Don't Touch My Petunia

by Tara Sheets

  “Sassy,” Juliette muttered. “You guys need to stay put.” She shoved them up onto the trellis once more. The roses bobbed up and down as though teasing her, their stems balancing on the broken woodwork, but this time, they stayed off the ground.

  She ran her fingers over the flowers, the peach and yellow blooms glowing softly in the early morning light. She’d created a spell to keep the thorns from growing, which had been easy enough. Why couldn’t the rest of life be as easy as making things grow?

  Luna meowed and wandered over.

  She picked up her cat and brought them nose to nose. “What am I going to do about him?”

  Luna began to purr.

  “Yeah, I know you like him,” Juliette said, setting the cat back on the grass. “Traitor.”

  Luna stared at her with bright, headlamp eyes.

  “Okay, fine. I like him, too. But it’s not going to do me any good. Things are getting out of hand already. I mean, I spent the night over there. What do you have to say about that?”

  The cat yawned.

  “It is, too, a big deal,” Juliette said. “You know as well as I do, it’s not normal for me.” She never spent the night with guys she dated. Even if they ended up getting physical, Juliette never wanted to stay the night. There was just something so “permanent” about it. And last night, she fell asleep in Logan’s bed like it was nothing. Like she’d done it a million times before and it was totally normal.

  They’d stayed awake for hours, doing all sorts of summer fling-ish type things. Her limbs went soft and liquid at the memory of it. Everything she said before was a lie. She loved his muscles, the strength of his arms pulling her in, and the feel of his powerful body sliding against hers. She loved his wild hair, the shades of dark gold that glowed in the afternoon sun, the feel of it in her hands last night when he moved above her. She loved . . . a lot of things about him.

  And as much as she felt “home” when she was with him, she’d never felt more lost.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Logan showered and got dressed, grateful that the master bedroom had been his first overhaul project. He’d painted the walls a light gray with white trim, and replaced all the old furniture with a king set in dark mahogany. The floors were still in decent shape, but he’d added a large area rug in varying shades of blue. The overall affect was relaxing and modern, and Logan had a feeling even his uncle’s husband, Caleb, would approve.

  Unfortunately, the rest of the house currently looked like roadkill. He went downstairs, swearing as he passed the foyer and entered the living room. He and Kevin had begun ripping down wallpaper. They’d finally stopped yesterday evening to resume again the next day. The incredible mess, paired with the dilapidated furniture and moth-eaten curtains, gave the house a sort of crack den vibe.

  Logan shook his head and walked into the kitchen. It looked even worse. In addition to ripping down wallpaper, he and the kid had gutted the laundry room sink, which now sat in a heap on the table. Normally Logan kept the kitchen spotless, but this morning every surface was covered in a fine layer of dust.

  He grinned at the memory of Juliette standing in the middle of the kitchen last night, laughing at the state of his house. She had a way of lighting up the room when she laughed. The more time he spent with her, the more time he wanted to spend. Hell, she’d only left thirty minutes ago and already he missed her. Whatever this was between them, he knew one thing for certain. He didn’t want it to stop.

  For the past year or two, all he could think about was getting home and settling down into a normal, peaceful routine. But his image of the perfect life was never really fleshed out. He knew he’d like to start a contracting business someday, but the family he wanted to have was just a foggy idea in his mind—a wife and kids, a dog in the yard, camping trips, baseball games. But then he got to know Juliette, and now the things he wanted were becoming much clearer.

  A text message dinged on his phone. It was Juliette.

  You better be on time today.

  Logan grinned. We’ll see.

  Don’t make me hurt you.

  You wouldn’t.

  I absolutely would.

  Not if I bring you a hazelnut mocha.

  A long pause. Fine.

  Fine.

  He slipped his phone back into his pocket, feeling lighter than he had in months. The things he wanted for his future were taking shape in a way he never thought possible. Roots and family were still important, but it was Juliette who made him feel alive. Her passion. Her determination. Her fierce dedication to the people and things she cared about. Logan wanted her to care about him like that. He wanted her to care because . . . he wanted her.

