"So," she says.
"No."
"I haven't said anything."
"You're about to," I snap.
She picks up a stem of dried lavender and turns it in her fingers. "I'm just going to say—you look like a woman who spent her whole long weekend in heat with an alpha, but now it's over."
I squeeze the price gun. The mechanism clicks without firing. Another betrayal. I set it down. "Paula."
"You also look like a woman who is irritated about that fact." She tilts her head. "Which, honestly? I get it. It's annoying when they get all in their heads about bonding."
I don't answer. I go back to the eucalyptus. Snip the stem. Drop it in the bucket.
"Star." Her voice shifts. Softer. "What happened?"
"You already guessed." I keep my eyes on the flowers. "We bonded. He decided he doesn't want a mate.Can't have one, he said. And then it was over."
"Okay," she drawls, turning the syllables over like a puzzle piece she's trying to make fit. I wish her luck. Because I haven't had any.
She comes around the worktable. Doesn't touch me, just stands close. "Did he say he was coming back?"
"No." I finally look at her. "He left Monday night after my last heat. Haven't heard from him since."
Paula's expression goes carefully neutral. "Ah."
"Yeah. Ah."
"What did he say. When he left."
I almost don't answer. The story he gave me lives in a soft place in my chest where I've been keeping it warm. Turning it over. Trying to make it make sense.
"His mother died of cancer when he was twelve," I say. "His father fell apart. Watched the whole man disappear. Liam decided, at freaking twelve that bonding was a death sentence."
Paula doesn't move. Doesn't interrupt.
"He told me he couldn't give me more than the heat. He was clear. I went into it eyes open." My voice is steady. That it's so steady should make me feel better. It doesn't. "He explained himself. I almost—" I stop. Try again. "I almost made my peace with it."
"Almost?"
"Almost."
She waits. I wait. She breaks first, changing the subject. "So you called me Friday," she says. "Told me the heat was worse than usual, that we'd reopen Tuesday. I said okay. I didn't ask questions. But now I'm asking, did you do any work at the shop? Follow up about the order?"
The Vaughn engagement order. Centerpieces for twelve tables, a ceremony arch, a welcome arrangement. The consultation was on Friday. Dammit, I never called to reschedule. Never sent an email. The order form is still under the register where I shoved it while I was waiting.
"I need to call them," I say.
Paula raises an eyebrow. "They're assholes. If you haven't heard from them, I wouldn't say anything. Let them reach out again. Probably busy menacing other suppliers."
I pull the form out from under the register.
Vaughn Engagement — Vaughn Capital, LLC.
I stare at the letterhead. At the contact name on the order — Julia Reyes, Executive Assistant. Julie, who Paula says should be sainted for working for Mr. Vaughn. Weird that he didn't show up. Assholes always follow through.
I dial the main line on the letterhead before I overthink it. A professional voice picks up on the second ring. "Vaughn Capital, Julia Reyes speaking."
