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He’ll buy flowers and then leave. Please don’t leave, James!
“Jasmine?” he asks, lowering his head again so his eyes can meet mine, breaking up the mini pity party I was about to have in my mind.
The darkness in his stare is like the feeling of being in bed after you switch off the light.
Warm. Cozy. Safe.
And he says my name like he enjoys hearing it. He sounds like he actually cares.
“You okay?” he croons, the subtlest hint of mischief in his voice.
“You can have anything you want,” I wheeze vacantly. I begin to sound way blonder than I am.
I feel like I am flushing harder than ever and even feel the room spin a little as I press my thighs together—feeling them slip with how wet he’s already made me. Hopefully, I have dry clothes here.
All he’s doing is trying to buy some flowers.
He hums with pleasure before chuckling to himself, shaking his head as he takes in a lungful of air, sighing with happiness.
He creases the edge of his mouth before opening it to speak again.
There’s the clang of bells, and I half fancy they could be the wedding kind.
No. It’s the brass bell over the door.
“Oh, hi, Jasmine!” another familiar voice calls out.
It’s Theo, the courier I use for deliveries.
“Going to be a wet one today!” he exclaims, shaking off his heavy parka. It’s the one place where I don’t mind if it gets wet.
The store, I mean.
The plants and all.
I move to get the orders I have ready, but I sense the change in James in a flash.
I’m sure some meter just went off somewhere, like the kind they use to measure earthquakes.
My eyes dart to his, hoping for more of that fire that’s been pouring off him. His brow is creased. His eyes narrow, and it sounds like there is a low rumble of thunder from somewhere outside until it is clear it’s coming from him. Definitely sounds like a storm is brewing.
He’s gone from Prince Charming to, I don’t know… an angry side of beef in a second.
I’m torn between focusing on him and getting the deliveries out for Theo. I know he’s on a tight schedule. However, if my new favorite customer’s about to snap, crackle, and pop, then maybe it’s better if Theo sticks around.
“Hey, Theo,” I shiver, sensing that this could go bad fast. I am not exaggerating how upset James is.
“Hiya!” Theo says cheerfully, addressing James with a nod of his head.
“I was herefirst,” he snarls in reply, saying each word like he’s loading them into a firearm and about to have some target practice with Theo.
I feel my heart freeze, and Theo’s face falls, confused and sorry. He’s sorry he’s upset my customer, but even sorrier that my customer happens to fill half the store and could snap him like a twig.
Theo’s sweet, but he’s not exactly a manly man. Not like James, maybe-must-be-psycho-after-all, here.
My heart’s not jammed because I’m scared. It’s stuck on “what the fuck?” because I don’t know what I did to make him so unhappy. Now for some unknown reason, I only want to make James happy—as if that is my new goal in life.
Call it “florist’s intuition,” but every part of me just wants him to be satisfied—knowing he’s the kind of man to return the favor, in every way possible.
