I look back at the door and the man peering into the shop with a hand perched over his forehead and a phone tucked against his ear.
I didn’t think I’d see Liam Wolf again, yet here he is in the flesh waiting for me to open the door and let him in.
CHAPTER FIVE
Liam
Athena’s gazeglides over my gray T-shirt and the faded jeans I put on after I showered an hour ago.
On any other weekday morning, I’d be prepping for a full day at the office, but my first appointment isn’t until eleven.
Locking the door behind me, she twists in a circle sending her long hair flowing down her back.
“We don’t open until nine,” she says. “Why are you here?”
I glance down at her hand and the crumpled tissue she’s holding. Tilting my head to get a better look, I spot a red stain. “Are you bleeding?”
“It’s nothing.” Her right hand darts behind her back. “I cut myself on a piece of glass.”
“Let me see.” I curl a finger in the air. “It looks bad.”
Shaking her head, she points at an antique rectangular table set up next to a row of coolers with glass doors that house buckets filled with flowers. “I dropped a vase. It’s a hazard of the job.”
I look over at the shards of glass littering the floor. “That’s a hazard of the job?”
The pink sweater she’s wearing slides down her left shoulder to reveal bare skin. She doesn’t make a move to readjust it.
“Your hand,” I say, pointing a finger at her. “Let me see.”
Reluctantly, she swings her arm forward. When she opens her hand, she bunches the tissue in her other fist. “See? I told you. It’s nothing.”
Her hand is small. It’s delicate. A thin gold band circles her thumb.
A single drop of blood seeps out of the cut on her index finger.
“How deep is that?” I ask, reaching for her.
Her breath catches when I take her hand in mine, cradling it gently. “It’s not deep enough for stitches.”
I lean down to get a closer look.
She’s right. It’s shallow. My eye wanders over her palm, stopping at a half-inch scar that taints the perfect skin.
I circle the area with my fingertips. “This one was deeper. What happened here?”
Dabbing the tissue on the fresh cut, she laughs. “That’s a carrot’s fault.”
I hold back a smile. “A carrot?”
Her eyes lock on mine. Nodding, she sighs. “I had a pet rabbit when I was a kid. I grabbed a carrot and a knife to make dinner for it. The knife ended up in my hand.”
I wince. “That must have hurt like hell.”
She shrugs, sending the sweater another half-inch down her shoulder. “I don’t remember.”
“You don’t remember?”
Her head bows, a smiling playing on her full lips. “I passed out.”
