“Where are Mom’s flowers?” I whisper to him.
He leans into me but keeps his eyes facing ahead. “Dad said no flowers. He didn’t want them cluttering the house afterward.”
I fist my hands. Of course, he’d say that. Dad hates flowers, always saying it’s a waste of money to pay so much for something that is going to die within a matter of days. “Mom loved flowers,” I tell him.
He sighs heavily. Even he knows it isn’t right, but he doesn’t challenge Dad. I don’t know why he cares so much about what Dad thinks of him. I guess if I were the chosen child, I would feel differently about the situation.
“Will you shut the fuck up, Kyle?” my father growls in my ear. “Show some fucking respect.”
The light turns green, and I pull into a front row parking spot at the flower shop. I don’t know what I’m doing here, but with no more thought, I get out and head to the glass door that readsRoses. When I step inside the shop, the smell of flowers hits me like a fucking punch to my face. It makes me nauseous. This is why my father never bought them for my mother. He hated the way they smelled and what they represented—life.
I don’t want to be anything like him.
“Hello?” I ask when I don’t see anyone behind the counter in front of me.
I glance to my left, where a row of glass doors holds an array of flowers inside. Each door has a label identifying its contents.
“Hello?” I call out a little louder.
Still nothing. I look to the other side, and my gaze lands on shelves of vases in various sizes. Some are just simple glass, but others have been painted. I walk over and pick up one with a beach scene on it. A glowing yellow sun is setting in the background, casting a warm hue over the beach. Gentle waves crest along the shoreline, and tiny seashells dot the sand. It makes me want a vacation. I can’t remember the last time I went on one.
I set it down and approach the counter. There’s a bell and a sign that reads—ring if not at counter.I ring it twice.
“Hello?” I call out again.
My phone vibrates, and I dig it out of my pocket. It’s a message from my brother.
Bones: Where the hell are you? I’m at Kingdom.
I ignore him and put my phone away.
“Anyone here?” I shout and ring the bell again.
I glance back at the sign on the door, confirming they are open, then storm to the door behind the counter and push it open, thinking it’s an office. I’m ready to go off on whoever has abandoned their duties, but I come to a stop when I enter.
It’s not an office—it’s a freezer of some type. A shiver runs over me as the cold hits me, instantly soaking into my skin and chilling my bones. I hate cold weather, but that’s not what has me pausing. It’s the girl in front of me.
She’s standing at a small white table, her head bowed as she snips the stems off a set of yellow lilies before placing them in a glass vase. She picks up a spool of white ribbon next to her, pulls out the length she wants, and cuts it.
My eyes drift over her as she works. Faded blue jeans with the knees torn out sit low on her narrow hips. Her white shirt is simple but striking, with a bold red rose in the center. One petalhas fallen off and lies below the bloom. Across the top, it readsuntil the last petalin black ink. Her hair catches my attention next—a vibrant shade of purple, pulled up into two messy buns.
She sways her hips as her head bobs up and down gently. An iPhone sits next to the arrangement she is still working on, and earbuds are in her ears.
She’s listening to music.That’s why she didn’t hear me calling for assistance.
I watch her, my body shivering slightly from the cold, though it doesn’t seem to bother her.
She stands back and examines her work with a smile. Straight, white teeth beam proudly at her work, and her plump lips, covered in the same shade as her hair, curve up in satisfaction.
She picks up the arrangement and turns to place it on a shelf, stretching on her tiptoes to reach the fourth row. The motion causes the back of her shirt to ride up, showing off two little dimples and sun-kissed skin. My gaze travels up her back to the black bra straps visible through her thin white shirt. When I get to her hair, I notice she has two braids on either side running up to the two messy buns.
She gets the vase where she wants it and spins around. That’s when she screams, pulling me out of my trance. She stumbles back into the shelves, making them rattle, and rips the earbuds from her ears. Her hand flies to her chest, and her tits bounce up and down from her heavy breathing.
Ice-blue eyes meet mine, wide with shock. She takes in my face and swallows nervously as her gaze lingers on my eyebrow ring before dropping to my lip ring. Her eyes travel lower, pausing on the neck tattoo peeking out from my collar, then down to the sleeve on my right arm.
“Sorry,” I announce, raising my hands to let her know I’m not about to rob her. Or worse. I know what women think when theyfirst see me. Most don’t like tattoos and piercings. They call us thugs. “I rang the bell.”
Her body instantly relaxes, and she takes a deep breath. Then her laughter fills the small room. It’s light and innocent. “I’m so sorry,” she apologizes, her voice shaking a little from the near heart attack I just gave her.
