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“In theory.”
The bell at the front of the store jingles, which means I shut my mouth and go back to doing my job before I get us both in trouble, but I keep my ears open. My attention on whoever is out front. Out of habit.
Nicole’s ex was one of the most abusive, narcissistic assholes I’ve ever met, and almost daily, he would walk in about this time and start harassing the woman I’ve always considered a sister.
Every single day, for years, I had to be prepared to step between them.
He’s a non-issue now, but the habit remains.
“Hi there,” Nicole’s voice is cheery and friendly. “Well, those are beautiful.”
“I’m looking for Hannah Sullivan.”
My head snaps up and my ears prick to the sound of my name. Curious, I wander toward the doorway and frown at the explosion of bright red and pink flowers dwarfing a woman’s body.
Abigail Rosa—related to the Nixons and Mitchells, first responders of this town—struggles with a massive bouquet of wildflowers that instantly fills the bakery with the smell of posies instead of sugar and fresh bread.
She sets the huge, overflowing crystal vase on the counter and exhales a deep breath, like she’s run a marathon with the four-foot-tall display.
“From a secret admirer,” she huffs. “Comes with a card.”
“For me?” It’s odd that I should scowl, when flowers make most everyone else smile. Odder yet that I remain rooted firmly in place instead of dancing forward to read the card. “Are you sure?”
“I’m definitely sure.”
Abigail Rosa, who is actually Abigail Serrano now, since I’m pretty sure she’s married, is a small woman who flirts with five feet tall. Fiery red hair, and the most striking feature of all: one blue eye, and one green. She’s peculiar to look at in all the best ways.
While I study her, Nicole moves to the bouquet, takes out the card, and flips it open to read.
“To Hannah Sullivan. I can’t wait to see you tonight. Please accept these flowers. My prediction is they won’t be nearly as beautiful as you.” She stops and glances up. “Aww!”
“Ew.” I move closer and snatch the card away to read it myself. As though to prove she’s lying. But when I scan the card and find her recitation accurate, I grumble in the back of my throat. “He’s creepy.”
“He’s sending you flowers!” she argues. “That’s sweet.”
“It’s a massive bouquet,” I counter. “We’re talking, like… what?” I look at Abby. “A hundred and fifty dollars? Two hundred?”
She nods. “About that.”
“That’s a lot of money to spend on flowers that will be dead in a week, on a woman you’ve not actually met in real life.” I stuff the card back inside the envelope and toss it to the counter. “That’s not sweet. It’s setting me up to feel indebted to him. To feel like I owe him something, because he spent so much, and he’s driving so far. If I don’t sleep with him, I’ll be the rude one.”
“Uh… no,” Abby inserts. “You won’t. Flowers and dinner are not a bartering tool for intimacy.”
“I know that! And I won’t be guilted into giving it up. But that’s what this is. A precursor to ‘don’t you wanna invite me in?’”
“I think you’re looking for a reason to hate him.” Nicole hugs the heavy vase and turns to place it on the back wall counter so it’s out of the way. “I think you should get dinner with Math Wizard Alan, and not feel any kind of way before you’ve even met him. Eat. Drink. Laugh. If you want to go to bed with him, do it. With a condom,” she adds on a snigger. “If you don’t, you say goodnight and walk away. If he wants to get handsy or pushy, you call us. Preston will be at your door before Alan has time to rearrange his junk or use a lame pickup line.” She stops and flashes a playful grin. “Preston can be quite convincing when he wants someone to stop bothering the people he loves.”
“Mmhmm.” I look Abby’s way and fake a smile. “Your flowers are stunning. Thank you.”
“You’re so welcome.” She bounces on her toes and turns to move toward the door. “If it’s any consolation, he sounded really sweet on the phone. Not creepy.” She opens the door so the bell jingles, but before stepping through, she glances back to me. “He was nervous. But sweetly so. He’s meeting a beautiful woman for dinner tonight, and he wanted to send her something in advance, I guess.”
“So, you vouch for him?” I raise a single brow, and smirk when her eyes widen. “You’re saying I can trust him?”
“Gosh no,” she giggles. “I don’t know him. I don’t vouch for him. I have no way of knowing if he’s a psycho or not. Unless…” she pauses. “Ya know. You could ask Spencer to run a background check on him. Or,” she waves in Nicole’s direction. “Ask Preston to. They both work for Checkmate.”
“I’m not getting a background check done.” I shake my head and exhale a noisy sigh. “It’s fine.” I turn to my flowers and try to see them through eyes that aren’t colored with bitterness. Questioning. Searching for the catch that’ll exclude him from being a genuine suitor for me. “His intentions were sweet—creepy in his delivery,” I concede on an almost mumble. “But sweet all the same.”
“That’s the spirit.”
