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“Yep. My parents have owned the shop on Main Street since before I was born. We live above it in the three-bedroom apartment upstairs. And before you say anything, yes, I still live with my parents. It’s not always ideal, but since I’m at the shop from open to close—and sometimes even later—it just makes sense right now.”
“Hey, no judgment from me. It sounds like a pretty sweet commute.”
“Ha, yes. The traffic is minimal. Plus, I love being on Main Street. My window faces the street, and I love to people watch.” Before I could reply, her eyes flew to mine, round as saucers. “I just realized how creepy that makes me sound.”
A low laugh escaped me, and I shrugged. “Only a little.”
“I just love people. I like to sit and make up stories in my head about where they’re going or what they’re doing. It passed the time when I was little. My parents were always in the shop, so we didn’t get out much.”
“Oh, you’re one of those, huh?”
“What?”
I shuddered. “A people person.”
She laughed, her eyes sparkling. “Me? You seem pretty personable, yourself,Thatcher Charles.”
“Just Thatcher is fine.” I narrowed my eyes at her as we moved to the next peak in the garland, then shook my head. “Anyway, I’m not always like this. I’m usually pretty shy, actually.”
“Uh, you’re kidding. I find that really hard to believe.”
“I’m serious. When I was a kid, my mom used to walk me into birthday parties and introduce me to all the other kids before she left because she knew if she didn’t, I’d just stand in a corner like a weirdo. Even worse, she told the birthday kid’s mom to make sure I didn’t do it after she left.”
“And yet, you struck up a conversation with me,” she countered, lifting her chin.
I swallowed, meeting her gaze. “Maybe you’re special.”
Pink stained her cheeks, and she looked away, picking up a length of ribbon for her next bow.
I watched her face while she wove it into something that looked like it had come right out of a magazine, her brow level and her eyes laser-focused.
“Come to the wedding with me,” I said, the words falling out before I even had a chance to stop them.
Her hands stopped moving, and her head snapped up. “What?”
“Come to the wedding with me,” I said again.
Smooth? Probably not. But no going back now.
“You don’t even know me.”
“Sure, I do. Your name is Hattie, you’re a florist, and you have slightly voyeuristic tendencies. Shoot, I even know where you live,” I said, feeling warm as she laughed. Maybe I was a little smoother than I thought.
“Hmm.”
“Seriously, though, my date bailed on me a few hours ago, and the bride’s family already paid for her meal. You’d just be making sure their hard-earned money wouldn’t go to waste. Doesn’t have to mean more than that.”
But I wanted it to.
We prepped the next bundle of roses as she thought about it. “I highly doubt this couple would want you to bring a stranger to their wedding.”
“You’re not a stranger, you’re their florist. They would probably prefer to have the person who created all these pretty flower things here than the girl I was dating up until this morning. She actuallyisa stranger to them.”
“You’re serious about this?”
“As a heart attack.”
She bit her lip, and my eyes traced the movement.
