girl again. I fell head over feet for Jamie last year, but she left early for Georgia State in June and dumped me with a text. I was a worthless sack of crap for months after that. There’s this thing that happens when you date people. It’s a blast, and it’s intense, and it’s crazy (usually the good crazy). But when the other person moves on and leaves you behind, they take a chunk of you with them. And it sucks. I can’t handle that feeling again right now. I can’t.
I clap my hands together and start for the first display cooler. Marisa’s shoes squeak against the floor as she follows me. “All right, then,” I say on an exhale, turning to her. She stares up at me, all bouncy ponytail and bright eyes. “We’re supposed to be training. So, first things first. Flowers: how much do you know about them?”
She giggles, and dang it, she needs to stop. Please make it stop. All these little things she does that make my stomach do weird flip-flops are going to turn into big things, and big things are a lot harder to ignore.
“It’s safe to say I know a bit about flowers,” Marisa says. “Your mom gave me one heck of a quiz during my interview to make sure I knew my stuff. She even asked what my favorite flower was and how often I’m supposed to change vase water. I mean, really?”
I twirl my finger, signaling for her to continue. “And your answers were…?”
She tilts her head to the side. “Purple roses. Every two-to-three days. Do you think I’m an amateur?”
Even if I did, it wouldn’t matter. I’d train her all day, every day as long as she kept smiling at me like she is now. But that smile falters as her gaze falls to the floor. She clears her throat and says, “Before we moved here, my mom was obsessed with gardening. She taught me everything I know.”
Her voice dips. Before I can ask if she’s all right, she shakes her head and looks back to me, her eyes not nearly as bright, but still as piercing as they were before.
I shrug and force a smile of my own. “Looks like we have something in common. My momma’s a gardening freak, too.” As if owning a flower shop didn’t already give that away. Strike two, Braxton.
She steps to my side, her arm brushing against mine as she gestures to the cooler. “Anyway, continue, Floral Prince. Teach me your ways. I’m sure you know much more than I do.”
I narrow my eyes. “You’re makin’ fun of me, aren’t you? Is it the apron? Because I’ll have you know, I’m rockin’ this apron.”
She grins. “I would never make fun of a prince,” she says seriously and curtsies. The girl freakin’ curtsies.
I cross my arms. “All right, feisty pants. I see what you did there.”
Her jaw drops. “You did not just call me feisty pants. What are you, sixty? Who even says that?”
“I do, obviously. And what I was going to say is, you can’t put whatever flowers you want in the cooler. This is where we keep the special order arrangements and loose flowers. Single roses and stuff like that.”
Instead of replying, her lips curve up again. My heart hammers against my chest. No matter how tough he acts, every guy dreams of someone looking at him this way. Like every word out of his mouth is coated in gold, even if it’s the cheesiest thing that person’s ever heard.
No one’s ever looked at me this way before, not even Jamie. It’s killer. And it’s kind of freaking me the hell out because I’d never even seen this girl until a week ago, and she’s got me acting like an idiot.
“What—” I cough to cover the crack in my voice. “What’s that look for?”
She shrugs and moves past me toward the cooler. In its reflection, I see her staring at the arrangements, her fingertips pressed lightly against the glass. “I like your voice,” she says. “It’s laid-back. Easy-going. Like you have all the time in the world.” She faces me again. “And your accent’s kind of to die for. But you can pretend I didn’t say that.”
I don’t want to pretend you didn’t say that. This stupid shirt’s suddenly too thick. And I’m pretty sure my cheeks are on fire.
She wrinkles her nose as her own cheeks flush. “Sorry. That was really, um, cheesy. Crazy inappropriate. Seriously, please pretend that I