  An hour later, Logan was getting ready to leave when someone knocked at his door. It was barely eight o’clock, so it could only be Juliette.

  When he opened the front door, Bella stood on the doorstep holding a pie.

  Logan groaned inwardly. He’d been trying to avoid her for days, ever since he’d cancelled the dinner plans with her parents. But she was as persistent as a honey badger, not taking no for an answer. It was becoming unbearable.

  “Hi,” she said, peering over his shoulder in curiosity.

  Logan shifted on his feet to block her view. She’d never been in his house, and he’d like to keep it that way.

  “I was hoping I’d catch you before you left.”

  “I was just heading out. What brings you over?” And how could he make her leave as quickly as possible? It was bad enough she kept showing up at the shop when he was working, but coming to his home uninvited was a new level of irritating.

  For a brief moment when he first moved back, he thought they might be compatible together. But after the first couple of dates, he knew it would never work. They were all wrong for each other. It wasn’t only that she talked nonstop and rarely let him get a word in. It was that he had no desire to get a word in. If she wasn’t gossiping about other people, she was usually talking about things like shoe shopping, or half-yearly sales, or lately, china patterns—whatever that was. They had next to nothing in common.

  “My parents are wondering when to reschedule dinner. Since you cancelled.” Her tone was light, but it was clear she wasn’t happy.

  “Sorry, I’ve been busy. My uncle’s coming back in a week, and I have to make sure the remodel’s finished.”

  “Well, you need to have dinner at some point, don’t you? You can come for dinner tonight. Or tomorrow.”

  Logan took a frustrated breath. She just wouldn’t take a hint. If he wanted to be blunt, he could tell her the truth. He wasn’t attracted to her. He found her petty and pushy and annoying. And her perfume made him ill. But even though it was all true, he didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

  “Here, I baked you a pie.” She thrust it at him and shouldered her way into the house.

  Logan set the dish on the entry table and shut the door. This needed to end, but how?

  In the foyer, Bella came to an abrupt halt. She stared in shock at the filthy walls and floors.

  Logan was about to tell her the whole house was a work in progress, when an idea suddenly popped into his head. Like a flame, it flickered and grew brighter, roaring to life until suddenly he had a plan that was so ridiculous, it just might work. He was willing to give it a try.

  “What happened in here?” Bella said, wrinkling her nose.

  “Nothing,” he said casually, gesturing toward the living room. “After you.”

  She kept her arms close to her sides and walked into the next room.

  Logan followed, and even though he knew what to expect, the living room was like a punch to the face. The shredded walls, stained rug, and threadbare furniture were bad enough, but he’d recently pulled the baseboards out too. Peeling, uneven paint and exposed nails were visible along the perimeter of the floor. Dust motes floated in the air, and the room smelled faintly of mothballs and mildew. Logan planned to haul the offending furniture to the dump later that day, but Bella didn�
�t have to know that.

  She curled her lip in disgust. “Oh, my god.”

  “I know, right?” Logan said with enthusiasm. “This is my favorite room in the house.”

  She looked startled. “It is?”

  “Yeah, I love the whole rustic vibe.” He pointed to the avocado green couch and the stained chair with the dented armrest. “I’m a bit of a dumpster diver, myself. Someone left those on the side of the road on Ninth Street. Can you believe it?”

  She made a small sound at the back of her throat that sounded like a “yes.”

  “Steal of a deal,” he said with pride. “The only thing better than cheap is free, I always say. Hey, do you want something to drink?” He really hoped she did, because the kitchen was staged for prime time.

  She followed him into the next room and gasped.

  The kitchen looked like a health hazard. The old sink from the laundry room sat on the table like a centerpiece from hell. Mold, dirt, and rust flakes were scattered across the weathered Formica counter. There were no chairs to sit on because Kevin had just finished painting them in the garage. For the time being, two wooden shipping crates were shoved under the table to serve as makeshift seating.

