by Finn, Emilia
“But they have their own dude,” I argue. “Jess has everything lined up with the church already.”
He pulls his ballerina girlfriend under his arm and smacks a noisy kiss to the top of her head. “We’ll see. I’m saying those babies are gonna be here before the wedding bells. Then I’m gonna ride in on my Harley and save the day.”
“Your Harley?” Soph shakes her head. “You do not own a motorcycle, and you definitely do not have my blessing to buy one. Your head is already too soft.”
“So you’d rather I buy a horse?” When she shakes her head, he throws his hands up. “How the hell am I gonna ride in if I can’t have horsepower between my legs?”
“You could get a scooter,” she offers with a grin. “Rollerblades? Skateboard? A lick of common sense?”
“You’re always dragging me down, Sugar Plum. You never let me play.”
“Ohhhh…” Jess’ hiss brings every man’s attention up.
We watch her the way I’ve seen men watch an IED in the field. Slow movements, wide eyes, racing hearts, we watch her hold her belly, and her face screw tight. We’re all worried about her stubbornness… except Jay. His brows jump like he’s ready to be called up for the big game.
“Ouch.” She blows out a long breath and massages the side of her stomach. “This shit hurts so much, guys.”
“Time for the hospital.” Kane grabs her shoulders and turns her toward my office, which is also my home, and the main entrance to my shooting range. “Let’s go and get this done.”
“No!” She smacks his hands away. “It’s not time for them to come. They’re just rolling around in there. Sometimes my ribs get in the way.”
“Blondie! You’re full term pregnant with twins. I’m not a fuckin’ Oompa Loompa, which means they aren’t gonna be small. Your buzzer sounded weeks ago. Time to evict those little suckers.”
“Not time.” She walks toward us and waits for our group to part so she can walk between us. “I’m getting married in two weeks. Then there’s this book being released the Friday after. I’ve been waiting ages for that shit. We can have the babies after.”
“I mean, if you wanted to get married sooner…” Jay pulls Soph along at a trot as he follows his brother and soon-to-be sister-in-law. “I could totally do it. I could even do it right now. The spotlights look good, right? The stars are out. Turner is here, he could wash the shit off his face and escort you.”
Jess turns back with surprising speed and snarls, “You are not marrying us, Jay Bishop! I will not spend the rest of my life listening to you tell people you married us.”
“But I did the online test!” He jogs to catch up when she turns away. “Jessica. I did the test! I got an almost perfect score.”
“It’s true.” Soph nods. “And what he didn’t get, I fixed for him. As far as the state is aware, he’s totally qualified.”
“No! Don’t encourage this nonsense, Sophia.”
“Spencer.”
Alex Turner’s gruff voice brings me around until I stop with a smile. The town’s chief of police is shorter than me, but then, most people are. I hit seven feet tall not long after I enrolled in the US Army, back when I was eighteen and fresh out of high school.
I like that every man has to look up to meet my eyes. It shows them who’s in charge, and stops most pissing matches before they start. It’s a rare occasion when a man steps up to me in a bar. It’s not unheard of, of course, proven by the scars I now wear on my face and brow, but most men step down once I stand and dare them to come forward.
Even when I take their women home. Even when I give a man every reason to want to take me out, very few take me up on the offer.
Turner’s chest and face are splattered with red. His dark hair is wild from drying paint, and his goggles are shattered, as though a real bullet passed through. His blue eyes dart between me and his sort-of-sister’s back.
Jess is not actually his sister. She’s his friend’s sister. But their family is as tight as mine, so if I consider little Jessie my responsibility after only knowing her a year, then it ain’t hard to figure the cop feels the same way after knowing her since birth.
“How’s it feel, knowing you lost to a girl, Chief?”
He sniffs, smudging paint when he runs a hand over his broad jaw. “She cheated. She wasn’t supposed to be part of this.”
I chuckle and turn to follow the rest of the crowd from the yard. Alex steps up beside me, while his best friend and deputy hurries ahead to keep up with Jess.
