Shit. I whip my head toward Dom. He can’t truly think that, right? Heisone of them.
“Umm, sure. Let me just get that for you.” Olly reaches into the display case and grabs a chocolate cupcake, handing it to Lucas.
“Dom… I didn’t mean…”
Dom turns on his heels and stalks off.
Hanging my head, I let out a curse. “Shit!”
“Yeah, you just fucked up, buddy.”
“Thanks for being Captain Obvious, Jasper.”
“You’re welcome. And you kinda deserved that.”
“Fuck, I know. Come on, Lucas. We have some groveling to do,” I say, pulling Lucas by the arm.
“We? What is this ‘we?’”
Flipping through the thick flower encyclopedia at my station, I stop on the Lady Slipper. Earlier, on my lunch break, when I was absolutelynotspying on a certain chef at Dragonfly, I’d ducked into the bookstore and picked up this book. Real flowers, real reference. Good idea in theory.
My current sketch? Garbage.
I stare at the lopsided petals and crooked lines. “Shit-tastic,” I mutter, and crumple the page harder than necessary, channeling all my frustration into the throw.
It lands at my feet.
Of course it does.
I sigh. Ninth attempt. It’s supposed to be a simple wildflower piece—woven stems, clean symmetry—built from actual species instead of a “generic flower blob.” But the more I try to get it right, the more it looks like clip art that lost a fight.
“Your throw is shit,” someone observes.
I look up to see Jaxon filling the doorway, arms crossed, thoroughly enjoying himself. “Wow,” I say. “So kind. So supportive.”
Jaxon gives me a cheesy-ass grin. “My pleasure.” He looksaround, taking in all the other crumpled-up pieces of paper.Just like Taylor… lying there on the floor.
I lean back in my chair, raising an eyebrow at him. “What?”
Instead of answering, he pushes off the frame, grabs a busted stool, and drops onto it. It protests loudly.
“We need new chairs,” I mutter.
“So,” he says. “How long are you planning on sitting here brooding?”
I scoff. “What? I’m not…”
He reaches over and casually slides the flower book aside, revealing, unfortunately, a collection of doodles that look suspiciously like Lucas. With bug eyes. And devil horns.
I snatch one up, crumple it. “Whatever, did you see the guy at the carnival? He was all over Beckett, couldn’t keep his hands off his ass. What kind of person does that at a kids’ carnival, for Christ’s sake?”
Jaxon tries but fails to smother a laugh.
I glare. It has the same impact it’s had for the last decade: none.
“Umm, I believe he was helping Beckett get frosting off his jeans after he sat on a cupcake.”
“Yeah, well, his slimy friend could’ve sat it on his chair for that very reason,” I grumble, knowing full well that I’m being ridiculous as fuck… and an ass. I sigh.
