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The reception had gone on for quite a while after the bride and groom made their exit, and Hattie hadn’t been any more eager to leave than I was. So we’d stayed, lingering until we were some of the last people there.
By the time I’d brought her home to the apartment above the flower shop, my mind was on overdrive, trying to think of a way to convince her to see me again.
“This was really fun,” she’d said. “Thank you for inviting me.”
“Thanks for accepting the invite.”
She’d turned toward the door then, putting her back to me. I could still remember how my breath had caught in my throat as I’d kept my hands jammed in my pockets so I wouldn’t reach for her.
But then, she’d turned back around, offering me a sad smile. “I really do wish things were different, you know. I had a really great time with you. And we definitely clicked.”
“We did.”
“Goodnight, Thatcher. And, um, take care. It was really nice to meet you.”
I’d swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest, my brain screaming at me to say something—anything—that would make her change her mind.
But instead, I’d only nodded once and taken a step back. “Goodnight, Hattie.”
I hadn’t been able to repeat the other nicety.It was nice to meet you too.
Because it hadn’t simply been nice. It’d been … too big for what it was.
And telling her it’d been nice to meet her would not only have been a total understatement … but the finality of it? Yuck.
Now, as I got home from work and got in the shower, I felt like a moron. I’d let her get away. Well, no. She hadn’t gone anywhere. I had. I’d left without making any kind of attempt to convince her that our connection was worth exploring.
The sparks between us had lit up the night, and I hated the idea of not seeing her again. I’d probably forever wonder what would have happened if I’d taken a stand.
What was it that made her care that I wasn’t a permanent fixture here?
Why did it have to be such a big deal?
Before I could talk myself out of it, I threw on some clothes and grabbed my keys. I had a full twenty-four hours off, and if I wanted to know the answers to those questions, I’d need to ask her.
And since we hadn’t exchanged numbers, it would have to be in person.
I spent the forty-minute drive to Bluffton trying to figure out what I would say. I hoped she didn’t think I was as creepy as her window-stalking habit for showing up like this, but what else was I supposed to do? Call the flower shop? Somehow, that seemed worse.
Or maybe that was just my way of justifying my need to see her again. Too late now.
When I walked through the door of Bluffton Blooms, the scent of fresh flowers was almost as intense as the way my stomach bottomed out when I saw her standing behind the counter. She wore the same pink polo shirt with her company logo on it that she’d worn when we met, her hair tied up in a ponytail again.
And just like the moment she’d stepped out of the flower truck, my heart stopped at just the sight of her.
Hattie’s full mouth dropped open when she saw me. “Thatcher?”
The woman standing beside her gasped and blinked at me, and I gave them a hesitant wave. “Hi.”
“Well, well, well,” the other woman said as Hattie continued to stare. “If it isn’t Sergeant Charming himself. Coming to return a lost glass slipper?”
I quirked a brow as Hattie glared at her friend. “Stella,enoughwith the Cinderella references.”
“Oh, come on,” she replied. “You have to admit it’s similar. Wedding, ball, whatever.”
I grinned.
She’d been talking about it. She’d been telling her friend about our night together. What had she said? Oh, to have been a fly on the wall duringthatconversation.