“War is all about cheating though, no? You put me in the field, I’m gonna do whatever I have to do to be the last man standing. Fuck your morals and shit. Those manners my momma taught me don’t much count when someone wants to take me out.”
“But we’re not at war, Spence, we’re playing a game. And Jessie should have her feet up somewhere safe, not be skulking around a munitions range with a weapon in her hands.”
I laugh. “You’re totally pissed she tagged you. You can admit it.”
“I hate that she got me. She cheated!” He points to the crowd as they step through the back door of my building. “She’s supposed to be safe and happy, or in a damn hospital having a couple babies, but nooo. Now my wife is gonna smack me down for getting paint in my hair. Then she’ll laugh because I was tagged by a girl.”
“Bitches be crazy, Chief.” I clap his shoulder and catch the door before it swings shut. “Getting married is a rookie mistake. Live my life, and no one will ever bitch at you about shit again.”
“Spencer!” Jess’ twin sister, Laine, charges across the room with a sheet of paper half scrunched in her hand. Laine wears Daisy Dukes sometimes, too. And when it’s too cold for that, like tonight, she wears skintight jeans that frame her shape and almost always result in me getting caught looking. “You didn’t order that security system for the new client? What the hell? I gave you the damn order.”
“Nobody ever nags you?” Alex shoulder-shoves me as he walks away and snickers.
I turn back to the blonde and wait for her to stop in front of me. “You gave me an order?” I lift a dangerous brow and stare her down. “You think I take orders from scrawny little scrappers like you? You’re not my girl. And your man doesn’t scare me, so…”
“No! I don’t mean I gave you an order. I meant I ordered a damn security system. I put the slip on your desk, followed by a bright yellow Post-it to remind you. Why didn’t you buy the stupid thing? Nadia’s expecting installation by the end of next week.”
I pluck the sheet of paper from her delicate hands, and though I act like her bossiness is annoying, inside, it makes my heart sing. Laine used to be quiet as a mouse and scared of her damn shadow. Now she orders me around and gives no shits when I show her my gun.
It’s a damn shame she’s already in love with her band-geek boyfriend, because she and Jessie are identical twins, and I can’t say that doesn’t intrigue me.
“So…” I meet her blazing eyes. “I’ll order the system tomorrow, get express shipping, and then everyone is happy.”
“But express shipping costs more,” she shoots back. “You waste our money. Are you trying to be annoying?”
“Are you trying to piss me off?” I take another step forward so we stand toe to toe.
Her fire dims instantly, and she swallows what I assume is nervousness from her throat. Men don’t get this close to her these days. Not any man that isn’t inside this room right now, and her man isn’t here, which adds another layer of doubt for her. With Angelo at her back, she can do anything, but his absence makes her doubt herself. She’s tempted to pack up and run.
Her sister watches our exchange. So does Turner. Kane and Jay and Eric also watch, and prepare to jump in if she needs it, but she doesn’t know all of these eyes watch her back in Ang’s absence.
“Do you think you get to order me around, little girl? Your britches a little big today, or do you think it’s time for you to sit down before you embarrass yourself?”
Her
eyes dim. They even turn a little glassy, as though she might want to cry. She licks her lips, and shakily tucks her long hair behind her ear.
I worry she’s going to lose it, but then she slams her fist against my chest and pushes me back a step.
“Order the damn system, Spencer!”
She turns on her heels and rushes away, but she does it with her head held high and her shoulders broad. She takes the phone from her back pocket, and when she turns into my office, her eyes meet mine. She ain’t crying. If anything, she might be smiling.
“Jesus.” Kane rubs a hand over his face as soon as the door closes. He steps toward me with a shake of his head. “You push, push, push her, Spence. You’re always pushing her. I thought you went too far.” He extends a hand, and swipes it over mine for a low-five when I oblige. “I thought you fucked it up this time.”