  “Sorry, let me just get this out of the way.” Logan slid the discarded sink several inches across the table to clear a space. Then he dragged a crate from under the table, lifted Kevin’s forgotten backpack to the kitchen counter, and said, “Have a seat.”

  “No, I . . .” Bella looked thunderstruck. “Is this where you eat?”

  “Most of the time.” He took a used mug off the counter, making sure she noticed. “Sometimes I eat in my bedroom while I watch Game of Thrones, but the ants are becoming a problem.” He went to the fridge, adding, “I guess that’s what happens when your mattress is on the floor, though.”

  Logan searched through his fridge, then pulled out a carton of milk. “I’m afraid it’s expired, but only by a week. Are you okay with that?”

  “I’m not thirsty,” she said weakly.

  “You sure? There’s water.” He pointed to the dusty sink faucet.

  She shook her head.

  “Probably a good thing,” he said with a chuckle. “I’ve been meaning to get a filter. The pipes are kind of rusty.”

  Bella started looking a little queasy.

  Logan shoved Kevin’s backpack to the corner of the counter and lifted a plate out of the sink. He began buffing it with the hem of his shirt. “Want breakfast?”

  If her face had been made of ceramic, she’d have cracked. She swallowed visibly. “No.”

  “Okay.” He put the plate in the cupboard. “I guess I could give you a tour of the house. But fair warning: the upstairs doesn’t look as good as down here. There’s a tiny bit of a rat problem, so I had to set a bunch of traps. You’ll just have to be careful where you step.”

  She adjusted her purse on her shoulder, clutching the straps like a lifeline. “I think I’m good.”

  Logan leaned a hip against the counter, crossed his arms, and let out a contented sigh. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but I call it home. This is really my speed, you know? Just laid back, low maintenance. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from being in the army, it’s not to worry about a little dirt and some wildlife. Oh . . .” He pointed to the back patio. “There’s some now.”

  As if on cue, Luna slinked up to the sliding glass door.

  Bella stifled a little scream.

  A dead mouse hung from Luna’s mouth. She dropped it on the mat outside, took one look at Bella, and hissed.

  “Don’t mind that,” Logan said easily. “There’s a lot of feral cats around here, but I’m cool with them. They help with the rats.”

  Bella looked at Logan as if she’d never seen him before. “You like living here?”

  “I’d never live anywhere else,” he said, as if her question was ridiculous. “My grandparents got married in this house. Someday I’m going to honor their memory by doing the same.”

  Now she looked like she’d just been shot. Her face scrunched up as she gaped at him. “But this house,” she sputtered. “This is not the place to raise children.”

  “Children?” Logan jerked his head back like he’d been slapped. “Oh, ho-ho. Not happening for me. Chances are very slim, the doc said.” He gave her a meaningful look. “Jet ski accident.”

  She looked confused, then stared down at his crotch in horror.

  Logan had to fight not to cover himself with his hands. Jesus, this facade better work. He was beginning to feel as dirty as the house.

  “But who wants kids, anyway, amirite?” he said. “Dogs are way better company. A buddy of mine is a breeder, so I’m thinking about starting a business. Wouldn’t mind having a few pit bulls running around to keep things interesting, you know what I mean?”

  She was shaking her head no. So much no.

  He shifted his weight against the counter and accidentally knocked Kevin’s backpack sideways. Colorful game cards spilled all over the floor. Little cartoon monster things. What were those called? He bent to gather them up. “Dang, I really need to get a binder for these.”

  “Y-you . . . have Pokémon cards?”

  Logan gritted his teeth as he gathered up the cards. Just own it, man. Do you want this to work or not? He schooled his expression and stood. “Oh, yeah. Pokey Man and I go way back. I beat the . . . grand wizard at my last tournament.” Wait, was that a thing? Maybe he’d gone too far. Run with it, you’re in too deep. “Yup. Bowser was a tough boss, but I took him down. And then I was like, yesss.” He pumped a fist, channeling Kevin.

