The word lands harder than it should.
We.
Notyou. Notyour shop. Notyour problem.
I blink, caught off guard. “You don’t have to?—”
“I know,” he says gently. “But I want to.”
He glances down at the table, at the mess of plant care cards and sample pots. “I get nervous before games,” he admits. “Every time. Doesn’t matter how many I’ve played. There’s always that moment where I’m sure I’m about to screw it up in front of everyone.”
I snort softly. “You don’t seem like the nervous type.”
He huffs a dry laugh. “Did you see that press conference?”
“Fair point.”
“I care,” he continues, quieter now, “because people are watching. Because I don’t want to let anyone down.” His eyes flick back to mine. “Sound familiar?”
My throat tightens. I don’t answer.
He reaches for one of the care cards, holding it between us. Ilean in without thinking, our shoulders nearly touching as we both look at my phone, then the card, comparing notes.
“You taught me this stuff,” he says. “Plants. Patience. Not overdoing it.” A beat. “Let me help you with this.”
His hand brushes mine as he adjusts the card.
Just a touch. Barely there, but it’s enough.
The air shifts. Thickens. I’m suddenly aware of everything—how close he is, the warmth at my side, the way my pulse jumps stupidly at the contact. When I glance up, his gaze has dropped to my mouth. Then back to my eyes.
He lifts his hand, hesitates, then tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I forget how to breathe.
“Juliette—”
“Hey!” Charlie calls out before he appears from the back. “Before I forget—did we decide on two or three extra soil bags for tomorrow?”
I jerk back like I’ve been caught doing something illegal.
Sawyer steps away at the exact same moment, running a hand through his hair, suddenly very interested in the ceiling.
“Three,” I say too quickly. “Definitely three.”
Charlie’s eyes flick between us. A slow, knowing smile spreads as he retreats. “Right,” he says. “Three. Thanks.”
The shop settles again. A bit quieter, and definitely more charged.
Sawyer clears his throat. “So. Should I start again?”
I nod, heart still racing. “Yeah. From the top.”
We both know something just happened, yet neither of us says a word about it.
And this space between us feels louder than the bell over the door ever could.
CHAPTER 15
