by Cari Quinn
He wasn’t his brother, dammit. The idea of evicting a longtime small-business owner to take an offer from someone who wanted to put in a fro-yo place didn’t get him all atwitter. At least he’d discovered that Cory wasn’t completely a heartless ass when it came to Alexa’s situation. But the conversation with his sibling hadn’t given him a solution, assuming he considered Alexa’s financial difficulties his dilemma to solve.
Did he?
What he wanted, more than anything, was to be there when she figured out how to make her store a success. She had a great shop and obviously she possessed a lot of talent. Her heart showed up in her eyes whenever she spoke about the place. All she needed was a little time, a little luck, and a little help. Something he could give her—but only if he didn’t come clean just yet. If he did, she’d paint him with the same brush as his brother and discount everything he said. Worse, she might assume he was trying to sabotage the store.
He couldn’t let her risk her business that way, not when he was certain she could—they could—make it work. And if her success goaded Cory, so much the better. His brother claimed he enjoyed competition, didn’t he?
After the store was on its feet again, he’d tell her the truth. Maybe she’d even be grateful he’d fought his own instincts to reveal all to help her. Yeah, so maybe not, but at least she’d have her store, whole and strong and in the black.
And he would have her, if only for a short time. Perhaps he’d even rediscover his own love for business by working on something that wasn’t Value Hardware. Something smaller, and more personal.
She looked up at him with her glossy blue eyes and his stomach flipped over. Whether his plan was good or not, it didn’t even feel like he had a choice in the matter anymore. He was pretty damn invested, both with Alexa and with her store. Bystanders didn’t suffer a spike in blood pressure the way he just had simply from a look.
“Did you want a card? You’re not looking at them.” Her cross expression shouldn’t have made him hard. Nor should’ve her disturbingly erotic fragrance, especially in light of where he was. Floral scents surrounded him, yet he could pick out Alexa’s unique perfume without hesitation.
Man, he was in trouble.
“I’m looking at you.” How could he look anywhere else?
He expected her to sneer at his cocky declaration, and she did just as he’d hoped. “Think a lot of yourself, don’t you, Mr. James?”
“Just stating the facts, ma’am.”
Her pupils dilated, leaving just a fiery ring of blue to highlight the dark. “You never said who the flowers were for. A crush, perhaps?”
He fought not to grin at her obvious irritation. Jealous much? “As a rule, Ms. Conroy, I don’t get crushes. When I want someone, I go after them. At all costs.” She didn’t need to know how long it had been since he’d felt that way. It was both humbling and a little disturbing. “Even when I know I shouldn’t.”
“Maybe that’s part of the appeal.”
Holding her gaze, he ran his tongue along his lower lip. She mirrored the gesture, though he was sure it was unconscious. “I’m a contrary bastard. Knowing someone wants to put me off only makes me want them more.”
“So it’s just the thrill of the chase to you.”
As her hand strayed to that damn necklace, he let his stare sear her flesh. The subtle tightening of her top across her breasts proved the look worked. A little too well, since his jeans had gone tight too. Painfully so.
“A chase is only as good as the prize.” He cocked his head as her breath quickened. “I like to work for it.”
Lust flared in her eyes before her veil of curly lashes swept down to hide his view. “Dillon, we agreed it would only be one night. You know this can’t happen again.”
Keep trying to convince yourself, darlin’.
“It already is.” As Travis ambled into the shop, Dillon slipped back and flashed her a smile. “I’ll take the bear. I think my grandmother will like it.”
…
Alexa came home that night to a perfectly functioning sink and a clutch of pink-and-white mountain laurel in a mason jar on the windowsill, but no sign of Dillon. She didn’t even notice the flowers at first in her haste to search for signs he’d been there. He’d left nothing behind, not even a stray boot print.
But he had left her the laurel.
She couldn’t help sighing at the sight of it, limply leaning against the glass rim. Simple or not, the gesture was sweet. So sweet that she refilled the water glass and added half an aspirin in the futile hope of staving off the flowers’ demise a little longer.
They were obviously handpicked, which made them even more precious to her. Imagining Dillon’s big hands picking through them, searching for just the right blooms…
She sighed again. God, the man must be a frigging expert archer, because he’d just nailed her square in the heart.
The next night when she returned home to the smell of fresh paint, she found another bunch of laurel, this time with a note.
Sorry I didn’t ask before stopping in, but there are some things that need taking care of around here. If you want a rundown of what, or if you’d like to yell at me for invading your privacy—and insulting your sense of aesthetics with my pathetic flowers—my number is 201-8801. D.
The smile came before she could stop it. Holding the note to her chest, she followed the paint scent to the bathroom. He’d painted two walls a cheery lake blue. Patches of white decorated the third wall as if he’d done some prep work to finish tomorrow.
She could smell him, a hint of his pine aftershave and soap. If she drew deeply, maybe the slight tang of his sweat, layering lightly over the rest. It had been a hot day, and the small window he’d forgotten to shut didn’t offer much breeze. The inadequate AC would suck this summer, though oddly enough it seemed to be working better now.
Her smile widened. But she had new flowers.
