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I nearly drop the stem in my hand while he pauses to let the words sink in. “Plus,” he adds, the corner of his lip curling up, “I realized I had a personal request after all. Besides the tree, of course.”
I have a personal request too. Or more like a fantasy. That Garrett leans forward another foot or so and just kiss me already. Kiss me hard enough to erase every rational thought I’ve ever had. I have no doubt he could do it. And that I’d like it.
It takes focus and effort to put together a coherent sentence. “And what’s that?” I whisper.
“We’ll get to that soon enough. But first, you haven’t answered my question.”
“What question?”
With a flick of his wrist, he releases one monogrammed silver cuff link, then the other. He drops them into his pocket and rolls up the sleeves of his white oxford shirt. “Do you need a hand?”
* * *
I dragmy gaze away from Garret’s toned forearms; the muscles flexing each time he forces a ranunculus stem into the ten-inch floral foam ball. “The wedding is going to be beautiful. You must be so excited.”
“I am,” he says, a small V forming in between his brows as he concentrates on the task at hand. “It’ll be a whirlwind few days, especially with Christmas, but the holiday isn’t what it used to be.”
“Amen to that.”
He lifts his gaze to search out my face. “Not a fan of Christmas?”
I snip a sharp end of floral wire off and wave the pliers around in the air. “I used to love the holiday season. The music, the decorations, the smells, the good cheer buzzing in the air from Thanksgiving through New Year’s. My parents would take me on a horse-drawn carriage ride through Central Park every year, but that was forever ago. Before I became old and jaded.”
Garrett’s eyebrow quirks up, and it’s a beat before I realize my mistake. “I’m sorry, I just meant—"
“I’m the one who’s old enough to have a daughter getting married.”
I want to ask about Kendall, but something tells me now’s not the time. “I hope she loves the flowers.”
“Do you love the flowers?”
“Of course.” He realizes I’m the florist, right?
“Enough to choose them if you were to get married again?”
My eyes fly to his. What? Seriously? This man knows my marital status? Before my mind can blast off like a space shuttle to another world where theories and speculation float through the air like bubbles as to why he’s asking, I set the record straight. Just in case. “I’m not getting married again.”
“No?” He seems to temper his surprise.
“Let’s just say after what I went through, I’m no longer keen on the institution of marriage.”
A beat as he studies me, and then, “Good to know.” And with that he goes back to work and so do I, my grip on the pliers ten times tighter.
After a few minutes of silence, we turn to small talk, like what my favorite flower is and why, but at least this time the topics are appropriate for a florist and her client because, after all, that’s exactly what we are.
“You know,” I say, an hour later, after Garrett passes me another gold satin bow which I straighten. “If you weren’t going to take no for an answer, then why ask the question in the first place?”
“The question about if you needed help?”
“Yes.”
“Questions invite conversation.” He measures out another length of ribbon. “Even if I know exactly where the discussion will go.”
I attach the bow to the last arrangement with three twists of green floral wire and straighten it. “Where you want the discussion to go, you mean.”
A low chuckle sounds from deep in his chest, and he rubs his hand across the dark stubble covering his cheeks. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean I’m not open to new perspectives or fresh ideas to accomplish the goal.”
I’m tempted to ask what the goal is at the moment but bite my tongue. Before I can come up with something witty to say instead, he continues. “You can’t tell me you’re not the same. You don’t become CEO of a multi-million-dollar business in this city in less than five years without knowing exactly what you want and need out of every transaction.”
