“Hmm.” Kaysie looks down at my phone again, thumbing through some more glamor shots. “Unlimited resources, global fame, and stunning looks that make people fall at their feet. Somehow, I don’t think they’re just going to fade away into the background, babe.”
I drop my head onto my arms with a groan. “That’s what I’m worried about.”
“Then get on the front foot.” She plucks a chili off her pizza slice and waves it at me like a spicy little flag. “Hear them out, sure. But make sure you also tell your baby daddies there’s no way in jalapeñohellyou’ll ever let them take Leo away from you.”
I’m just getting out of the shower when the doorbell chimes again. I catch the look of surprise on my weary reflection as I pull on my bathrobe and hurry downstairs. It’s after ten, and Bloomer is snoring on our picnic blanket as I walk to the door. I snort at his slitted gaze, but I’m reassured that if it’s anyone other than Kaysie, he’ll be on his feet and in full retriever greeter mode in a flash.
“Back with some more fighting words for me…?” The smirk slides off my face as I take in the handsome beta standing on my porch. “Sorry, Tristan. I thought you were someone else.”
“That’s a relief to hear,” he says with a soft chuckle. “Although, I wouldn’t blame you if you felt like punching me in the face.”
I sigh and yank on the edges of my robe, conscious of my wet hair dripping down my back. “No violence, I promise. But what are you doing here?”
He shuffles his feet, looking at me through those thick lashes. “I would’ve called but your only listed number is for the store.” He nods at his feet where the metal buckets I left at his place are sitting in a neat row. “I wanted to return these and also see if I could take you up on your invitation sometime.” When I arch my brows at him, he pulls something from his pocket and I realize it’s the card I stuck in his delivery, before I realized who had purchased every yellow rose I had in stock. “It says welcometo the neighborhood, and to drop by if we need anything while we’re settling in.”
Ugh.
Why did Rosie have to instill such goddamn good manners in me?
“Okay. Well, thanks for the buckets. But what exactly do you need at ten pm at night? I have a feeling you aren’t here for a cup of sugar.”
He tilts his head, giving me a hopeful smile. “If you’re offering a cup of something, I’d love a coffee.”
I sigh again, but push the door open, scowling at Bloomer as he finally staggers to his feet. He gives Tristan a welcoming slobber while I head into the kitchen and start the coffee machine. When I hear them approaching, I turn and rest my hand on Bloomer’s head, his tongue snaking out for a cheeky lick of my wrist. If Leo was here, he’d be bouncing from foot to foot, screeching about Bloomer slime, and it’s hard to keep the smile off my face as he flops happily at my feet.
When I look up, Tristan’s soft gaze is sweeping over me like a caress. I can’t resist returning the perusal, especially since he’s wearing dark jeans and an oatmeal sweater, the V-neck offering a glimpse of his hairless chest. He looks beautiful in a way I’m not used to seeing outside magazines, but when he shuffles his feet, his peppermint scent is sharper than usual. “He’s such a gorgeous dog,” he says, despite the slobber on his sleeves. “What’s his name?”
“Bloomer. And yes, I’m aware that we’re a little flower-obsessed here.”
I tried to convince Leo to call him Boomer, especially since even as a pup his bark would shake the walls, but my son insisted that if he ever got lost, people would know to bring him back to the flower farm. And who was I to argue with logic like that?
“He’s not here?” Tristan asks suddenly, and it’s clear who he’s talking about by the complicated expression on his face. “I just saw the empty pizza box and assumed…”
“Leo’s away on a camping trip,” I say with a frown. Is Tristan just here to scope out the scene? Did he drop by my place and charm my dog, just so he could report my son’s whereabouts back to his alphas?
I square my shoulders, but Tristan surprises me by pulling a framed picture from his satchel. “Well, maybe it’s a good time to give you my peace offering. I just wanted to let you know that I’m sorry for intruding the other day. And for what it’s worth, it’s pretty obvious Leo’s living a great life with you, Lily.”
My breath catches as I stare down at a black-and-white photograph of Logan kissing my flushed cheek, while Leo is reaching for me with outstretched hands. My son’s smile is both radiant and hopeful, like he knows the best way to get something out of me is with a flash of his killer dimples. The camping trip, I realize, even as I ask, “When did you take this?”
“Would I sound like a stalker if I said I was hiding behind the bushes with a telescopic lens?” Tristan wrinkles his nose again, studying the picture with a critical eye. “That’s why the focus is a little narrow. It doesn’t have the same depth of field as a portrait, but I thought you still might like it.”
“I do.” It’s happiness in picture form, and I soak it in for a moment, my thumbs brushing over the radiant smiles. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Tristan points at the picture wall. “May I?”
I give a careful nod, and he’s over there so fast, even Bloomer looks a little impressed by his enthusiasm. “Wow, these are great,” he hums, stepping closer to a picture from last Thanksgiving. “It’s rare to see so much love on display without everything looking posed.”
I look at him curiously as I set two cups of coffee on the bench and perch on a stool. “Isn’t that what you do for a living? Take photographs to convince people that they can find true love inside a chocolate wrapper?”
“I think you’re referring to Willy Wonka,” he snorts, walking back over to lean on the bench next to me. “But I suppose you’re right. A lot of advertising is designed to make people fall in love with the latest shiny product.” We sip our coffees for a while, Tristan’s gaze settling on the framed picture I’ve propped against the fruit bowl. “I started out as a bonding photographer, though, so I know a thing or two about what forever happiness looks like.”
It’s clear he’s also talking from personal experience, and I can’t help looking at his mating bites, one on each side of his slender throat. I feel my own neck growing warm as I recall the blissed-out look on his face when I made the delivery the other night. Both of them were wrapped in matching bathrobes and flushed from what I can only assume was some mind-blowing lovemaking.
I squirm on my stool a little, trying to banish the thought of Otley and Tristan wrapped around each other. “The thing is,” he says quietly, “I was really looking forward to seeing you again before you turned up on our doorstep with a truckload of apology flowers.”
I snort, curious despite myself. “Apology flowers?”
Tristan hums, reaching out to bat one of my damp curls with his finger. “Back home, Otley gets a delivery every week, regular as clockwork. His assistant, Clara, keeps trying to get him to change up the order, but they’re always lilies.” He lets that sink in for a moment, then gives me a soft smile. “I’m just saying, he picked yellow roses for a reason, even if the ass couldn’t find the words to tell you to your face.”
