Time to go. Heather moved out the door but glanced over her shoulder at Jase. “So, you’ll help out with the prom thing?”
The dark intensity of his gaze held her in place. “Absolutely.”
Perfect.
“And, Heather?” He flashed a grin, and the fuzzy Jase-induced haze filtered over her vision again. “Sorry I broke your heart.”
Crap.
“You’ve got that wrong, bud. I did the breaking up.”
“See, that’s why it never worked. You always have to be right. Even when you’re wrong.”
Heather opened her mouth, but the now wide-eyed, green-dress-wielding customer caught her attention.
“Should I come back?” the woman asked.
“Nope. He’s all yours.” Heather hustled outside into the cool morning air before either of them could say anything more.
2
Chapter Two
Senior “Senior” Prom Countdown: 35 Days
They’d been trying to come up with a solution for over an hour. Over an hour of ribbons and lace and a persistent head cheerleading coach—Becca. Some days Jase missed his old life. The wife, the white picket fence, his job with the Navy defusing roadside bombs. He’d get all warm inside and sentimental. Then he’d remember that had all gone to shit and now he did the safe thing—swapping overseas operations for the single life and the safety of running one of his family’s flower shops.
When he’d left his job as an Explosive Ordnance Disposal Tech in the Navy and decided to get back in the family business, he’d done it because flowers were safe. Flowers didn’t blow up. When he’d divorced his wife? Well, he’d done that because she had insisted. She’d also found another husband. That had a lot to do with his decision.
Jase held another spool of wired ribbon up to the prom dress Becca had brought in for one of her students. The color was nearly spot on.
Becca shook her head. “That’s got too much aqua. What else do you have?”
Most days he loved his job. Today? Not so much. The crazies that came out during high school prom season could be just as unstable as a grenade with a half-pulled pin. Case in point: Becca.
He dug through his box of ribbon remnants, sending a silent prayer to whoever might be listening that he would find the right shade of green.
“What about a contrast?” he asked. “We could do black.”
“For a corsage?”
“Just the ribbon. Red roses, black ribbon, green dress.”
“No. That won’t work. It’ll look like gothic Christmas.” She tossed a spool into the bin. “This whole thing is giving me a migraine.”
He could relate. He held up yet another swatch of ribbon that was nowhere near the right shade.
Becca shook her head.
The thin fabric of the dress she’d brought along gave no inspiration. Nothing.
“Any luck?” he hollered to his assistant, Elizabeth, who was digging through boxes in the back. She’d arrived to work halfway through his search for the perfect ribbon.
He didn’t need to wait for her answer when he already knew the result—they’d been through every ribbon in the shop.
“Not yet,” she called back.
They’d even called his sister’s shop in Castle Rock to see if she had anything that might work. Negative. Maybe the answer wasn’t ribbon. Perhaps it was something totally different.
