My heart suddenly hurt. My granddad was getting older. He was running the farm by himself while I breezed in whenever it was convenient. I needed to be there for him. The guilt crashed into me.
Sebastian must have felt something was off, or maybe he was just a bit wary of being caught in a compromising position by my grandfather. Ernest was a large man, but I knew he wouldn’t hurt a fly.
He looked between Sebastian and me, then turned red and stammered.
“Sorry, Amy, but there’s a woman here. She says you’re planning her wedding. She wants to look at the flowers.”
“I have to go anyway,” Sebastian said. “It is a workday. I’ll—”
“Text me?” I squawked.
He nodded. “Maybe we can continue this conversation tonight.”
“I can’t,” I said in a rush. “I have plans.”
“Right. Actually, so do I,” Sebastian said. “I’m not sure what I was thinking.”
Awkward!
Ernest mopped his brow after Sebastian left. Then he said to me, “Now, I know I’m not a woman or your mamma, but as your guardian I feel obligated to ask if, uh…you need anything to practice, uh…safe, uh…”
“It’s fine!” I yelped, practically shoving him out of the barn.
Between the shit show of Meg’s wedding and the fact that I was about to lose my apartment and garden, the last thing my disaster of a life needed was a sex talk with my grandfather.
I smoothed down my clothes and tried to pat down my hair, but it was frizzier than usual.
My panties felt uncomfortably wet, and while sex with Sebastian in the barn was a bad idea, a part of me sorely wished we had gone there.
You didn’t even make out with him.
“So this is your little operation.”
Tatiana curled her lip as she walked into the barn in platform stilettos and a flouncy above-the-knee dress. The diamond on her ring finger sparkled.
“Snacks?” I offered.
She made a gagging noise. “No! It’s almost swimsuit season, and I am on a diet.”
Right. It was going to be one of those meetings.
“How can I help you?”
“Is this what you call a flower arrangement?” she asked, poking the table runner. “I don’t want anything like that at my wedding. I want crystals and jewels. I want it to feel like you’re in a Louis Vuitton catalog.”
“Of course,” I assured Tatiana. “These are for a more rustic wedding.”
“For some country bumpkin, no doubt,” she said, tossing her perfect hair. “I want to see the flowers that will be used for my bouquet. They’d better not be next to the low-country wedding flower.”
“The flowers aren’t going to be ready for months,” I told her, “but you can see the greenhouse.”
She was like the Cruella de Vil of roses.
“I don’t want to go in there,” she said haughtily, gathering her things to leave. “These are new shoes. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I just wanted to see what sort of claptrap operation you were running here. I happened to be in the area to pay a visit to my future stepsons.”
“Sounds lovely.”
Not.
