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“Doesn’t your stepbrother own that flower shop down the street? Briar Lane or whatever?”
“Ex-stepbrother,” I snapped. “And I’d rather shut down the entire fucking restaurant for the day before I crawl to him and ask for his help.”
“Ok then…” Luckily for him, the doorbell in the back chimed, putting an end to this incredibly unhelpful conversation. “I’m going to go get that,” he said, throwing a thumb over his shoulder and disappearing to deal with the seafood delivery.
As soon as he was gone, I slammed my fist against the desk, cursing everyone under the sun. There were two holidays I fucking hated the most—Mother’s Day and Valentine’s Day. And of course, both of them were our biggest money makers, especially when you had schmucks paying double the going rate to get married on Valentine’s Day as if that somehow made their “magical day” any more special. Idiots. Half of them would probably be divorced by the time their kids graduated high school.
So, no, as much as I hated this fucking holiday, I wasn’t going to risk my business’s reputation. I had to find some way to salvage it. Florists were a dime a dozen. I’m sure I could find one—not Briar Lane—that would be able to help me out of a jam.
* * *
Three hours later, I was pacing back and forth in front of the last fucking place I ever thought I’d be—the front step of Alex’s goddamn flower shop. After exhausting all of the florists within a sixty-mile radius of me, there was only one left to ask.
Him.
Of course, when I got there, the store was closed according to the little hanging sign on the door. In the dead of a Midwestern February, you could actually see the place, but come springtime you’d hardly even be able to make out the facade of the building with all of the flowering vines and bushes.
The dark green trim around the door had gotten weathered over the years, but the gold lettering still stood out as clear as day: Briar Lane Flower Shoppe. Pretentious prick. When his mom ran the store, it was just “Shop.” Guess Mister High and Mighty decided to add some flair from Merry Ol’ England to make it even more of a fucking cliche.
Right on cue, the asshole himself appeared from around one of the interior corners. He didn’t see me right away but I sure as shit saw him. A big blond dick, lumbering around his store without a care in the world. Spinning a potted plant to get sun on the other side, he smiled at the damn thing and then straightened a display of chocolates before his head whipped up toward the front door, like he’d suddenly caught a glimpse of me in his periphery.
Fuck. Here it comes.
I folded my arms over my chest and took a step back, trying to calm down and be rational before I took a big ol’ bite of humble pie. This was a business deal. That’s it. Nothing else mattered. But with each lock he turned, my heart leapt higher and higher into my throat, wedging there like a giant rock.
Pushing open the door, a stupid little bell tinkling overhead, Alex leaned in the doorway, his brow furrowed behind his blond curls. “Hey. Are you ok?”
It was a perfectly valid question, but I huffed and ran my tongue over my teeth, all but snarling the response. “Clearly not if I’m here on your fucking front step.”
“Come in,” he said, completely unfazed by my response. He leaned out of the way but kept holding the door open for me.
I held my breath and darted past him, cinching my arms even tighter across my chest as a dozen memories from my childhood hit me like a sledgehammer.
Despite the stupid additional letters to the store’s name, the inside hadn’t changed at all since his mom ran the place. Old exposed brick and low-hung beams, vibrant plants everywhere you looked. The antique display racks were the same, but the merchandise had been updated—new, exotic plants; candles; chocolates; even handmade cards from the stationery store down the road. It was a one-stop shop for idiots who forgot anniversaries and bullshit commercial holidays like today.
“So, what’s up?” Alex asked, mirroring my pose but keeping his distance.
My pride was lodged right there in my throat, next to my spazzing heart. All I could do was swallow, looking anywhere but at the concern in his blue eyes.
“Is it your dad?” he ventured after a moment.
I snorted and rolled my eyes. “What? No. That asshole is living it up in Arizona with his new family. Why would you think it’s him?”
“I don’t know,” he replied, shrugging. “I couldn’t think of another reason why you’d be here. I thought maybe something happened.”
“I wouldn’t come to you for that. This is strictly professional.”
“Ok.”
“Because I’m out of options.”
“Ok…”
“I’m in a bind at work.”
“Ok…?” His brow remained furrowed, but the corners of his mouth dipped down like he was on the verge of shaking the rest of the information out of me. I don’t know why it was so hard to just tell him. Probably because asking anyone for help was excruciating, but asking him? Kill me now. I hadn’t asked for his help since I was a teenager and backed into my dad’s car and I loathed the fact I had to do it now as an adult. Alex took the blame without hesitation back then, but would he be as willing to help now? After ten years of living like complete strangers?
“We booked a wedding tonight at the banquet hall and my regular florist got into a fucking car accident,” I spit out in one breath. “I need two dozen table pieces, decorations, bouquets, and boutonnieres—the works. All by this afternoon.”
