Rae, on the other hand, had spent the wide swathes of time when she was ignoring the state of her marriage digging deep into becoming a real florist so she could take the Flower Pot to the next level. Not just being the Trujillo family member of her generation who spent the most time in the retail shop but an actual florist. She’d considered a degree in horticulture, but had decided she had all the information she could possibly need at home.
And yes, it was possible that when her grandmother condescended to speak to her again because she’d done some centerpieces that the ladies Inez lunched with had praised, Rae had decided to lean into the part of the family business she’d always liked best.
Over the years, she’d branched out from the prearranged compositions that her family had been using for the Flower Pot’s traditional arrangements since the dawn of time. She could do those in her sleep, and did. They went hand in hand with the required uniform.
But what she loved was making her own.
She’d started doing flowers for local events after those first centerpieces, and the more she did, the more she was asked to do. Unique, onetime flower arrangements, not the identical large-scale installations to make a chain of hotel lobbies look the same that were her family’s bread, butter, and chief calling card.
Art that was all the more beautiful, to her mind, because it wasn’t meant to last. Because flowers were happiness when happiness itself was thin on the ground, and Rae found she spent more and more time looking for ways to spread that kind of happiness around.
No matter how many spreadsheets her mother and grandmother brandished at her or how many times Matias muttered about having to take over her shifts when she had events.
Rae took a big, deep breath once she was inside the shop. All those different blossoms mingling together to make something better, deeper. Potting soil, humid air, and all that glorious green no matter how cold and dark it was outside. Then she busied herself with her usual shop-opening tasks. She carried in the flowers she’d gotten from the greenhouses. She fired up the computer and the register, checked the list of the day’s flower deliveries, and made sure the preordered arrangements were ready to go.
Only when those were done did she put on some music and busy herself with her own ideas. She put together a few bouquets and bigger arrangements of the newest, freshest flowers from the greenhouses, some for clients and some to beguile any walk-ins. Then she started playing around with her Harvest Gala concepts, making a mental note to remember to call and confirm the centerpieces and the raffle. A formality at best.
Some hours later, the cold sun was up outside, and she straightened from her work table, feeling pretty close to marvelous. Her music was pumping, and if she said so herself, she not only had a pretty fantastic selection of flower arrangements prepared and pretty, she’d made some fun decisions about her gala compositions too. A little bit of whimsy and a whole lot of heart, if she got it right.
Maybe, just maybe, there was one thing that fourteen-year-old Rae had gotten right.
Because there was nothing better than watching people come in and pick up something that made them smile. Or gaze happily at the flowers she made into centerpieces and wedding bouquets. She took great pleasure in her window displays and in the warmer weather, letting those displays spill out onto the sidewalk so that her storefront was always bursting with all the bright and cheerful flowers she could find.
At the moment, she was rocking a harvest theme. Pumpkin spice bouquets, orange and yellow and black for Halloween this weekend, and the more broadly based seasonal bouquets without her jack-o’-lantern and black cat motifs. She would shift all of that over to Thanksgiving soon and start laying in the poinsettias and the tiny pines she could use as her own little Christmas trees.
The rest of her family like to sit around and talk drearily about corporate this and chain contracts that. But Rae was never happier than when she was making things with her hands. The brighter and more cheerful, the better.
She was so entertained with her own creations today that she took an extra moment or two to look up when she heard the bell ring to announce a new customer. She kept her smile on her face as she lifted her head … then froze.
Because it was Riley.
Darkening the door of the flower shop that he had basically pretended had been wiped off the face of the planet years back.
He was dressed in his typical workday uniform. Jeans and boots with a Henley beneath his heavier barn jacket to keep the cold away. His cowboy hat left his face in shadow, but she didn’t need a bright light to see that dark, considering gaze she knew so well. She felt it deep in her bones.
She always did.
And Rae could tell herself that she was turning over a new leaf. Starting a new life, making changes that were long overdue. She could believe that with every particle of her being. But her heart still spun around at the sight of him. She still felt that bubbly, giddy thing that had doomed her from the start. From way back before she’d understood what that feeling even meant.
As ever, she found herself forced to consider, at length, the mesmerizing line of his jaw.
Move on, she ordered herself. Let go.
She forced herself to keep that smile on her face, because there was a point when people were holding on for no other reason than the fact they’d been holding on. When the hope they could make sense of all the years they’d invested far outweighed any hope that they could work it out between them. She and Riley had passed that point a long time ago.
You’re doing the right thing, she told herself. No one ever said it would feel good.
“Looking for a pretty bouquet?” she asked the way she would ask anyone. Even though she tended to know the people who came into the shop and, better still, usually knew who they were buying flowers for.
Of course, thinking about Riley buying flowers for someone made her stomach feel trembly and sour.
But by God, she would keep that smile on her face if it killed her.
