Damn it. I’d forgotten he’d see those orders.
“I’m being thorough.”
“You’re being something,” he mutters, but wisely doesn’t push further.
The truth is, I’ve read every report that’s come in about this street. Every person who’s walked past Petals & Pines. Every delivery truck that’s stopped. Every customer who’s gone in or out. I know Elena opens at nine, takes her lunch break around one (usually a sandwich from the deli three doors down), and closes at six. I know she had seventeen customers yesterday and twenty-three the day before. I know she lives alone in the apartment above the shop and she hasn’t had any visitors except for a blonde woman who appears to be a friend.
I know all of this, and it still isn’t enough.
Which is how I find myself opening the car door and stepping out into the rain.
“Wait, we’re going in?” Marco scrambles out after me. “Boss, what’s the play here?”
Good question. I have no idea.
“Stay with the car,” I tell him. “Keep your eyes open.”
“For what?”
“Anything unusual.”
Marco looks around at the perfectly ordinary downtown Seattle street, people walking past with umbrellas, cars splashing through puddles, a guy standing under an awning across the street smoking a cigarette.
“Right. Unusual. Got it.”
I ignore his tone and head for the shop, my heart doing something uncomfortably erratic in my chest. This is absurd. I’ve walked into hostile negotiations with Russian arms dealers and felt calmer than I do right now.
The bell chimes as I push through the door, and I’m hit with that same sensory overload as before, pine and cinnamon, warm light, explosions of color everywhere I look. And then I see her.
Elena is helping an elderly woman select roses, her hands gentle as she wraps the stems in brown paper. She’s wearing jeans and a forest green sweater today, her hair pulled back in a ponytail that makes her look impossibly young. When she laughs at something the customer says, a dimple appears in her left cheek.
My chest does something painful.
She hasn’t seen me yet, so I take the opportunity to look around, pretending I’m browsing. The shop looks different in the daylight, somehow even more magical, if that’s possible. There are new arrangements since I was here last, including a stunning display of white and red flowers in the window I’m certain wasn’t there before.
“I think your grandson will love them,” Elena is saying to the elderly woman. “Roses are classic for a reason.”
“You’re such a dear. Thank you, sweetie.” The woman pays and leaves, the bell chiming behind her.
And then Elena turns, and her eyes find mine.
For a second, she just stares. Then her entire face lights up with a smile so bright it should probably come with a warning label.
“Alessandro! You came back!”
She sounds genuinely happy to see me. Not politely customer-service happy. Actually happy.
I’m so fucked.
“Hello, Elena.”
“Did the arrangement arrive okay? Was your mother pleased?” She’s already moving out from behind the counter, and I notice she’s wearing the same worn boots as before. Something about that detail pleases me more than it should.
“It hasn’t arrived yet,” I say, which is true. I had it scheduled for delivery tomorrow because I’m not ready to answer my mother’s inevitable questions about where I found such an exquisite arrangement. “But I’m sure she’ll love it.”
“Oh good! I was a little nervous, you know, first time making something for a customer without knowing their exact preferences.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and I notice she has small silver hoops in addition to the studs she was wearing before. “What brings you back? More flowers for your mom? Or maybe for someone else?”
There’s something in her tone, not quite flirtatious, but curious. Interested.
