Liam’s brow furrowed as he navigated my mental leap, then cleared as he once again shrugged. “My dad is Will Danvers. And honestly, Wildflower. Do I look like a ‘Bill’ to you?”
I giggled. “Absolutely not. The first Bill that comes to mind is Clinton, and you, my friend”—I scanned him from head to toe—“look nothing like him.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You definitely should. Bill Clinton is a dog, and not in a cute way.”
Liam chuckled. “I think Monica Lewinsky would agree with you.”
“I’m sure,” I said, returning my attention to his ID. Even in that photo, he wore one of his signature flannels—this onewhite with alternating varying shades of grey squares. “So your birthday is March eighth. That makes you a Pisces.”
“I guess?” Liam said, phrasing it more like a question as the car’s automatic fuel valvethunked to let us know the tank was full. He reached for the nozzle and replaced it, and our conversation paused while we got back in the vehicle.
While my attention was elsewhere, Liam plucked his wallet from my hand and lifted his hips to put it in his back pocket.
“Says here that Pisces men are flirtatious, charming, and romantic, but they can also be introverted and highly emotional.”
Liam snorted a laugh. “There’s not a woman in the world that would call mecharmingorromantic.”
“I would.”
Fuck.
I regretted the words immediately, wishing I could suck them back in and pretend they weren’t awkwardly hanging in the air between us like a giant elephant taking up space.
“You barely know me.”
I scoffed. “I know enough. I know you came into the flower shop every week for years picking up a bouquet for someone special.” I waggled my eyebrows at him, loving the way his cheeks flushed.
“That wasn’t what you think.”
“Then enlighten me.”
“They…” He trailed off, eyes cutting furtively toward me before he blew out a breath. “Okay, fine. They were for someone special.”
“Ha!” I shouted, pointing a finger at him. “I knew you had someone. I also told Fanny that. So who is she? Anyone I know?”
Anyone I know?
Fuck, what a loaded question.
I mentally scrambled, grappling for purchase on the walls of my mind, searching for a way out of this without spilling my guts all over the interior of this van.
“Ahh, no,” I eventually choked out. “She’s just…some girl from Traverse City. It fizzled out.”
The words felt like glass on my throat, scraping their way out.
I fucking hated lying to her. But I couldn’t admit the truth. Not yet at least.
We were a far cry from me letting Ella in on my deepest, darkest secret.
“Fair enough,” she said, moving on as quickly as she’d picked up that thread of conversation. “I think I’m going to giveyoua nickname.”
I scrunched my brows together in confusion. Her brain must work a thousand miles a minute. “Liamalready is a nickname.”
“Yeah, but it’s the name everyone calls you. I don’t want to be like everyone else.”
“You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met, Wildflower,” I assured her.
