As his hands retreated, they lingered on my shoulders, testing the curve with his palm, then the span of my upper arms before falling away.
“I’m sorry your day was shitty.”
“That’s just status quo these days.” I clutched the flannel, grateful for it.
“You need a win.”
I huffed a laugh. “I need a win so bad, Kash.”
“You drink tea?” he asked, his eyes dark as he looked me over.
I must have looked like I’d been drowned, my hair lank and waving in tendrils, my blouse wet—my white blouse. I gathered the blanket tighter to cover my breasts. “Tea would be w-wonderful,” I said.
But he didn’t seem to be paying much mind to my appearance. Dutifully, he crossed the room to an electric teapot and flipped the button to start it before rummaging through a box of teabags.
“Chamomile? Green jasmine? Orange rooibos?”
“Jasmine, please.” I glanced at the table to the flowers he’d been putting into the flutes. “Are these for the wedding this weekend?”
“For the bouquet, yes.”
“Where’s Tess? I need her to sign some paperwork f-for me,” I said, reaching for my bag, my twelve-minute plan gone but not forgotten.
“She had to get out of here, asked me to stay to meet you.”
I frowned at my hands as I pulled the folio of papers out and a pen, setting them in front of Kash’s stool. We were alone, which made me uncomfortable. Not because I was afraid of him, but because I could see the line and exactly when and how I might cross it, especially with him looking like he cared so much.
It’d been a long time since a man cared so much. Brock certainly hadn’t, simply because he was too self-absorbed. Perhaps he’d bought the facade I’d crafted, the one that broadcasted that I didn’t need taking care of.
But Kash saw through it, saw through to me. And the way that made me feel was dangerous.
The teapot rumbled as the water heated up, mug and teabag prepped and waiting. Kash, I realized, was watching me. Our gazes met for only a fraction of a second before he moved across the room again, back to that shelf of supplies.
Steaming mug in hand, he headed over with that smile on his face.
When he handed it to me, I took it, leaning over it like it was a flame. “Thank you so much. Really.”
“It’s no trouble. Come on, let’s get you warm.”
Immediately, I imagined him stripping me down and me stripping him down and our naked limbs tangled together. But he cupped my elbow, jerking his chin toward the greenhouse.
I took his lead and slid off the stool, silently following him through the swinging doors.
Warmth hit me like summertime, humid and thick and tropical. The greenhouse was touched by moonlight, dimmed by the clouds and their deluge, but it was still there, a sweet glow over rows and rows of flowers and greenery and life.
A sigh slipped out of me. “Oh, that is so nice.”
“It’s climate-controlled, humidity-controlled, warm even in the thick of winter. Come on, we can sit back here.”
I brought the mug to my lips, blowing on the surface of the tea to cool it a little before taking a sip. The crisp scent of green tea mixed with fragrant jasmine drew the tension from my shoulders, eliciting another sigh.
He stopped at the table in the back where we’d looked over the florals yesterday. But the buckets were all gone, moved up to the front so Tess could finish the arrangements, the table empty. He took a seat on one of the stools, and I sat next to him, hooking my heels on the bottom rung.
“Feeling any better?”
“I am.”
“Tell me why your day sucked.” He leaned against the side of the table, propping his head on his fist
“Well,” I started, “I had a dozen back-to-back meetings, and my only meal was a hot dog in the back of a cab. I think I’ve had somewhere in the neighborhood of forty-two cups of coffee, which would explain my heart palpitations. The rain, getting soaked, sitting through hours of the Felix sisters heckling wedding bands. Shall I go on?”
His smile tilted. “They heckled the bands?”
I rolled my eyes at the memory, laughing softly despite my irritation. “Alexandra booed three of them. Sofia insulted one—she stood up, walked to the stage, and spent a solid ten minutes tearing them apart for any and everything she could come up with. I don’t know how the saxophone player’s mustache had anything to do with the