“I hear you’re moving out,” he said, his voice raspy, a dangerous thing.
Not because he sounded threatening in any way. But because she was a danger to herself. Even now, hearing his voice made her … foolish.
The smile ached a little. “How could you possibly have heard that?”
“How do you think? Faith Mortimer told Jensen last night in the Broken Wheel. He couldn’t wait to tell me over coffee.” But instead of humming with fury and intensity, Riley sounded almost … friendly? That couldn’t be right. “I guess congratulations are in order.”
“I don’t know how to respond to that.” Mostly because she was looking straight at him and he looked like Riley, but nothing he was saying was something he would say. Ever. “You know I can’t stand all these Cold River games of telephone.”
Most of the games of telephone she’d ever heard about herself cast her in the role of villain. And she took a certain pride in refusing to wilt off in shame because of them, sure. Her grandmother’s silent treatment had taught her a lot of things, but one important one was to always sail around, head up high, and smile brightly in the face of judgment.
Happily, that also helped her out in retail.
“Seems simple enough,” Riley drawled. And she thought there was a more recognizable flame flickering beneath the words he chose, but in the next moment, it was gone. Leaving only that friendliness she didn’t trust at all. “You’re either moving into her house or not.”
Rae found herself clearing her throat and crossing her arms, a lot like someone who was uncomfortable. She decided that she was most certainly not uncomfortable. Because she had no reason to be uncomfortable.
Maybe you’re disappointed? But she ignored that voice.
“What makes you think where I live is any of your business?”
Riley’s mouth crooked. “Try again.”
She didn’t know why that made her flush. Or she didn’t choose to investigate it too deeply, because there was no point. “As a matter of fact, th
ey have a spare room, and I’m planning to make use of it.”
Rae braced herself for the inevitable explosion. Because if history had taught her anything, it was that Riley had definitely not turned up in the flower shop because he was interested in maintaining any kind of peace. She prepared herself, keeping her smile in place and reminding herself that this—right here—was why. This scene that was about to blow up the way scenes between them always did was exactly why she was divorcing him all these years after leaving him but not really leaving him. She should have done it long ago.
Because fighting and making up was … fighting and making up. It wasn’t a relationship. War and sex wasn’t putting down roots, it was tearing them up. It wasn’t Corinthians. It was a long, extended game of pretend.
She should have been smart enough to see that long ago. But now she would—
“I think that’s great,” Riley said.
And then, impossibly, grinned.
Rae didn’t even try to keep her smile on her face then. “… what?”
Riley didn’t cross his arms over his chest. His hands were not in fists, his mouth was not in that stern, unforgiving slash. And it was entirely possible that under the brim of his hat, he … wasn’t actually glaring at her.
She felt winded.
She didn’t know what was happening.
“It’s great,” Riley said again when she’d started to tell herself that she’d imagined it. Because she must have imagined it. “You always wanted to live in town. Without the commute, maybe you can spend even more time doing what you love.” He jerked his chin at the arrangements she’d spent her morning on. “You have a gift.”
“Who are you, and what have you done with Riley Kittredge?”
That grin widened. “You and Hope under one roof, though. How’s that going to work? Are Hope’s sisters ready?”
Rae couldn’t control her face. She could feel the shapes it was making, but she couldn’t seem to do anything about it. “Did one of your brothers hit you over the head this morning? Do I need to take you to the hospital?”
“Nothing’s wrong with my head. I can be happy for you, you know. I’ve known you my whole life. Is it really a stretch?”
Rae blinked at him. Maybe she was also making a face. “Yes.”
Riley pushed his hat back on his head, giving her an unreadable sort of look. And not the kind of unreadable she was used to from him. Instead of a storm, this seemed to be something far more … considering.
It reminded her, vaguely, of how he looked at the horses that people brought him to fix. Or teach, to use the word he preferred. He spent a long time watching them move before he did a single thing that could be construed as training, and there was absolutely no reason that notion should send heat spiraling through her. When she should have been offended.
It felt new. That was the most disconcerting part of all.
“You said you were tired of fighting.” He was still studying her. “You want to move on, and I get it.”
If he had announced that he was picking up and moving to the center of New York City, something that was as likely to happen as him growing six new heads, she could not have been more surprised. “You do?”
“I should have put a stop to this a long time ago. I blame myself for letting it drag on like this.”
“You blame yourself,” Rae said, stunned. “You blame yourself.”
Only when she said it did she realize she was echoing him. She snapped her mouth shut.
“We’ve always had a hard time letting go,” Riley said. Conversationally. As if it were perfectly normal for him to be lounging about in the Flower Pot, talking about his feelings. Or their relationship. Or any combination of the two. “I want to deny that, but I can’t.”