“Nah. She’s tougher than we give her credit for.” I walk to a steel table to the side of the room and unclip my thigh holster. I take my 9mm CZ in hand and drop the holster to the table. “She’s not hiding away to cry, Bish. She’s going to call Ang, she’ll tell him she stepped up to me, then she’ll do the girly squeal and dancing on her tippy toes thing, because she’s riding her adrenaline. Our precious blonde isn’t so precious anymore.”
“You better order that shit tonight,” Jess says. Her voice is tight and verges on a grunt, but when Kane comes back to fuss, she smacks him away. “Don’t make her yell at you again tomorrow. You probably won’t live.”
“Where’s her man, anyway?” Jay sneers. “He’d better not be taking any online tests right now.”
“You’re not marrying us!”
2
Abigail
The bell over my shop’s front door jingles one second before a handsome man in a well-cut suit steps through. He’s very GQ cover model-ish and makes me stand taller simply with his presence. It’s funny how a stranger can walk into your life and make you do things just a little differently; things as simple as standing, or breathing. GQ looks about thirty years old, his suit is a dark navy blue, and his shoes poo brown. His hair is slicked back and tempts me to tap it with my fingernails to see how stiff it is.
“Hello.” I paste on my customer service smile and play with a lily arrangement at my front counter. “Can I help you with something?”
GQ stops halfway across my store and looks up. He has nice teeth. For some strange reason, my brain focuses on his nice smile.
“Hey. I’m looking for something for my wife. Something that says…” He pauses to think, giving my romantic heart time to topple into a silly swoon. Any man buying flowers for his wife earns a soft spot from me. “I dunno… how do you say ‘sorry for spending too much time with my secretary after work hours’?”
“Oh.” And my swoon blows up in smoke. “You… uh… okay.” I wipe my hands on my apron and think. “I guess it depends. Were you legitimately working those hours, or do you have something genuine to apologize for?”
He stops for a long moment and has the common decency to appear at least a little sheepish. “I’m gonna need a good arrangement. Or a good lawyer. Can you recommend either?”
I hate his stupid, horrible, cheating guts.
“So you want apology flowers. Okay, we can work with this.” I step around my counter and pick up the most dazzling bouquet of red roses I have. Palming the price tag before he sees it, I stop in front of him and fake a smile. “Roses. Definitely. If you have a lot of groveling to do, these will be a good start.” You cheating sack of cow poo. “They’re my last arrangement until I get more stock in next Thursday. Your wife will love them.”
“Okay, that’ll do.” He follows me to the register and pulls a fifty from his wallet.
“Actually, sorry.” I pull the vase closer before he swipes them and runs. “These are a hundred-ninety-nine dollars. Like I said, they’re the last I have until next week.”
“Two hundred dollars?” he balks. “Are you insane?”
“For an additional three dollars and ninety-nine cents, I can include a packet of flower food.” Smile, smile, smile. “Sprinkle it into the vase, and they’ll last a few extra days.”
“Two. Hundred. Dollars. For something that’ll die in a week?” It’s funny how he was handsome a moment ago, but is now uglier than my late grandmother’s flat-faced pug. “Most expensive sex I ever had.”
I recoil and scrunch my nose. “Ew.”
Five minutes after walking into my florist shop and snarling about wasted money, jerkface Mr. Smythe – according to his credit card – walks away minus three-hundred dollars, since I up-sold him to getting a nice vase, and the “Illuminate” spray for “prosperity and sheen”.
It’s packaged to make him think it’s something special, when really, it’s just tap water in a cute little spray bottle that I picked up from the dollar store for visitors like him.
I like to live a positive life, which means I hate to say the word “hate,” but I hate, hate, hate men like him. There’s no need for him to cheat. He doesn’t have to lie!
How is it that she’s important enough to grovel to, but not enough to stay faithful to?
How is she important enough to marry, but not enough to respect?
Jerkface.
Mr. Smythe makes me want to growl, so when I swipe two hundred and fifty dollars from my register, leaving the original ticket price of fifty, and slam the drawer shut, I revel in the sound as it echoes over the music playing through the speakers that reach from the front door to the cool room right out back. I smack the extra cash into a jar beneath the desk and take a little satisfaction; that’s my good deeds jar, and it’s for women like Mrs. Smythe.
