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“I knew I recognized her from somewhere,” I say as I stare at the picture on my phone.
She looks pretty. Accessible. She’s wearing a T-shirt that says AUTUMNHARVESTacross the front. Her hair is pulled into a ponytail, her smile wide, cheeks a becoming, rosy pink, almost as pink as her sensuous lips.
I can’t take my eyes off her.
“I think you’ve got it bad for freaking Marina Knight,” Archer said, sounding infinitely amused, the jackoff. “This is hilarious. Are you sitting there mooning over her picture?”
Clicking my phone off, I shove it back in my pocket. “No,” I mutter, glancing about the restaurant. The place is now packed, and it’s a Wednesday, for Christ’s sake. I need to change the subject and quick. “You must be making it hand over fist here.”
“Business is good,” he says modestly. “Brisk. This time of year is always better than others.” He grins. “The autumn harvest is almost upon us, you know. The tourists come out in droves. Get it? Autumn. Harvest. You can’t get away from her if you tried right now, bro.”
Asshole. “You’re real funny.” I roll my eyes, but he’s kind of speaking the truth.
I can’t get away from Marina Knight. She’s invaded my thoughts the last few days. The last few nights. I regret pissing her off. I regret not getting to spend more time with her.
I also regret that she sounds somewhat like a man-eater according to Archer, though she hadn’t given me that vibe when I was with her. Alluring, yes. Seductive, most definitely.
Sighing, I run my hand through my hair, glancing out the window at the gorgeous view of the vibrant green and goldvineyards in the distance. I need to make a gesture. Get on Marina’s good side.
But how?
Marina
The bouquet arrived out of nowhere, a gorgeous burst of color, a variety of wildflowers in a giant glass vase with a raffia bow tied around the middle. The delivery guy carried it into the store with both hands curled around the vase, his head hidden behind the blooms.
“What the heck is that?” My aunt Gina stops right next to me behind the counter, her gaze wide, jaw hanging open. Her forehead has a streak of flour across it and the apron she wears is smeared with chocolate.
“I don’t know,” I answer as the flowers are set rather unceremoniously on our counter, directly in front of me. “They’re beautiful, though.”
“And they’re for a Marina Knight,” the delivery guy announces, his tone bored as he chews his gum, contemplating me from around the flower arrangement. “Is that you?”
Curiosity fills me. “It is. Who are these from?”
He shrugs, not giving a crap. “I dunno. Check the card. See ya.”
I watch him go, the glass door swinging closed behind him, the tinkling bell above the door announcing his departure. Aunt Gina nudges me in the ribs, her elbow extra pointy for some reason, and I grumble out anouch.
“Check the envelope! I want to know who your new admirer is,” she encourages eagerly.
“Hah, I have no admirers.” And I like it that way. Men complicate everything. I need to focus on saving the family business, not worry if a guy thinks I’m pretty enough to ask out on a date.
Leaning forward, I breathe deep, inhaling the deliciously sweet floral scent. The flowers are so beautiful they almost don’t look real. The arrangement appears haphazard, a casual gathering of gorgeous blooms, but as I look closer, I see that it’s artfully arranged.
“They’re lovely,” Gina breathes, sniffing loudly. “And they smell divine. Even better than the chocolate cake baking in the oven.”
She’s right. I can’t even smell the usual bakery scents anymore. All I can inhale is the fragrance of the flowers. Plucking through the arrangement, I run my finger first over a silky white petal, then a velvety purple one. I notice the pick nestled amongst the blooms holding a small, cream-colored envelope.
I tear it open and pull out the thick, square card, frowning at the sight of the unfamiliar, very bold script.
Marina—
I’m sorry. I hope you can forgive my rudeness the other night. Perhaps we can start over?
Best,
Gage
Blowing out a harsh breath, I roll my eyes at no one. I’m freaking irritated he didn’t sign his last name, believing he was that memorable.
