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“No more being friends. I want to be with you. So the deal is, we see where this goes. And we figure out the rest when it comes.”
My heart rate picked up speed as I marveled at the way his voice could be so quiet and patient and yet so commanding at the same time.
Everything inside of me wanted to say yes, but then the bell above the door jingled, breaking the moment before I had the chance.
Thatcher released his hold on me instantly, swiftly slipping into the back room as I turned to greet the customer. I felt his absence like an unexpectedly cold breeze on a hot summer day, and I had to work not to turn around and chase after him.
The customer was an older woman, one I recognized from the wedding. In our people-watching game, Thatcher and I had created a mysterious double life for her as a retired member of the CIA. The memory of it brought a warm smile to my lips as I waved.
“Good morning,” I said, stepping around the counter. “How can I help you today?”
“My friend Carol Reid told me this was the best flower shop in town, so I’m here to place a rather large order for my daughter’s baby shower.”
My smile widened as my heart threatened to burst. “We would love to help you with that. When is the event?”
“Well,” she said, her silver brows drawing downward, “that’s the thing. It’s next weekend, dear. I’ve been meaning to come by for a few weeks now, but I haven’t been feeling up to par. I understand if you don’t have time to put something together by then, but I figured it was worth a try. Most things are, you know.”
Her words hit me right in the chest, and I let out a shaky laugh. “Well, I…”
My mind flew through the upcoming orders we needed to fill. We had a lot of work to do and not very many hands to do it, so taking on another large order—not to mention a rush order—would mean several long days in my future.
But we needed this, and who needed sleep, anyway?
Finally, I gave her a confident nod. “We can make that happen, ma’am. It will be our pleasure.”
“Oh, wonderful,” she replied. She pulled out a folded piece of paper from her purse and handed it to me. “This is everything I want to order.”
I opened the paper and browsed her list, squinting at her shakily scrawled handwriting. Looking up again, I pursed my lips. “Do you mind if we swap the dahlias for peonies? Dahlias are just starting to be in season, and I haven’t received my first shipment yet, but I have some beautiful pink peonies that would be perfect.”
“That sounds lovely, darling, whatever you think. I trust your judgment. Carol couldn’t say enough good things about you. And your family’s business,” she added hastily.
I had a feeling the “good things” Carol had to say about me centered around her son’s feelings and her hopes for our future together, but I let it go. I had too many of my own feelings about the matter to worry about whatever Carol had said.
“Thank you, that’s so great to hear. If you’ll follow me to the register, we can get you taken care of, and then I’ll call you if I have any more questions.”
She did so, and as soon as the door’s bell signaled her departure, Thatcher stepped out of the office. He braced one long arm against the doorframe, looking more devastatingly handsome in that pink polo shirt than anyone else who’d ever worn it.
“So, do we have a deal?” he asked, his voice a velvet murmur.
I pursed my lips and put a finger to the corner of my mouth, pretending to think about it. Then I grinned and nodded. “We have a deal.”
He crossed to me in two quick strides, and I launched myself against him, laughing when he picked me up off my feet and spun me around. When he kissed me again, I knew we were headed toward something amazing.
And as hard as it was, I pushed down any remaining fears over the future. What mattered wasnow, and as he’d said, we’d figure out the rest when it came.
9
THATCHER
“All set,” I said, shutting the two heavy doors of the flower truck with a pair of loud thuds. I turned and kissed Hattie’s cheek. “I’ll see you when I get back.”
“Drive safe,” she said as she backed up toward the shop.
“Always.”
I hopped in the truck, groaning from the effort. Yesterday on shift, I’d made a boneheaded move while carrying a seventy-eight-pound hose, and I had a sneaking suspicion I’d done some damage to a rib.
Normally, I was more careful. But I’d been working at the shop for three months now, alternating between twenty-four and forty-eight-hour shifts on base, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t more than a little worn down from a lack of rest.
