I was making a delivery. That's all.
The arrangement had been sitting in the cooler since I put it together this morning, and it needed to go out before the ranunculus started to droop. Professional obligation. Nothing more.
The fact that I'd wrapped it three times before I was satisfied with the ribbon, that I'd adjusted the eucalyptus twice, repositioned the focal bloom until the light caught it just right. That meant nothing. I was particular about my work. Everyone knew that.
The words on the card had been harder than they should have been. Fella basically told me what to say, and it was my job to give the customer what he wanted.
I didn't usually hand-deliver, especially since Lynda left, but the coworking space was only two blocks away, and the morning was cold enough to keep the flowers fresh.
I needed to stretch my legs anyway. Right.
Lies. All of it. I knew exactly why I was walking down Main Street with an arrangement I'd spent too long perfecting, and the knowing sat like a stone in my chest.
Jamie Redford had been in my shop for fifteen minutes, two days ago. He'd walked in with his ridiculous dogs, ordered flowers for himself, and then walked out before I could figure out what to say.
I'd thought about him every day since.
The way he'd looked up and met my eyes. The flush across his cheekbones when he'd blurted out that I was tall. The warmth in his voice when he'd talked about his father bringing his mother flowers.
The mention of an ex-boyfriend.
I didn't do this. Didn't think about customers after they left. Didn't rearrange my morning to maybe cross paths with someone I barely knew.
And yet here I was, arrangement in hand, closing up the shop while I made a delivery.
Maybe I'd grab some lunch on the way back. Mags made a mean club sandwich, and that sounded good today.
The small park across from the Copper Kettle came into view first, just a strip of brown grass and a few benches, nothing special, but it had a clear sightline to the mountains. I'd sat there sometimes, in the early days after my grandmother died, when the shop felt too quiet and the apartment above it felt quieter.
I saw the dogs before I saw him, straining at their leashes near the bench. Then Jamie, in a navy sweater that kept slipping off his shoulder, not nearly thick enough for January. He was talking to someone.
Landon Fucking Hawkins.
I’d heard Landon was back in town, tail between his legs after getting losing his big-city job.
I stopped walking.
They stood facing each other near the park entrance. Landon had his back to me, but I recognized him by the posture, the expensive jacket, the way he took up space like he was owed it. Jamie was holding both leash handles, and even from thirty feet away I could see the tension in his shoulders.
Landon's voice carried across the cold air.
“—don't know why you even moved here, Jamie. Unless you wanted to keep tabs on me.” A laugh, polished and cruel. “It's a little pathetic, honestly. Following your ex to his hometown? People are going to think you're stalking me.”
I froze.
Jamie must've responded, but it was low, and I couldn't hear it.
I did hear Landon's ugly reply.
“Right. The dogs.” Landon's tone dripped condescension. “Just don't call me when you get lonely, okay? I'm not going to drop everything because you can't handle being on your own.”
Something hot flared in my chest. This was him. The ex Jamie had mentioned, the one who thought buying yourself flowers was ridiculous, who thought Jamie was too much. I'd wondered what kind of person could look at someone like Jamie and see anything but warmth.
Now I knew.
The same Landon Hawkins who'd made half our high school class feel stupid and poor. Fifteen years, and the prick hadn't changed at all.
Jamie's spine curved inward. His chin dropped and he visibly shrunk as he stood there, as all the brightness I'd seen in the shop three days ago dim like someone had turned down a dial.
