Chapter 33
Fallon
The Bryant Park market glitters with the kind of holiday joy from those Hallmark movies. Warm glowing lights coil around every lamppost, flashing soft gold and frosty blue. The smell of pine and holiday music swells softly and soothingly in the cold air.
I tighten my scarf and clutch the handle of the wagon I’m dragging behind me. The little red and white ceramic pots inside clink gently together, each holding a tiny winter Chrysanthemum bloom mixed with a fragrant herb I raised like they were hatchlings.
Rhys walks a half-step behind me, hands in his coat pockets, silent as always. I can feel his presence pressing against my back. This year, it’s more soothing than the music.
As we walk, the booths open up in front of us. People milling about, some weaving around slow-walkers, others laughing, and kids blowing noise makers.
I freeze.
The lights, the squeals of children, the movement of dozens of bundled strangers, and the clatter of voices are too much. My brain fizzes with the stacking sounds. I drop the handle and cover my ears.
Rhys is there, pulling me into his chest. “Too much stimulation, right?”
“Uh huh.” I swallow. “It will pass.”
“Breathe,” Rhys murmurs, holding me. “Take your time.”
“I don’t want to be late dropping these off.” I sniff. “The manager isn’t very nice.”
Rhys scoffs. “God, I hope he tries being a dick toyou in front of me.”
I glance at all the witnesses. That’s a lot of favors. A lot of dates.
No. He. Is. Mine.
I nod quickly to punch down the anxiety. “I’m fine.”
I’m not, exactly, but I can be. This event always tests my endurance. I focus on my plants. Just get them to the tables. Make them pretty for people.
The public eating area with metal bistro tables waits at the far side of the market. The area sits beneath strings of red and blue chunky retro bulbs. Each table is an empty blank canvas.
I head toward the organizer’s booth to check in.
“Hey, Vin,” I greet the restaurant manager.
“Hey, Fallon.” He leans in and gives me a hug, rubbing my arms and smiling at me, which I’m not always comfortable with. “What’d you say to finally having a drink with me afterwards?”
Every year, Vin asks me out on a date. I always say no. That I don’t drink. And that I have a boyfriend. He never cared about that.
This year he’ll care.
I swear the air just got colder when Rhys’s voice gets low and edgy. “Not unless I’m invited.”
Vin releases me, smirking like Rhys is just another woman’s boyfriend he can charm or intimidate until he sees him behind me. His eyes widen, taking in all six-foot-four ofmyboyfriend.
I’m tempted to whisper that he’s an assassin.
But I don’t.
Vin scans my trolley. “Chrysanthemums? Really?”
My heart starts to flutter. “I sent you a photo of the sample I made. Including how the seedlings were locally sourced and how I planted them myself, the soil levels, how often they were watered, and?—”
“I’m done wasting my time on you,” he mutters,making notes on his check-in sheet. “Not sure if we need you next year.”
