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God, I’m a bastard. Yes, I’m leading her to think something entirely different than my reality. She has no clue that I’ve enjoyed sitting on the porch, talking, or playing cards until the wee hours of the morning with Mrs. Hanson. She’s more of a second grandma to me than anything else. But something in the way this woman gets worked up when I insinuate sex with someone else leaves me slightly pleased and itching to egg her on a little more.
“Well, if you’re looking to say thank you for a wonderful night without having to buy a ring, then I’d go with this one,” she says somewhat hastily as she pulls open the cooler door and pulls out a brightly colored fresh bouquet. The most alluring scent fills my senses–hell, my entire being–but it isn’t the flowers. It’s her. She smells sweet and clean with a hint of floral. It reminds me of the shower. Of water glistening off flushed skin. Of sex. Preferably in the shower.
Turning away slightly, I take a quick moment to subtly adjust the raging hard-on I’m sporting in my pants. “Those are perfect. I’ll take them,” I find myself saying, even though I’d rather her put them back and get something else. Like a game of cat and mouse, I long for her to reach inside the case and retrieve a different vase. And then another and another. I want to watch her grab every single one of the vases just so I can watch her bend over, those damn pants stretched tightly across her perfect ass. But I know the bouquet she chose for me is perfect. Even though I know shit about flowers, I know Mrs. H will adore them.
She quickly heads up to the counter, the gentle sway of her hips holding my attention the entire way. With her back to me, she begins the process of covering the flowers in cellophane. Her hands hold a slight shake to them. It’s a subtle movement, but one I notice nonetheless. The red-blooded male in me wonders if that tremble is a result of my nearness, the same way my body is reacting in my pants to her closeness. That’s the effect I’m sticking with right now.
After wrapping up the vase, she turns back to the register. “The card machine is already shut down,” she says, those green orbs sliding skimming slowly upward until they land on my eyes.
“I’ll pay cash. It’s the least I can do since I kept you late tonight.”
“It’s twenty-four ninety-five.”
Retrieving my wallet, I pull out two twenties and hand them to her. I’d be a liar if I said the slight graze of her hand with my own, as she takes the bills, was a coincidence. But it was no accident. I needed to touch her, even just the slightest.
What I wasn’t expecting was the impact of that touch. Her gasp is the only sound in the shop. Like lightning, a white-hot bolt of lust strikes our connecting hands, sizzling and shooting heat throughout my body. Holy shit.
She pulls back suddenly, as if my touch burned her fingers. I don’t even attempt to fight the smile threatening to take over. It feels damn good to smile, as if I haven’t smiled in forever. It also feels damn good to feel something–whatever in the hell it is I’m feeling–for my mystery woman.
As she drops my change into my hand, careful not to make physical contact a second time, her eyes dart around the room, refusing to settle on mine. She quickly turns, grabs the wrapped vase, and sets it in front of me as if she’s finished with our transaction and with me.
Knowing that our time is coming to an end, disappointment and indecision set in. I know it’s time to leave, but my feet don’t seem to get the memo. They flat out refuse to walk towards the door. I stand there, watching her, for several heartbeats.
It’s a slow process, like the final steps towards the electric chair, but I turn towards the entrance and take a few hesitant steps. Before I can chicken out, I turn back around. Round, light green eyes pierce me, captivating me and drawing me back towards her. “Do you have a name?”
“Yes.” That’s it. That’s all she says.
“Can I have it?” I ask, the smirk fighting to get out.
“Don’t you have your own?” she quips with the rise of a single eyebrow, and I know instantly: I’m in lust. Feisty, independent, sassy, and gorgeous. She’s the perfect combination.
I don’t even attempt to hold back the belly laugh. It sweeps through me in a rush of euphoric bliss. But when she smiles back at me, a beautiful, melt my heart smile, I realize I’m already gone. I’ll stop at nothing to see this smile on this woman’s face as often as humanly possible. The way her eyes crinkle and light up, the way her cheekbones tinge a soft pink, the way her lips, full and pouty, stretch exquisitely across perfectly straight white teeth, her face lights up with that one simple act. Smiling.
Taking steps, I return to my post at the counter. I set aside the vase, lean down, casually resting my elbows atop the hard surface. “I do have a name, you are correct. What I was hoping for was a name that I could call you when I see you again.”
“Oh, who says you’ll be seeing me again?” she questions, the sparkle still evident in her eyes. With her hands on her hips, she takes a dazzling defiant stance. But I know differently; her eyes still shine with interest.
“I’m pretty sure it’s inevitable. Like the sun rising in the east and setting in the west. I suddenly have the innate desire to buy flowers. Lots of flowers.”
She rolls her eyes. “So, let me get this straight. You’re going to stop by and flirt with me while buying flowers for your other women?” She says women as if I have a herd of them waiting outside.
I shrug, not denying or supporting her claim. “So how about it? Do I get a name?”
She stares at me for several heartbeats, and I’m sure she’s going to shoot me down. Unfortunately for her, she has no idea how persistent I can be. I don’t care if I have to buy flowers for every woman in this town, you can bet your ass I’ll be back. Soon.
Grabbing the flowers and turning back towards the door, I make my way to the entrance. I grasp the handle and pull, the bell above the door jingling once more. Before I step through the doorway, however, I hesitate. If she’s looking at me, I’ll come back. If she’s not, then I’ll cut my losses and move on. It’s not like I haven’t perfected the art of the cut and run.
Looking over my shoulder, my focus is solely on a pair of alluring green eyes. There’s hesitancy in her gaze; it looks both reluctant and relieved. Like she’s glad to see me go, but sad at the same time. Her conflict is clear, but it’s the memory of her smile that I hang onto and will carry with me. That and the fact that she was watching me go. Hope bubbles in my chest like carbonation in a soft drink.
Shooting her a smile of my own, I head out the door and towards my truck. There’s an extra spring in my step as I saunter down the sidewalk and unlock the driver’s door. Sliding inside, I set the flowers in the passenger seat before turning the ignition. My gaze returns to the painted brick building, to the woman I see step to the door. Through the glass, I watch as she turns the lock before her own gaze sweeps the sidewalk and street before her.
Even through the glare of the windows, I know the instant her eyes settle on mine. I hold her stare for several seconds, silently conveying a message.
I’ll be back.
As I throw the truck in drive and pull onto the street, I keep one eye on the road and one on the storefront. I may not know her name, but I know where she works. Something clearly held her back from giving me her name, more than just to toy with me. I didn’t spot a ring, but I suppose that still doesn’t mean she isn’t taken. That just means the guy is stupid to not publicly declare her as his by putting a ring on her finger. I’ve never been in a hurry to settle down, but if I had a woman like that, you could bet your sweet ass I’d commit fully and completely as soon as possible.
Determined to find out her story–and her name–I head towards the office to finish up paperwork. Then, it’s home and to deliver the flowers to my neighbor. Mrs. Hanson will be thrilled by my Monday night visit, I’m sure, and won’t suspect a thing if I slip in a few subtle questions about the beautiful flower shop employee. She’s clearly not the woman I’ve met before who owns the shop, but the resemblance is uncanny. Finding out a little information shouldn’t be too difficult.
And once I complete a little recon, it’s off to buy more flowers.
