“You’re open, right?” he asked.
He sure sounded real
“The sign says you’re open. I can come back later if you’re not.” He reached for the doorknob.
The idea of him leaving spurred me to action, freeing me from whatever spell his unexpected presence put me under. I stepped forward, ready to tackle him if he tried to escape. “Sorry. Yes. I’m open.”
He cocked an eyebrow.
Unintentional sexual innuendo for the win. Heat flooded my cheeks. “The store’s open, I mean. You’re… you’re Marcus Wilson, aren’t you?”
His eyebrow dropped, and his expression darkened. “Havoc. Please. Do I know you?”
“Did Laura put you up to this?” Had my sister really contacted him and sent him my direction? I’d kill her. Or I’d hug her. I was so confused I didn’t know what I’d do.
“Laura?” He tilted his head to the side staring at me like I was a puzzle. Either he was an excellent actor, or he had no clue who I was talking about. Carefully watching me, he shook his head. “Sorry. I don’t know any Laura. I’m just here looking for a book.”
Could it be true? Had the universe brought him to my doorstep out of mere coincidence? If so, I’d just made a complete fool of myself. “Right. A book. I can help you with that.” Scooting down the counter to my computer, I pretended we hadn’t just shared an award-winning awkward moment and got down to business. “Do you know the title, author, or genre?”
He stared at me, no doubt trying to determine my level of sanity and possibly marveling at my recovery skills before answering, “Something about keeping flowers alive.”
Come on.This had to be some sort of setup. No way was a man like Havoc searching for a book about flowers. I wanted to laugh and tell him I was on to his and Laura’s little game, but his expression remained serious, making me second guess myself. Fingers hovering over my keyboard, I considered the circumstances that would send him after a book about flowers. Maybe it was a gift? For whom? He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, so I decided to fish.
“Who’s the gardener?” I asked. “You or your significant other?” It was a blatant, shameless line, but I’d cast it, and there was no reeling it in now. At least not until I saw whether or not he’d bite.
He watched me, his expression curious and a little amused. “No significant other. Just me.”
Okay. Apparently big, buff motorcycle men who beat up rapistsdidgarden. Who knew? I started a digital search through my inventory while a voice in the back of my mind kept pointing out that he was single. Not only had he shown up in my bookstore, but he was unattached. And, he would make a perfect date for the wedding. The old me would have manipulated him into accompanying me, but being ostracized had stripped away my confidence in that particular skill. I needed the perfect bait to snag this local hero. Since I no longer had power or influence, I had to figure out something else of value to offer him in exchange for his help.
“What sort of flowers are you trying to grow?” I asked.
“A variety. Here, let me show you some pictures. That might help.” He whipped out his phone and swiped through images of a flower box, pointing as he called out their types. “These ones are daisies. Those are daffodils. I can’t remember what that one’s called. There’s a tulip. I transplanted them about a week ago. They did well for a couple of days, and then they all up and died on me. A friend suggested I find a book that’ll tell me what I did wrong and how to keep the next batch alive.”
He was telling the truth. Holy crap. Marcus “Havoc” Wilson, the man, the myth, the legend who’d brought Mayor Kinlan to justice, was trying his hand at gardening and had come to me for help. Right when I needed help. An idea began to form in my mind.
“Come with me,” I said, putting a little extra sway in my hips as I circled the counter and headed toward the non-fiction section of the shop. Scanning the gardening books, I selected the thickest, most dreadfully overwhelming books I could find and stacked them on top of the shelf. When I finished, the stack was six high and made Justine’s pre-med textbooks look like easy reading. “I suggest you start with these.”
His eyes widened. He picked up the top book and thumbed through pages. “Don’t you have an abridged version, or an easy start guide or something?”
Yes, I did, and no I would not be offering it to him. It was a dirty trick, but I was desperate. I needed his help, and this was all I could think of. “I take it you’re not a reader?”
“I like reading stories that interest me, but I don’t think a…” he flipped to the last page, “six hundred and thirty-six page book on gardening will provide much of an interesting story.”
Big pages, too. It would be a snooze fest for sure. “Maybe we can work something else out?” I plucked the book from his hands, closed it, and returned it to the pile.
“What do you have in mind?” he asked, cocking his head to the side.
He was so big. Scary big. Could I trust him? The on-line news articles labeled Havoc and Dead Presidents Motorcycle Club as ‘Helpers of the City.’ But what if they were wrong? What if he was dangerous? Then again, I didn’t have any other options.
Swallowing back my fear and anxiety, I replied, “A deal. An exchange.”
He continued to watch me. “I’m listening.”
“My parents have an excellent gardener. One of the best in Seattle. He owes me a favor, and I could arrange for him to take a look at your flower bed and let you know what’s going on and how to fix it.”
He nodded. “And in return…?”
How could I ask a perfect stranger to accompany me to an event as important as my sister’s wedding without sounding like a complete loser? If only there was a book on that. “I need a date.”
