“When you left,” I say, the words spilling out, “I realized that I hadn’t been honest with myself or with you. It sent me reeling because if you were gone, Clay, it meant I might never get to tell you that I’m falling in love with you. And I know you’re not looking for love. And I know I’m asking you to turn your whole life upside down just to be with me. But I love you, Clay. I want you to stay here and be my boyfriend. And even if you decide to leave, I need you to know that.”
Clay swallows. He stares at me like he doesn’t know what to say.
“You went and picked the flowers for me,” he says evenly, like he’s trying to process. “To show me.”
“We can go inside to talk,” I tell him. “Away from the street.”
But before I can say anything more, Clay swoops forward. He pulls me into his arms and takes me into a deep kiss. His beard scrapes my skin, his tongue swirls against mine, and he clutches me to him like he’s never going to let go.
“I love you, Nicky,” he murmurs against my mouth.
The tears spill out of the corners of my eyes, falling down my cheeks. “You love me?”
“Yeah, I love you,” he says with a soft chuckle. “I’m fucking out of my mind over you. Can’t you tell?”
“I hoped that was true.”
“You want me to stay here?” Clay asks, still holding me. “Live in Buffalo. Be your boyfriend or whatever.”
I smile. “Yeah. I do. More than anything, that’s what I want.”
“Okay,” he says with a nod, determination setting in his eyes.
“Okay?”
“I’ll move to Buffalo. It sounds pretty good. Don’t you think?”
I grin. “Yeah. It sounds perfect, actually.”
Clay takes my hand. “I haven’t had a lot of love in my life, and I convinced myself that I wasn’t good enough for you.” My heart breaks to hear him say it, but he doesn’t give me a chance to cut in and say otherwise. “I want you to know I’ll do everything I can to make you happy and be the man that you deserve. I’m never going to be a natural romantic, but I’ll work hard to show you that I care.”
I nod quickly. “You don’t need to prove anything to me, and I don’t need you to be anyone but yourself. Everything you’ve done since the moment I met you has been sweetly, perfectly romantic, whether you know it or not.”
Clay half-smiles. “I’m glad you think so. I’ve got something to show you, Nicky.”
I arch an eyebrow. “What’s that?”
Clay nods down the street. “Come here,” he says.
He leads me toward the shop, still holding my hand. The morning sun shines, and light fills me, love pouring between us. It takes me a second until my gaze turns to see his truck, which is absolutely overflowing with gorgeous, lush flowers.
I halt, blinking as I take it in.
The cover is on the back, and all the windows are vented, allowing air to the freshly cut irises, sky-blue delphiniums, and creamy hydrangeas, all carefully arranged. Even the front is filled, countless peonies spilling from the passenger seat.
I look to Clay. “What? How? Huh?”
He laughs. “They’re for you. And I can get more every two weeks.”
“What?” I yelp.
Clay pops the back of the truck open, giving me a better look. “That one guy my grandpa fell in love with? Allen? I went and met him. His husbands grow flowers. Kind of excessively. They practically begged me to take them, so I worked something out.”
I look at him, impressed that he went to Allen’s. It’s a big deal for Clay to trust anyone, but he wasn’t just running. He was out there looking for answers, turning to other people.
My man.
“If you’re getting a truckload of flowers every other week, I’m going to reimburse them,” I say, my eyes dancing over the major payload.
