She studied it for a long moment. “You love peonies.”
She was right about me liking them. They were one of my all-time favorites, although I typically didn’t use them in everyday bouquets since they were heavy and tended to droop. Brides loved them, though, so it was a popular ask.
“Could they be from a supplier? Like a promotion or something?” she bit her lip.
I fiddled with one of the flowers, moving it so the peony was propped just so. “Maybe.” It seemed very unlikely. The wording on the card would fit that, but it felt all wrong. Maybe when I saw Wade next, I’d ask him to check into it.
The shop door opened again, bringing in a gust of cooler air and Mrs. Dennison’s loud voice. I forced a smile and stepped away from the arrangement, trying to pretend like it meant nothing that someone had sent me flowers.
“I have one more batch of dough to make over at Chapter & Crumb, and then I’m going to take some sandwiches up to the Annex property for the crew.” Phiny kissed my cheek.
East hired her to deliver lunches to his crews last year, and she took it to the next level. We were all a little jealous of the meals she prepared. Right now, East was putting the finishing touches on Hattie and Kipp’s new house, right next to the cabins he and Hattie rented out. Business was booming, and all the cabins were booked for the next six months. It was fortunate they had started building a separate house out there, because Kipp would have gone crazy living so close to all those people.
“Text me if your secret admirer sends you something else,” she teased on her way out the door. “Maybe truffles or something.”
“I will not dignify that with a response,” I grumbled back, giving her a wave. “But if that happens, you can totally have them.”
“You’re keeping the bouquet,” she observed, catching the lie.
“I’m not throwing out perfectly good flowers,” I declared testily. “There’s no reason to. That’d be totally dumb. They’re just flowers. It isn’t like it’s their fault.”
I turned to Mrs. Dennison, letting my sister go and trying to ease my worries. There’d be time for that later. Right now, I had rent to pay, and my business wasn’t going to run itself.
“Morning, Mrs. Dennison,” I called, smoothing my expression into something easy. “What can I do for you?”
As I helped her pick out a new Syngonium and listened to her complain about her son’s new girlfriend, my eyes kept drifting back to the bouquet. It sat there innocently enough, but an unsettled feeling was sitting in my stomach like a stone.
I had a social media account for the shop where I posted pictures of arrangements and captioned them with cheesy lines about growth and seasons of change. Anyone with internet accesscould have copied it. I would never claim I was the most original person in the world. Weren’t we all just big sponges soaking up what we took in daily anyway?
When I did flowers for Chapter & Crumb, I’d even pair plants and flowers for Lila in her windows and post them to my socials. It helped me and my bestie. So, my passion for peonies wasn’t a secret.
Still, as the morning wore on and customers trickled in and out, I felt the faintest itch between my shoulder blades, as if unseen eyes were cataloging my movements the way I cataloged petals in my journals.
I moved through the shop on autopilot, straightening displays and misting leaves, but my attention kept snagging on the green bottle at the center table. My throat tightened unexpectedly, and I tried to swallow past the lump in my throat.
It was just flowers.
Rhodes
My entire life had been as a soldier; even after leaving the military, I turned my training into an advantage. Redhawk was built to use all the skills I developed in Delta Force. The extractions in cities where the air smelled of smoke and adrenaline, or situations where I wondered whether the man across from me might reach for a weapon before I could get to mine.
But nothing ...
Nothing.
Had prepared me for the dead fucking ass slow crawl of the Wildwood Meadows Elementary drop-off line.
I gripped the steering wheel of my truck and looked at Opal in the rearview mirror, watching her bounce in her booster seat as if she’d had a cup of coffee or three Twinkies. (Neither of which I’d ever allow.)
“I think Mrs. Maverick is going to be old,” she announced, adjusting the straps of her glittery backpack next to her for thefifth time. “Old teachers are nicer because they’ve already yelled at enough kids.”
I huffed a quiet laugh. “You’re basing that on what, exactly?”
“I just know,” she said with absolute confidence, pushing her dark hair behind her ears.
She’d inherited her hair color from me, but hers was prettier with richer browns. Beautiful just like her. Who knew that my DNA could even make something so cute? “And if she’s not old, then I’ll make her like me anyway.”
My daughter was a riot. In the months since the divorce and emptying out the penthouse, we’d grown closer than ever, and I’d learned how much I’d been giving up in the precious hours of my commutes and work. I’d known she was funny as fuck, but she said something outrageous at least every half hour. “I’m pretty sure that whoever it is, and however old they are, they’ll like you.”
