I take a deep breath. “Nick,” I start, hesitant. “After Valentine’s, I’ll have to close the shop. This cotillion will be our last gig. I’ll make sure you find another reputable florist for the wedding.”
It feels good to confide in a buddy. Even if I’ve only known him for a short time.
Nick’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Oh no. Sorry to hear that.”
I run a hand through my hair. “It’s been running on hope and a prayer for too long. I can’t keep it open.”
Nick nods slowly, trying to process. “I get it, I do. Still, that’s tough. People love Oopsie Daisies.”
“I know,” I admit, voice low. “But I can’t make a business out of sentiment. Life’s not always fair.”
Nick considers me in a way I don’t usually get from someone more than ten years my junior. “You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?”
I glance away, the familiar pang of memory pressing against my chest. “Divorce. Custody battles. Watching my son grow up mostly without me in the picture. It was…challenging.” I pause, then shrug. “I’m careful about new relationships. And you may be shocked to hear this, but I’m not the easiest person in the world to live with.”
Nick nods, not pushing. “I get it. You’re a good guy, Griffin. A bit guarded maybe, but I can see why.”
“Yeah,” I say softly. “Guarded.”
I can’t stop thinking about Ruby. The way she’s been running the shop, trying to hold everything together, her energy and optimism a direct contrast to my own cautious, measured approach. I can picture her, turning this heavy mood into something lighter, bouncing between creative suggestions and ridiculous tangents.
That thought twists something tight in my chest. I like her more than I admitted to myself. And now I have to figure out how to tell her the truth without undoing whatever is starting to grow between us.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ruby
I should not bethis nervous about teaching a grown man how to put roses in a vase. But here we are. When he showed up this morning after a few days of no-shows and a couple of afternoon hours, I felt a wave of relief. I was starting to think he was avoiding me. I get he has his own job but my intuition was sending out a warning signal.
We’ve received a fair amount of Valentine’s orders. Normally, I would hire someone to help for the week preceding the holiday but it occurred to me we could save on that expense if I could cajole Griffin to do the job. Now I am not so sure it was the best idea.
Griffin stands at the worktable like he is preparing for a board meeting instead of a basic Valentine’s order. His jaw is set like flower arranging will determine hisentire future.
“Okay,” I say, handing him a bunch of deep red roses. “First step, don’t glare at them.”
“I am not glaring.”
He is absolutely glaring.
“Griffin, they are roses, not stray cats.”
That earns me a low huff that might almost be a laugh. Progress.
I move beside him, close enough to smell his aftershave. Masculine, strong.
He grips the stems too tightly.
“Hold them gently,” I say, demonstrating. “They bruise easily.”
My fingers brush his and for a moment, he holds steady, his hand warm and callused. A jolt zings straight up my arm. Electricity. Thick and bright. Like someone flipped a switch inside me. The room feels suddenly airless.
I adjust his hand. “Like this,” I say, quieter now. “See? Let them rest against your palm.”
He follows my suggestion, eyes locked on mine instead of the roses. His expression has softened, hitting me right beneath the ribs.
He feels it, too.
“Good,” I whisper.