If I see a single woman having a crappy day, I’ll buy her a cup of coffee. If I see someone wander past my shop and sniff the flowers on display, only to walk away with a forlorn look, I’ll treat her to a free bunch, and accept her smile as payment. Men like the one that just came through here fund that jar, which provides double the satisfaction when I can make a woman’s day just a little brighter.
I hope Mrs. Smythe’s new flowers make her smile, and then I kind of hope she whacks him in the head with her new vase on her way out to find a lawyer.
The soft strains coming from my speakers help me focus on something nice, to pull in a deep breath, to replace my scowl with a smile, and then to open my eyes and continue working on the lilies that a local martial arts trainer ordered for his wife.
Not because he’s a cheat, but because he likes to make her smile.
My afternoon passes with hardly any interruptions. My main income doesn’t come from foot traffic and impulse purchases, but from functions; weddings, anniversaries, proms, and graduations. The beauty of buying a flower shop in a small town is that most events are given to me by default. It’s handy that I work hard and consider myself reasonably talented, but even if all I did was whack a bunch of weeds together and wrap them with a pretty bow, I’d still get enough work to keep the shop open and a salary flowing into my pocket.
“Abigail?” The front door opens again around three in the afternoon, but instead of scowling, a long grin spreads across my face. I know that voice. I even know the sound his size eleven boots make on my concrete floor. I know the smell of aftershave he brings as he comes closer, and when he pushes my flowers aside and pulls me into a tight hug, I go, because I know that hug too. “How are you doing, kiddo? You made me drag my ass all the way down here when you didn’t answer my texts.”
“Don’t say that word. And I’m sorry.” I drop down from my tiptoes when Nixon steps back and looks me up and down.
He’s a worrier, and a smidge overprotective. He also cusses when it’s absolutely not necessary. But thankfully, he’s a thousand times more handsome than my pug-faced cheater customer, way more respectful of women, and the furthest thing from a cheater you could find. Nix just doesn’t have it in him to hurt those he loves. It wouldn’t even register in his mind to be sneaky in that regard.
“My phone
has been in my drawer.” I gesture toward it with a sigh. “It’s on silent. I had no appointments scheduled until this afternoon, and no reason to have it out, so I tucked it away with a good riddance. Watching it light up all day gives me a headache.” I press my fingers to my temple. “Seriously, Nix. If I could run a business without technology, I would. I’d toss that thing in the garbage and never look back.”
He ducks his head lower so our eyes meet. “You have a bad day, kid? You sound like you’re about to rip my face off.”
“I am not!” I turn away and draw my work closer. “I’m not in a bad mood or anything. But I do strongly dislike my phone. And cheaters.”
He flashes a grin as he folds his arms and leans against my workspace. “Cheaters? You got something you want to talk about?”
“No. Just bad people who come in here buying flowers to say sorry for cheating.” I snip a length of ribbon from the roll on the desk and begin twining it around the bunch I’m working on. “Like a fifty-dollar flower arrangement is good enough payment for being a slimebag.”
“Slimebag? Heavens to Betsy, I’m clutching my pearls, Abigail! Don’t use such filth in front of me.”
“Zip it.” I kick out and smack his shin, but my smile remains. “I just don’t like men like that. This guy comes in looking like a magazine model, he has a nice smile, a wedding ring, and I start thinking true love might exist outside of Momma and Daddy’s marriage. I’ve spent my whole life wondering if Mom and Daddy took all of the love and left none for anybody else. I mean, come on! They had six children, and not one of them have found love. They kept it all for themselves, Nix!”
I’m tempted to kick him again when he only watches me with adoring eyes.
I sigh. “But then this guy comes in and says he’s buying for his wife, so I figure maybe there’s more to spread around. Maybe there’s an untapped well somewhere and there’s still hope for the rest of us…”
“Did he break your heart?” Nix reaches out and rests a hand on my shoulder.