Not giving herself time to squelch the impulse, she ripped off a piece of the notepaper he’d found on her end table and scrawled a quick reply.
I like the color you picked for the bathroom. It reminds me of Gillie Lake on a clear day. And the flowers are so pretty. Thank you. You’re welcome to do whatever you’d like to the apartment, without my permission. A.
The next night she returned home to a fully painted bathroom, a half-moon daisy rug in front of the sink—an exact match to the watering can she’d laughed at him for toting around—and a new mason jar of flowers on the windowsill. She blushed as she took in the bluish-purple blossoms. Forget-me-nots. Too bad he didn’t realize how truly fitting they were.
Best of all, there was another note. Grinning, she snatched it up.
I’m glad you liked the paint. You don’t have to keep the rug I bought, but when I saw that daisy at the thrift shop today, it reminded me of you. Everything seems to lately. D.
Her belly fluttered just imagining him in her apartment, filling it with his scent while she worked downstairs in her shop. While she stared out the window in the hopes of glimpsing him on his way into the building and fought the persistent daydreams about him her brain insisted on conjuring up with disturbing regularity. Of him making her feel alive in a place that didn’t seem nearly so depressing when he was at her side.
His hard, muscled body knew just how to move against hers to wipe away everything but him. She had no worries, nothing to fear when she and Dillon were together. It was just them. God, all that heat and passion and need—
“Stop,” she whispered, shutting her eyes.
She’d said she wanted one night. How could she change her mind so easily? She didn’t know him well, but they probably couldn’t be more different.
But she knew one sure way they were compatible, no questions asked.
She pulled off another piece of notepaper.
Thank you. The rug made me smile, just like the flowers. I like that you’re thinking of me. I’m thinking of…well, nothing that has to do with you and flowers, but maybe I wouldn’t
mind seeing your snake. A.
The next evening, Alexa came home to a gray and dreary apartment. The drizzly weather definitely hadn’t helped her mood. She’d had a blah day with not one, but two snarly customers, and only one of them had purchased an arrangement.
She sighed and set aside her purse on the table inside the door. Only one bright spot cheered up her gloom—maybe Dillon had left her another present. Or better yet, perhaps she would find him stretched out naked on her air bed, ready to do her bidding.
A girl could hope.
But alas, there was no Dillon in her apartment. And no flowers. Tonight a plastic snake peeked out of the jar on her windowsill.
Laughter spilled out of her as she grabbed the note he’d left behind.
When you said snake, I got confused. If this isn’t what you had in mind, call me. I’m all done working on your apartment. Let me know if you need anything else. D.
She added the note to her secret stash at the bottom of her kitchen drawer and filled up the forget-me-nots’ jar of water, along with adding a new crushed half-aspirin. She did the same with the jars of mountain laurel on her small kitchen table. The makeshift vases were in a triangle, the drooping flowers making a sad sort of statement. But she refused to throw them out.
How long had it been since a man had brought her flowers? Or a cheerful daisy rug she couldn’t help grinning down at as she brushed her teeth? Never, that’s when.
He’d fixed her sink, and freshened up her bathroom, and touched up the paint along the living room baseboards. Even better, she realized as she stowed her raincoat in the empty closet by the front door, he’d given that a thorough paint-and-clean job as well.
Dillon James had figured out the way to her heart, and it was pathetically simple. Though she’d spent the last year denying she needed anyone but herself, right now, she just wanted someone to take care of her.
At work, she was in charge, and she had to be strong. She couldn’t let anyone see her break, though sometimes she found herself fighting tears as she put together arrangements she knew she’d have to take to the hospital and local cemetery before the week was through. Not that she didn’t like doing her part to cheer up others. But the flowers she replaced on graves every week weren’t all that was dying. Her mentor’s beloved business was, as well.
She wanted to call Dillon so badly that her fingers twitched, but she couldn’t offer much to anyone right now. An uncomplicated relationship she could handle. Something with a definite beginning and end. The possibility of seeing Dillon any time she was at home or work made this potentially a lot more messy. She couldn’t handle any more potential messes, not when the sense of impending failure consumed her night and day.
No matter what she did—whether it was starting new advertising campaigns or arranging huge, showy bouquets of blooms in the front windows of Divine—the customers just weren’t interested. She hadn’t given up. Not even close. But tonight the breakwall around her emotions felt on the verge of collapse.
It wasn’t as if the news was all bad. She schmoozed every customer she managed to lure into the store, offering them amazing service and a plethora of complimentary add-ons. Her special attention to every person who entered her shop would hopefully bear fruit in the form of repeat business in the years to come. Especially once she started that e-mail newsletter list she couldn’t deny was a damn good idea.
But in the meantime, she was floundering.
“Not me,” she murmured, staring into the nearly empty closet she still hadn’t closed. She’d yet to unpack most of her suitcases. “The store. Not one and the same.” Even if they felt damn close.
When her stomach started to growl, she got up with the intention of scrounging for dinner. On her way to the kitchen she grabbed the pile of mail she’d brought up with her from the store. Today it contained mostly magazines and the occasional bill, but nothing she couldn’t handle.
