honker nose keeps poking through the gap between garden gnomes and windchimes.
I place the flowers in my arms onto a sheet of red cellophane and wrap the bouquet tightly. “You remember Elsie? It’s her new business.” I use sticky tape to secure the flowers. I lower my voice slightly. “She’s sick today. Ethan didn’t mind taking my place at the rapids. He loves to get out of the office.” Unlike Mason, who practically lives in a skyrise building that nearly reaches the moon. Too high and mighty for us small-town folk.
Mason runs a hand through his dark hair. The very hair I loved to play with when we kissed. Oh, those kisses.
Stop it.
He gives me a smoldering grin. It’s not on purpose, I’m sure. He’s gorgeous, and the guy can’t help the cute smile lines bracketing his mouth. “You look well. How have you been?”
I dig my hands into my apron pockets. “Fine.” My voice emerges sharp, off-roading from a customer-service-appropriate tone. Good thing I’m not relying on tips.
Mason lowers the hand holding the dry arrangement.
I stare at the bouquet. “Do you want to buy those?”
He steps back and blinks before bringing them to his chest. “Oh. They’re for my grandmother. Not anyone else.”
I swallow the tingle in my throat. Once it’s over with an ex, you proclaim they’re ugly or horrible and question what you ever saw in them. Here Mason stands in front of me. His thick lashes would make any girl jealous. The broad shoulders show he’s no weakling. And that plump bottom lip makes him look like a pretty boy. Too perfect. And who does he think he is, flaunting his expensive suit and polished shoes in our cozy little town? He’s out of place here. Go back to Denver.
No attraction there anymore. Zip, zilch, nada, zero.
I wave a hand. “You’re free to buy flowers for whoever you want.” I broke it off with him ten months ago. Why is he being considerate of my feelings? Infuriating. I’m being harsh. I know it. But it’s how I’ve coped with the disappointment. I loved Mason so much it hurt. Seeing him proves to me how much it still hurts.
He shrugs. “I just want you to know they’re for Gran.” His gaze dips to the floor and back at me. “She misses you.” His Adam’s apple slides up and down his throat. “A lot.”
Emotions swoosh and swirl in my belly. I loved his grandmother. Sweet and sassy. Much more welcoming than Mason’s parents.
I lost two people when Mason and I parted ways. My grandma passed when I was three, and his gran filled that void. The woman said the funniest things at the most inappropriate of times.
“How is she?”
Sadness washes over his features. He moves closer and keeps his voice low. “Not good. Gran’s in a nursing home.” He darts a glance toward Mrs. Busybody at the back of the store. She shouldn’t be able to hear us. “Mom didn’t think she could look after her needs. And Dad’s never home.”
