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And I don’t want to.
* * *
After the heavy afternoon,Orson and I have a quick shower, order in, and then spend the night on the couch together. It’s perfect. Unlike him, I can’t borrow clothes, so I leave early to duck home and get changed, then make my way over to his shop.
He’s surprised to see me, but I peck him on the cheek and get him to show me his biggest and best bouquet that saysthank you.
“Who are these for?” he asks.
I shrug. “My cousin’s friend’s sibling’s dog.”
He looks blankly back at me before throwing up his hands. “Don’t wanna know. The white and pink ones would work.”
“Got anything in yellow?”
He arches an eyebrow at me but plays my game. We wander around the store, him making suggestions and me shooting them down until I point to the original bunch. “What about those? They’d work nicely.”
He rolls his eyes. “Pink and white coming right up.”
“You’d think you’d be better at your job by now. They really should have been your first suggestion.”
“How silly of me.”
I follow him to the counter and watch him work, wrapping the bunch in that flimsy brown paper and making them look all fancy.
“Not going to tell me?” he asks.
“Nope.”
The corner of his lips hitches up. “Will I see you later?”
“Undoubtedly.”
I pay him for the flowers and leave as a couple walk in, then cross the street toward Killer Brew. The old brewery is a huge, intimidating structure, sitting on the water with the mountains and Kill Pen behind it. If Art isn’t here, I’ll eat my left nut—he practically lives at work. I’m ninety percent sure the door inside his office that is always closed leads to a bedroom or something.
Sure enough, when I walk inside, he’s sitting at a booth, laptop open in front of him, with a pile of papers beside it.
“Hey, darlin’.”
“Don’t call me darlin’,” Art says. “I’m not one of your booty calls.”
“I calleveryonedarlin’,” I throw back. Booty calls, servers, strangers in the street.
“Yes, but you don’t have to try to act less menacing with me. I know you’re a softie.”
Of course he’d know why I do it. Pet names are an immediate ice breaker with most people and help them feel comfortable around me. I point to his work. “Don’t you have an office for all that?”
“Yep. Was feeling social today.” He looks up, and his gaze lands on the flowers, causing a slow smile to spread across his face. “It’s almost like I knew handsome men would come bearing gifts.”
It’s a struggle not to turn on my heel and leave, but instead, I hold them out.
His face drops. “Wait. They’re actually for me?”
“Not if you don’t hurry up and take them.”
He claims them and sets them on the table beside his work as I take the seat opposite. “Do I need to remind you that we’ve tried this once and it didn’t work? You’re a fine man, Ford Thomas, but I’m a wild stallion, completely untam—”
“Nope. Not what this is.”