  Bella looked ill.

  Logan almost felt sorry for her. Hell, he was starting to feel sorry for himself.

  “I need to go,” she said, backing into the living room. “I just remembered there’s something I have to do.”

  “Watch out for the ottoman,” Logan called.

  She bumped against it. Stumbled a little. Straightened.

  “Gotta be careful,” he said with concern.

  “I’m fine—”

  “—That’s an heirloom.”

  She scowled at him, the moth-eaten ottoman, the room. Then she turned on her heel and stalked out of the house.

  Logan waited until he heard Bella’s car spin out of the gravel driveway and zoom down the street.

  He tossed the cards into the kid’s backpack and grinned.

  Achievement unlocked.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  One week later, Juliette stood in the newly remodeled florist shop with her friends.

  “It’s just beautiful,” Emma said, glancing around. “Romeo’s going to love it when he sees it tomorrow morning.”

  “No doubt,” Gertie added, turning in a circle. “It doesn’t look anything like the old place. Not that the old place was bad,” she assured Juliette. “It was just kind of dark and small, and this looks so much brighter and bigger. It doesn’t even look like the same place.”

  Juliette felt a swell of pride and she walked through the shop with them. She’d been in the process of putting the finishing touches on everything, trying to anticipate how it would look for Romeo’s arrival, when they’d surprised her with a visit and a hazelnut mocha.

  “I like what you did with the mirrors,” Molly said. The entire back wall, previously stacked with old wooden shelves and excess planting supplies, was now fitted with floor to ceiling mirrors and glass shelves that ran the length of the space. The mirrors bounced light and made the plants appear double in size. As a result, the whole interior of the shop looked twice as large, and much brighter.

  “Whose idea was this?” Molly asked, checking her lipstick in one of the mirrored panels.

  “Logan’s,” Juliette admitted. She’d fought him on it, at first. She’d complained about how he messed up her arrangements and tracked dust over the tiled floor. But in his quiet, steadfast way, he insisted on fixing the back wall. And now, the final result was amazing. Better than she could have imagined.
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  “He is so handy,” Gertie said, joining Molly at the back wall. “I could get used to having someone like that around, and not just because he’s cute.” She rummaged through her giant tote bag, pulled out a brush, and began arranging her hair in the mirror. “Walter couldn’t hang a picture straight if his life depended on it. The last time he tried to replace the kitchen sink he broke a pipe and flooded the entire downstairs.”

  “Did Logan do the painting?” Emma said from the other end of the shop. The walls were a lovely shade of spring green, with crisp, white crown molding installed along the ceiling.

  “He did,” Juliette said. “He did all the improvements.” There was no denying that the new shop looked fantastic, and she had him to thank. For the most part, she’d rearranged the plants to better advantage and kept the shop running smoothly, but Logan had done a lot more than she thought was possible.

  “He’s certainly a powerhouse of energy, isn’t he?” Gertie asked, sending Juliette a sly grin. “Must be nice to have someone like him around. Someone so driven.”

  “Mmm,” Molly agreed. “Drive is so important.”

  “He must be a really good driver. Is he?” Gertie asked innocently. “A good driver?”

  Juliette rolled her eyes and took a sip of her mocha.

  “She’s stalling,” Molly teased. “I guess he’s not all that.”

  “It’s too bad,” Gertie said. “Because he looks like he’d know his way around a racetrack.”

  “You guys,” Juliette said, setting her mocha down. “He could win the Indy Five Hundred driving a golf cart.”

  “Who’s driving a golf cart?” Kat bustled through the door with Hank following at her heels. Today Kat’s frizzing hair stood out around her head like a fuzzy halo. In a black sundress, black fishnet stockings, and black combat boots, she looked like the little mermaid gone rogue.