Swallowing the anxiety that tightens around my throat, I do my best not to fidget as his dark eyes bore into mine, his lips curling in a sinister smile.
“Oh, good. You recognize me,” he says, the hint of an accent gracing his words.
I hadn’t noticed it before. Then again, I’d been so distracted by his odd behavior, it’d been a challenge to focus on much else.
“You were looking for a large order of lilies,” I recall, leaving off the details that made that request so memorable. I don’t want to ask if the person they’re for has died. If he looks pleased to inform me they have, I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep it together.
“Indeed,” he agrees, stopping at the counter, his eyes traveling slowly down my body and back up again.
His smirk spreads into something more disturbing, and my heart skips a beat as he reaches beneath the fold of his suit jacket.
“I’m ready to place that order,” he says, pulling out a black credit card that looks uncharacteristically heavy. He holds it between his first and second finger as he passes it across the counter to me.
“Of—Of course,” I murmur, careful to avoid touching him as I take the plastic from him.
Dropping my eyes to my laptop, I stroke the mousepad to bring it to life and quickly type in the lilies we discussed. “A thousand white lilies—would you prefer Madonna, Easter lilies, Casa Blancas, Asiatic…?”
I turn my laptop, lifting it onto the upper counter so he can see the example images, but he barely gives them a glance.
“What would you recommend?”
“Um, well, I believe you mentioned they were for a funeral…?” I hedge, wetting my lips anxiously as I turn my attention to the keyboard and pull up an image. “In which case, I would suggest the Stargazer… or the Peace lily. Stargazers represent sympathy, and Peace lilies symbolize the rebirth of the soul and transcendence.”
The man barks a laugh that makes my skin crawl.
“Dear God, no. The last thing I want to see is him rising from the dead—body or soul. Why don’t you go with the Asiatic? It’s fitting… even if it’ll likely remain something of an inside joke between us,” he suggests.
His eyes dance as he leans an elbow on the counter, and I absolutely refuse to inform him that I’m afraid this inside joke would be lost on me as well.Unless he’s pointing out the fact that he’s Asian?And we’ll likely be the only two who know what variety of lily he picked.
I honestly don’t know what to make of this man. He gives me the strangest sense of foreboding with his cryptic language and meaningful looks—as if he expects me to read between the lines when I have no clue who he is.
Clearing my throat, I pull my computer back to the lower counter, putting distance between us as I focus on placing the order. “Not a problem. Like I said the first time we spoke, this could take up to three weeks to come in. I’ll have the flowers shipped to the store so I can guarantee their quality. At that point, I can have them delivered to the address of your preference.”
“Don’t bother. I would rather come to collect them,” he says, another smirk playing across his lips.
I’d really been hoping this could be the last I would see of him. But if he’s placing an order this large, I really can’t afford to say anything that might upset him. At least I’ll be able to schedule his next visit by setting a pick-up time.
“No problem. I’ll call you when they come in, and we can set up a time for you to get them at that point. I just need a name andphone number…” As I let the computer process the order, I snag a pen and notepad, holding it up to show I’m ready for him.
“The name is Tanaka,” he says before quickly spouting off a number.
“Great. Thank you, Mr. Tanaka,” I say, snatching up his credit card and sliding it back across the counter. “I’ll be in touch.”
“I’m sure you will,” he agrees, managing to make even that sound threatening.
Then he turns without another word and stalks to the door.
The bell rings cheerily—in sharp contrast with the tension humming through my body. And only after the door swings securely closed do I release the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Pressing my palm to my chest, I find my heart sprinting, and I lean against the counter as I rake in several gasps of air.
I don’t quite understand why adrenaline is rushing through my veins, but my gut tells me something is very off about that man.
He feels… dangerous.
Not in the overly forward, rapey-vibe kind of way.
He feels more unpredictable, perhaps even bordering on unhinged.
Like he might take pleasure in watching the life drain from someone’s eyes.
