Chapter One
Juliet
The bell above the door of What In Carnation chimed for the third time in under a minute, and I didn’t even look up.
“If that’s another guy asking if red roses mean love or lust, tell him they mean he waited too damn long,” I said, snipping the stems of a bundle of white ranunculus and dropping them into the bucket at my feet.
“I already told him love,” Jenna called from the front counter. “But he looked disappointed, so I added lusty peonies for an extra twenty.”
Jackie laughed from behind the register. “You’re going to get us sued.”
“Worth it,” Jenna said. “Valentine’s Day brings out the weirdest people. Yesterday a man asked if we sold apology bouquets.”
I finally glanced up. “We do. They’re called roses. And regret.”
Jackie grinned. “God, I love this week.”
I didn’t.
I loved the shop. I loved the smell of fresh greenery and clean water, the quiet hum of the cooler in the back, the way sunlight filtered through the front windows and caught on glass vases like tiny prisms. I loved my employees. Both of them fiercely competent, slightly feral, and capable of handling a rush without melting down.
But Valentine’s week?
Valentine’s week was war.
Orders were taped to every surface. Clipboards hung from hooks. Pink and red ribbon spilled out of drawers like party streamers after a parade. My hands were nicked from thorns and sticky with sap, and it was barely noon.
“Juliet,” Jenna said, lowering her voice as she leaned over the counter. “You haven’t eaten.”
“I had coffee.”
“That’s not food.”
“And a bagel with cream cheese. I have actually eaten.” I was on the ball today.
Jackie wagged her finger at me. “You better keep eating or I swear I’ll tell people you’re secretly anti-love.”
I sighed and rolled my eyes. “If I were anti-love, I wouldn’t be drowning in heart-shaped nonsense right now.”
“Blasphemy,” Jenna said. “This nonsense pays our rent.”
“And destroys sanity,” I muttered.
The bell chimed again.
This time, the sound was… different.
Not louder or sharper. Just heavier. Like the air shifted with it.
I looked up.
And immediately understood why Jenna went quiet.
He filled the doorway in a way that didn’t make sense. Tall. Broad shoulders. Leather cut worn soft at the seams, like it had been broken in by years instead of fashion. Dark hair pulled back at the nape of his neck. Boots that had seen real roads, not sidewalks.
He wasn’t smiling, but he wasn’t scowling either.
He just stood there, eyes scanning the shop like he was cataloging exits and threats instead of vases and bouquets.
