He looked at me, surprised. “No?”
“No.” The word came out before I could soften it. I cleared my throat. “You'll figure out the register. The rest is just learning.”
Something shifted in his expression, that brightness I'd noticed the first day flickering back to full strength. “Okay. Well. Good.” He grinned. “See you tomorrow. Try not to miss me too much.”
His laugh followed him out into the gray January afternoon. I stood behind the counter for a long moment after the bell stopped ringing, my palm still warm where I'd touched his back.
The shop was quiet again. Same as always. Same cooler hum, same ribbon spools, same work waiting to be done.
But the silence felt different now. Less like peace and more like absence. For three hours, someone had been asking me questions I didn't know I wanted to answer. Filling the spaces I'd thought I preferred empty.
I went back to the Harrison arrangement. White lilies, white stock, soft ferns. Clear purpose. No ambiguity.
Jamie
The Ridgeline Tavern smelled like wood smoke and old beer, and I was pretty sure everyone in the place was watching us.
Wednesday evening, the dinner crowd had filled most of the tables: families, couples, a few guys at the bar nursing their drinks with the dedication of regulars. The jukebox played something country from before I was born. And Holden Hutchinson sat across from me in a booth near the back, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.
I'd changed three times before leaving my apartment. The navy sweater felt too casual. The button-down felt like I was trying too hard. I'd landed on something in between, a dark green henley that brought out my eyes, according to Landon back when Landon said things like that. Nicer jeans. Boots instead of my beat-up Converse.
Holden wore the same flannel he'd worn at the shop. Gray and blue plaid, sleeves rolled to his elbows, work-worn in a way that said he'd forgotten to change. Or didn't think he needed to.
“So,” I said. “First fake date. How are we doing?”
“You tell me. You're the one who wanted this.”
“Fair point.” I picked up my menu, scanned it without reading. “What's good here?”
“The burger's good. Pork chops are great if they've got 'em.”
A waitress came by. Mid-forties, gray threading through her ponytail, a nametag that said DENISE. She had the look of someone who'd worked here long enough to know everyone's business and the smile of someone who enjoyed that knowledge.
“What can I get you boys?” The way she saidboyslanded somewhere between affectionate and amused.
Burger for me, same for Holden. She lingered a beat too long before walking away, and I caught her glancing back at us from the kitchen doorway.
“She's going to tell everyone,” I said.
“Probably already texted three people.”
I laughed, surprised. Holden's mouth quirked, not quite a smile but closer than usual. The firelight from across the room caught the angles of his face, softened the sharp line of his jaw. Made him look less like a man braced against the world and more like someone who might, occasionally, let his guard down.
“Okay.” I leaned back in the booth. “We should know things about each other. Couples know things. Tell me something I wouldn't guess.”
We'd spent three mornings working together at the shop, but mostly in separate rooms, moving around each other. Sometimes I found myself watching Holden as he put his arrangements together, carefully selecting stems and inserting them here and there, like he was filling in a picture he'd had in his head. I didn't want to interrupt when he was in that headspace. It felt like watching something private.
“Like what?”
“Anything. Favorite movie. Worst date you've ever been on. Secret talent.”
Holden was quiet for a moment, his fingers tracing the condensation on his glass. “I restore furniture.”
“What?”
“In the apartment. When I can't sleep.” He shrugged, the movement almost self-conscious. “There's a dresser I've been working on for two years. Victorian. Someone left it on the curb.”
I tried to picture it. Holden in his apartment at two in the morning, hands moving over old wood the same way they moved over flower stems. Careful. Precise. Patient.