“I’m obviously having an out-of-body experience.” Or a stroke. Or maybe she was actually already dead. That made more sense than this. “I thought that was just, you know, something people say. But no. There’s the me who knows you, who knows nothing that you’re saying makes any sense. Then there’s the me who’s hearing you say it. And they don’t go together.”
“That sounds medical, baby,” he observed, still grinning, and Rae couldn’t be expected to handle that kind of provocation, could she?
She was used to surly Riley. Grumpy, brooding, storming around with a thousand chips on each of his shoulders. He’d always been an intense guy, but the breakdown of their marriage had cranked that up to high. And it was easy to beat herself up over that Riley. To make pronouncements to herself about how she needed to walk away from him. Because nobody needed that much angst in their life.
It was easy to convince herself of her own commitment to stepping away from the tragedy. To embrace light. Happiness and joy and all kinds of good things that didn’t involve a brooding cowboy who never smiled.
So of course here was Riley, grinning ear to ear.
It felt a lot as if she’d been dropped headfirst into a vat of boiling water and everything in her was bubbling along, hot and red and out of her control.
“Why are you smiling at me?” she demanded. “Why are you smiling at all? I forgot you even had teeth.”
His grin changed then. “No, you didn’t.”
Her entire body flashed about fifteen degrees hotter, just like that.
Rae surged forward, not caring that she was still wearing her gardening gloves, that her apron and likely her face were smudged with dirt, and that there had been a time in her life when she would have died of embarrassment if Riley Kittredge had seen her like that.
But today, all she did was point her finger at him from about a foot away. It was the next best thing to hauling off and hitting him, which she knew better than to do. Because putting her hands on him, in any fashion, usually made him laugh. And then led to other things, all of which were over now. Because they had to be over.
“Don’t you dare come in here telling me you want me to be happy, or offering me congratulations, or whatever psychotic thing you’re doing.”
“That hurts my feelings, Rae.”
“It does not.”
It didn’t. She was closer now—a tactical mistake she couldn’t remedy without making it worse—but she could see that gaze of his much better. His dark eyes were alight with amusement, and that same rush of giddiness threatened to undo her.
“I don’t know what game this is, but I want no part of it,” she told him. She didn’t thump him in the chest, but she sure thought about it. And she could see that he wanted her to do it—which was why she didn’t. “I don’t know what Faith told Jensen. Or if that bears any resemblance to what Jensen told you. But I have no intention of backsliding, Riley.”
He looked no less amused. “Fair enough. Nobody likes a backslider.”
“You’ve been an addiction since I was practically a kid.”
“Since we were both practically kids,” he corrected her, the way he always did. “Let’s not make it creepy just because you want to move on and pretend this never happened.”
She felt her fury ebb away at that. Or maybe she only wished it were fury, because fury was a rush. That flash of certainty and passion that wiped away everything else, and it was a lot preferable to the sensation that took over her body when it was gone.
“There’s no pretending it never happened. But this is a detox program. I’m going clean and sober where you’re concerned, and I have no intention of falling off the wagon.”
His mouth crooked again. “The more you say things like that, the more convincing it is.”
“I’m not the one who turned up at your place of business, offering Trojan horse congratulations. You’re the one who isn’t convinced, Riley. Not me.”
Riley laughed, which was as shocking as anything else that had happened today. So deeply shocking Rae couldn’t really process it even as it was happening. And especially not when he looked at her with all that laughter still in his eyes and across his face, like memories she refused to let herself fall into. She refused.
/> “You’re reading me all wrong. I genuinely want you to be happy.”
“If you want me to be happy, you would respect that I’m going cold turkey and not show up here all … smiley.”
“I understand the urge to cut off all contact.” And again, her stomach flipped around at the sight of that considering expression he aimed her way, shot through with entirely too much laughter. What was that? “But I don’t think that’s the right move.”
“You don’t. Let me guess. You think the right move is if I come over—”
“Oh no,” he said, and suddenly that dark gaze was a little too intense. “That’s done. I think you’re right, Rae. It’s time we move on.”
“I am … really glad you see my point of view on this.”
She decided she didn’t sound desperate. Or wounded. Just rightly, understandably baffled.
“Here’s the thing.” Riley leaned a little closer as if he were confiding in her. As if he weren’t a big, edgy, dangerous cowboy, but someone far more innocuous. When every alarm inside of her was ringing wildly and she was as incapable of cutting off this bizarre conversation as she’d ever been when it came to ending anything with him. “What do you know about moving on?”
That surprised her. Or it surprised her more. “Nothing. Obviously.”
Again, that disconcerting grin. “Neither do I. I figure we should help each other out.”
“You think you and I should … help each other move on? From each other?”
Her voice went up way too high, but she couldn’t care about that because he was grinning again, and that … did her absolutely no good.
Secret Nights with a Cowboy Page 8
