Hell, they might not even know I exist.
Downstairs, a little bell dings over the door as I step inside. The sweet scent of flowers is heavy in the air, and I blink as I inhale it. Blooming green plants surround me, crowdingfrom every angle, and a sappy old love song hums through the speakers.
There’s a man in a stylish blue suit walking out, and he’s got a full bouquet in his hand. “Thanks, Nicholas. You’re a lifesaver,” he calls over his shoulder.
“Don’t worry. I never forget your date night,” a familiar voice replies. “It’s been regular for almost six years now!”
I’m accidentally blocking the door, and when the man smiles at me, I offer an apology grunt and step aside. The door dings and swings shut, and I turn. Behind the counter, I see the man from this morning.
The world tilts at a strange angle. My brain refuses to process the information.
He’s wearing a pinstripe suit jacket with a T-shirt underneath, and he has the same wide eyes that I recognize from the ditch, flashing with hazel, and smooth, honey-toned skin. Round-cheeked and carefully poised, he could almost be a statue, frozen as he stares back. His light brown hair is messy, and his pink lips are pursed to the side.
“What are you doing here?” I bark out, confused.
“What areyoudoing here?” he asks with a warm laugh, finally moving as he crosses his arms over his chest. “I own this shop.”
Motherfuck.
“About that,” I tell him. “Now I kind of own it, too.”
