I try to ignore the fact that it’s a Centurion.
It’s not that I haven’t brushed elbows with the rich and famous. My father being on the coaching staff of one of the professional hockey teams has made that impossible for most of my life. Even my business model caters to and attracts the upper echelon of society. But there’s rich, and then there’s black amex rich.
It’s clear that she’s not used to it, either.
“Do you have any other questions?”
It’s an automatic question I ask to break the awkward silence while I run her card for the deposit. Well, it’s awkward for me, at least. The money part is always the worst. If I could arrange flowers for free, I probably would. Except then I’d still be living with my dad and not in the modest little apartment down the street from my own floral shop, Blush & Bloom. The discomfort over charging for my bouquets is worth it for the view I have of the city lights at night.
The young woman shakes her head, a shy smile curving her lips.
“Your work is beautiful. I’m so excited.”
I flush at the small bit of praise and give her card back.
“Thank you,” I murmur. “And congratulations!”
Her smile is much brighter this time, and her shoulders are relaxed as she leaves my tiny shop and steps toward the parking garage down the street. I tuck her event file in the small organizer under the counter, making sure it’s in the right month for her wedding next spring. Leaning a hip against the counter, I take a moment to breathe, taking in the space I’ve put together in the last three months since graduating from college. Thebright white walls and dark-stained woods let all the flowers take center stage without the room feeling sterile, each arrangement a splash of color that speaks to my soul. It’s a small shop, but I’ve managed to make every single inch count.
My gaze catches on the vintage clock I keep on the old chest of drawers behind the counter, and I frown. How is it already almost noon? I glance toward the wall of windows that looks out on the busy Nashville street.
At least Timber isn’t here yet.
I push off the counter and scramble through my closing checklist, quickly wiping down the counters and table and locking the small bit of cash I keep on hand in the safe in the back. I triple check that all of my coolers are set to the right temperature and that the arrangements for tomorrow’s delivery haven’t mysteriously fallen over. My phone vibrates as I’m grabbing my purse and sliding into the light jacket I’d brought this morning.
Dad’s text sits in lone splendor.
You still coming by today? Marilyn said the new girl will be here.
Yes, Timber’s picking me up any minute.
Tell him to be careful.
By the time I get back to the front of the shop and flip the sign to closed, Timber’s bright green monstrosity of a truck is idling at the curb, cars irritatingly cutting around it while honking. He isn’t bothered in the slightest, his hand slung over the wheel as he waits for me to get the small alarm set and the door to my shop locked.
“Hey, ‘Rys.” His calm voice doesn’t match his hurried movement as he rushes out to open my door, ignoring the very dramatic eye roll I give him.
Timber has been around me for most of my life at this point, the longest continuous player on my dad’s hockey team, the Scented Scorpions. Despite the twenty years between us, he’s like the bigger brother I never actually had.
“You really don’t need to do that,” I say. I don’t bother trying to throw any bigger of a fuss, though. He’s always adamant that he opens doors for me. He’ll just dig in his heels if I try to insist, and there are not many people more stubborn than Timber when he decides to make a stand about something.
He just shrugs, waiting until I’m settled before he closes the door and slides back into the driver seat. He drops the car into gear and swerves toward the highway before I’ve managed to get my seatbelt buckled.
“And my dad texted me just now to warn you to be careful,” I say in a fake dry tone.
Timber scrunches his nose as he looks over at me even as he merges with the traffic trying to get onto the highway. “Ares knows I would never risk your safety. He’s just trying to be a mother hen.”
I snort. “Dare you to tell him that to his face.”
“I’m not stupid.”
I can’t help but grin as I run my fingers through my hair, breathing deeply to shake off the nerves I always get when going to the practice arena. The smell hits me like a ton of bricks. I can’t help but frown and look over at Timber. He taps the steering wheel and then grunts.
“You just going to stare at me the rest of the drive?” he asks, more gruff than before.
“No…” I say, trying to decide if I should even ask. I don’t really want to know if Timber was hooking up with someoneright before picking me up, honestly. That is way too much information that I do not need to know.
He raises an eyebrow, not satisfied at all with that answer.
