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Until his fingers brushed hers.
Sparks ignited and spread up her arm like wildfire. Her sharp intake of breath at the unexpected contact was surprisingly loud and echoed off the brick walls of the little porch. Her head jerked up. Grant’s gaze was fixated on her, his body rigid. It was as if he’d turned to stone.
Whereas she felt horrifyingly, thrillingly alive for the first time in years. As if every nerve in her body had been brought back to life and was yet again responding to the man who had once brought her to heights of pleasure she hadn’t imagined possible.
In the bookstore she’d mentally prepared herself before offering her hand in a gesture of professionalism. She’d also accepted her body’s tingling response. Only natural when she was experiencing physical contact with her first, and only, lover after so many years. Her excitement over getting the contract, of finally having the possibility of saving her business, had been easy to focus on while dismissing the rest.
But now, with nothing between them but the coolness of a rainy spring evening, she couldn’t have stopped her body’s response if she’d tried.
Grant yanked his hand back, the umbrella clenched so tightly in his grasp it was a wonder it didn’t snap.
“Good night, Miss Waldsworth.”
His frigid farewell immediately doused the fire ignited by that unexpected spark. She didn’t respond as he opened the umbrella and walked across the courtyard without a backward glance. She waited until she saw him disappear within the bookstore before going inside.
The stairs up to her little studio seemed steeper that evening, creaking under the heavy weight of each step. The pale yellow walls of her apartment and the iron-framed bookcase overflowing with plants by the front door usually elicited a feeling of comfort when she’d return home. Tonight, however, they failed to induce even the smallest bit of joy as she walked in, tugged off her wet shirt and tossed it onto the tile by the washing machine.
She focused on the mundane tasks of getting ready for the night: watering her plants, washing her face, checking her email one last time for any orders.
It wasn’t until she was curled up in her bed with a cup of steaming tea that she allowed herself to fully accept how much of a fool she’d made of herself. If there was anything more pathetic than showing a man how much she was affected by him, it was showing her former lover how much she was affected by him after he’d just literally rescued her business.
She hung her head. She’d pushed Grant out of her mind and out of her heart those first few years. Easy to do when just the thought of him had brought on a pain so sharp it made her feel like her heart was cracking in two. With time, when little things like the scent of roses or the music of a Ferris wheel reminded her of happier days, she’d allowed herself a brief moment of nostalgia before turning her attention to other things.
And when she’d seen Grant this morning, she hadn’t had time to examine how she felt about him. Every time he’d crept back into her thoughts over the course of the day, she’d banished him by focusing on her work.
Unfortunately, she now had all the time in the world and a serious case of insomnia.
The dried violet petals she’d added to her tea drifted in lazy circles in the cup. She didn’t know how long she stared at them, focusing on anything but the problem she needed to confront, but by the time she finally took a sip, the tea had turned cool and some of the petals had sunk to the bottom.
Obviously, the physical attraction to Grant was still there.And why wouldn’t it be?she asked herself defensively. He’d matured into an even more handsome man. They had a history. She’d attempted dating a few times, but nothing had gone beyond kissing. It was only natural that her body would respond.
Slowly, cautiously, she examined her emotions, then breathed a sigh of relief. She’d been mortified and regretful, sad and resigned, even grateful, when Grant had done the unthinkable and offered the contract. But the rush of electricity and heat had been rooted in nothing but sexual attraction. There was no lingering hint of love. How could there be when the Grant she’d seen today was the complete opposite of the smiling young man who had lit up every room he’d walked into?
Did I turn him into that?
She pushed that thought away as she turned off her light and burrowed under the covers. The rain had abated but still fell steadily outside her window, a pleasant backdrop of noise as her eyes drifted shut.
Easier to focus on the shushing melody of rain and let herself drift into sleep than give voice to the lingering doubt that Grant had become so cold and reserved for one reason.
Her.
CHAPTER FIVE
GRANTPAUSEDOUTSIDEthe door of The Flower Bell. He’d been focused on his laptop and missed the details last night when his driver had taken him by, looking up only to see that her store was dark. The arrangements in the window were stunning, the logo crisp and neat. The door beckoned passersby to come in, a welcoming green with a white frame and a doorknob that looked as if it had been freshly polished.
A stark contrast to the rest of the shops lining the street. Most of the storefronts were empty with cracked windows and doors left ajar, as if their owners had fled so hastily one night they hadn’t bothered to lock up. Hard to imagine that just a few blocks away the streets gave way to the more fashionable Greenwich Village district.
Rent in New York City was notoriously high. But was this truly the best Alexandra could do?
A siren screamed not too far away, followed by shouting. Grant frowned. He’d wanted to flaunt his success, yes. But this...this was far worse than he had imagined.
He opened the door and walked inside. The walls had been painted a misty gray that made the framed pictures of flowers on the walls jump out. A small chandelier hung over a round white end table flanked by two emerald wingback chairs. The album on the table was open to photos of various arrangements. Two refrigerators with glass doors took up most of the far wall, the bottom shelves filled with buckets of blooms and the top shelves with completed arrangements.
She’d done the best with what she had. But it would take more than a coat of paint and artsy photography to cover up the cracks in the walls, the signs of mildew in one corner and the harsh humming of the refrigerators.
Alexandra’s back was to the door, her phone pressed to her ear as she scrolled through something on a laptop. She’d pulled her thick brown hair into a braid that nearly touched her waist and sported another T-shirt and jeans. A far cry from the brand-name clothes she used to wear. Yet, she wore it well, shoulders thrown back and her spine straight with a confidence she’d lacked when he’d first met her.
“I understand, but you’re charging me almost what I’d pay in Greenwich.”
