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I point to the one with the gladioli in it. “I’m a traditionalist.”
“Easy decision, then.”
“Right.” I pick up the flowers, and then …
My gaze flicks to the counter on the other side of my shop. Shit.
Ford’s watching me again, and there’s something too shrewd in his gaze.
I wave my arm. “After you.”
“No. Afteryou.”
Motherfucker. “Guests first.”
“Actually, I’m a customer, not a guest, and the customer is always right.”
My eyes widen. “Ireallyinsist.”
“So do I, sweetheart.” He leans in. “And I’m a stubborn guy. I can do this all day.”
A curl ofsomethingshivers through me. “Okay, so, counter …”
“Ring me up.”
I don’t move. Sure, I could turn around and laugh it off, but there’s something completelywrongwith Ford having that picture of me in his head. Let’s see him think I’m cute with shit all up my back.
“Actually, take them,” I say. “They’re on the house.”
His expression has gone from amused to concerned towhat the hell is going on here?
I force a smile.
His frown deepens. And he still doesn’t take the flowers.
Ford steps to the side, and I jerk around, realizing a second too late that there was nothing natural about my movement.
“Normally I’d assume you’re doing some kinda homophobic thing with not wanting to turn your back on the gay man, but …” His eyes light up with mischief. “There’s something else going on here, isn’t there?”
“Don’t know what you mean?”
“Oh. So youarehomophobic?”
“No, I’m …” I slump. “Fine. I was trying to save myself the embarrassment.” I suck in and hold a deep breath, then turn and walk to the counter.
His laughter follows me the entire way. “What the fuck did you do?”
“I was watering some flowers, backed up into a pot, knocked it over, and went ass over tits into the mess.”
Somehow, his laughter doubles.
“You good yet?” I try to give him a dry look, but my lips twitch.
“Funny how there’s no mess left to corroborate your story.”
“I cleaned it up!”
“Uh-huh, I’m sure.”