Until she reached the legal-sized envelope from Santangelo, LLC she knew was yet another overdue rent notice. Soon they’d stop saying “if you don’t, we will” and just set a date for her to have to get the hell out of the store.
Tears spurted into her eyes and she shook them off. No. She was not going to cry. Her plan to save the store was going to work. She just needed a little more time.
Giving in to the urge to wallow, she sat down on the floor and drew her legs up to her chest. And rocked.
She wasn’t down for the count. Nellie had started working with her yesterday, and she’d begun showing her the basics. They’d worked on fall wreaths that afternoon, twisting colorful ribbons into bows, winding delicate blooms and vines through grapevines and around wire frames. Her best friend seemed to have a natural eye, thank God. They’d laughed and laughed as they worked, something Alexa hadn’t realized how much she’d missed.
Losing Patty was a big blow, but with Nellie’s help, Divine would be okay. It wasn’t as if there was a ton to do right now anyway, except the usual orders and inventory and keeping everything tidy. She just needed to keep the faith and not let this temporary black hole suck her in.
After a while, she rose unsteadily to her feet and called Trixie. She gave her cat her daily dose of love and kibble, then sat down on the couch and turned on the TV. She smiled. Dillon had taken it off the dinky stand she had for it and mounted it at the perfect height on the wall without her even having to ask.
Between Dillon and Nellie, kindness seemed to be spilling out all around her lately. Perhaps it was a sign her streak of bad luck was finally going to end. Maybe she needed to go see Sue Ellen, Nellie’s tarot-reading cousin. She could use some guidance. Along with another night with a certain man, who happened to have a sexy grin and incredibly athletic hips.
Ah, screw it. What did she have to lose? Except everything?
Biting her lip, she dialed Dillon’s number. Silly to be nervous. He was just a guy, and she knew how to handle men. Usually. Somehow her typical moves hadn’t resulted in the dance she’d expected this time.
He didn’t answer, so she left him a voice mail. Though she attempted to sound breezy and casual, she was sure she failed. There was that word again. Failure.
The night passed in a haze of junk food and sitcoms. She sat through a couple reruns of The Big Bang Theory and noshed on Twizzlers, since she’d yet to fill her pantry with anything substantial. Halfway through the nightly news, her cell buzzed in her lap. She’d just forgotten to put it back in her purse. It wasn’t as if she’d been waiting all night to hear the sound of Dillon’s voice.
“Alexa?” he murmured once she answered. “Are you okay?”
Oh God. That question, said in such a painfully understanding tone. The already weakening walls in her chest cracked open so fast she had no hope of shoring them up again before a sob escaped.
She couldn’t answer. All that came out were broken gasps as she scrambled to hold back the deluge intent on spurting out of her eyes.
“What is it? What happened?”
He sounded frantic. As if he actually cared. Why should he? He didn’t know her beyond a night of sex—truly incredible sex—and a note-and-flower flirtation. If she needed help, she had no right to expect it from him, when all she had done was dismiss him in her mind as “just a handyman.”
Which was total crap. He wasn’t just anything. There was nothing wrong with being a handyman. It was an honest profession, and she was too bitter and tied up over her own nonsense to even give people a fair shake anymore.
Kind of like the fair shake you refuse to give yourself?
“It’s just been a shitty day. Nothing unusual there,” she laughed bitterly and pressed her fingers to her closed eyes, “until I got the mail and another overdue rent notice. Nothing new there either.” So why was she on the verge of tears again just from telling him?
“I’m coming over,” he said, his voice harder than she’d expected.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to. I’m all—” She couldn’t even get out the protest. How coul
d she, when all she wanted was to spend more time with him?
For a while, she needed to get away from her own brain. Whatever it took. Still, she wasn’t sure if a guy she barely knew qualified as a good person to let herself go with. Mindless sex was one thing. But what if she couldn’t stop the tears and he saw her in her current state of soggy mess? Did she really want to go there?
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” he said. Then he released a huff of breath. “Have you eaten?”
She glanced at the candy that had served as her dinner. “Not exactly.”
“I’ll get us something. Anything you hate?”
“Sushi,” she replied, feeling steamrolled but in the best way possible.
“No sushi, got it. See you soon.”
Alexa clicked off and forced herself to straighten up. There wasn’t much mess to begin with, but tidying gave her something to do.
At the last minute she remembered Dillon’s flowers. Gotta hide those. No mush allowed. She tucked the jars behind the gauzy white curtains that framed the lone kitchen window. The struggling violet she’d babied all week took the place of honor in the middle.
It took more time to straighten herself up. Her eyes were red and puffy, her cheeks blotchy. Fabulous. He’d be riveted by the sight of her tonight.
She raced through a cool shower and threw on the boy shorts and eyelet-trimmed cami she slept in. Then she eyed herself in the mirror. Hmm, maybe she should go with a strapless bra for a little extra support. While she debated the point, she fiddled with her wet hair, finally tossing it on top of her head in a clip.
The knock on the door answered her bra question succinctly enough, though she was ridiculously conscious of the slight sway of her breasts as she hurried to answer. From the quick glance at her chest Dillon tried to disguise, he’d obviously noticed her lack of mammary support.
