by Holly Kerr
“It’s been a while since a guy’s been interested in me.”
Flora’s throwaway comment after we hugged Sunday night. It’s bothered me since then. Can’t she tell I’m interested, that I’ve been interested this whole time?
Definitely not, if she thinks I’ve gone out with someone else.
It would be easy to fix. All I have to do is tell her I want more than friendship. But is that what she wants?
That’s the big question. And that’s why instead of driving over to Fleur, I settle in on Clay’s couch like a lazy ass and switch on his PS4.
I miss her.
~
I stay on the couch for the next few days, leaving to take two shifts and for basic necessities like food and sleep and to get out of the way when M.K. comes over.
I really need to find my own place.
Because I know I’ve been underfoot and that both Clay and M.K. have been really tolerant about it, I agree to M.K.’s request to join them for a night of karaoke on Friday night.
“Can you sing?” M.K. demands on the way to the bar.
“I can hold a tune,” I say noncommittally.
She claps her hands with excitement. “Flora is coming but she never wants to sing. And Patrick and Adam will be there. I’m not sure if it’s a date but—”
I tune her out as soon as she mentions Flora. With each day that goes by without talking to her, it’s like a gulf is opening between us. Two weeks ago I could tell her anything, except how I really felt about her. Now, it feels like that’s the only thing I should say.
I like you more than a friend.
I really care about you.
Are you over Thomas?
The L-word hovers above my internal monologue daring me to say it, but I can’t. I’ve only ever told two women that I love them, and one of them was my mother. Taking that step is a big one for me.
I notice Flora’s blonde head disappearing into the bar as the Uber drops us off in front and I can’t help the surge of excitement at that brief glimpse.
“This is a good idea,” I tell M.K. as I help her out of the car.
We find Flora at a table flanked by Adam, who works with M.K., and Patrick, Flora’s nephew. I’ve met both of them a few times, but it doesn’t justify the warm welcome both of them give me. Desperate to talk to Flora, I try not to brush them off.
Finally we sit and I’m not even across the table from her.
“Hi,” I say, leaning my arms on the table to get closer to her. “How are you?”
Flora’s gaze flicks away from mine so I know something is not right. “Good.”
“You went on a date with someone other than Flora. Or me,” Patrick accuses in a loud voice. “What’s that all about?”
“Patrick!” Flora chides.
“What? You shouldn’t tell Adam anything if you want to keep it a secret.”
“Why are you throwing me under the bus?” Adam demands. “You said Ruthie told you.”
Flora raises her hands as a wall to separate them. “Did you have fun on your date?” Her voice is calm and cool and very un-Flora-like.
“It wasn’t a date,” I say. “It was the farthest thing from a date. It was a favour for Trev. He likes this girl who wouldn’t go out with him unless he found someone for her friend. Imad is married, Clay is busy, so I was his last resort.”
“Not a date?” Flora asks, fighting to sound calm and cool, but I see the flicker in her eyes.
Patrick leans across Flora and gently slaps Adam on the shoulder. “Not a date,” he parrots. “Did you hear him?”
“Everyone heard you,” Adam throws back.
“I ended up walking out,” I continue, wanting to reach out to take Flora’s hands, but she has them folded in her lap. “She wasn’t nice. She was horrible, actually. Trev’s pissed at me because his girl left with her.”
“That’s too bad,” Flora said with a hint of a smile.
“What, that Trev’s mad or because he was out with another woman?” Flora’s surprised blink should have warned me to stop, but I can’t help myself. “You seemed excited when he was coming on to you the other night.”
Flora’s lips press tightly together like she’s forcing herself to keep quiet. “I’m going to find a waitress to get some drinks.” The legs of her chair scrape against the floor as she pushes it back.
“What are you doing?” Patrick cries as I stare after Flora walking away. “She’s only here because of you. It’s been driving her crazy this week, thinking you’re ready to move on without her.”
“I’m not. Not without her.” I shake my head. “I’m confused.”
Patrick shakes his head. “For a cute guy, you’re very stupid. C’mon, Adam, let’s go sing.”
For the next hour I try and fail to talk to Flora. Every time I turn towards her, she says something to Patrick, or jumps up to line up to sing, or laughs at something M.K. says. I’m not exactly sure what I’ve done wrong, and no one is telling me anything, but whatever it is, needs to be fixed.
Finally, after my second beer, I make my move. Settling behind the mike on the tiny stage, I smile across the floor towards Flora who is talking to Patrick again. Taking a deep breath, I wait for the recognizable guitar cords to begin and launch into singing Ed Sheeran’s “Perfect.”
My voice is a little too deep, and starts off rusty, but I smooth it out. The room quiets as I sing, but my best reward is the expression on Flora’s face.
The bar goes wild with cheers and clapping as I finish. It takes me a few songs to make it back to the table as a group of women waiting their turn corrals me into singing with them.
It’s been a long time since I sang the Backstreet Boys. I keep my eyes on Flora, who doesn’t lose that expression—excitement, awe, and something else—something special that warms my heart.
“That was amazing,” Flora gushes when I finally make it back to the table and drop into the now-empty seat beside her. “I had no idea you could sing, let alone sing like that.”
“Still got it, man,” Clay says from across the table.
“You’re coming to karaoke with me all the time,” M.K. cries, clapping her hands with glee.
“Why didn’t you tell me you could sing?” Flora demands.
“It never really came up. It’s been years since I’ve sung in public.”
“You should sing, like, professionally.”
“I used to be in a band,” I admit. “It was big in Edmonton, but I don’t know about professional. It was fun but it took up baseball time, so something had to go.”
“It shouldn’t have been that,” M.K. chides. “You’re a good baseball player, but you’re an amazing singer. Let’s go.” She tugs on Clay’s sleeve.
“Not without my boy.” Clay looks beseechingly at me but my attention is caught by Flora.
“I love that song,” she murmurs.
“I know,” I say, holding her gaze.
“Did you sing it for me?”
I only have time to smile at her before Clay and M.K. drag me to the stage. After that, Patrick and Adam want their turn, and strangers ask me to sing with them. But finally I come back to where Flora waits with a soft expression on her face.
“It wasn’t a date?” she demands as soon as I sit down.
“Not a date. If I’m going to go out with anyone, it’s going to be you.” I hold my breath. It’s not what I hoped to say, or even planned in my head, but it’s a start.
It’s a start.
Chapter Twenty
Flora
I don’t talk much to Dean that night, but I sit beside him, feeling the warmth of his leg almost touching mine. He drapes his arm across the back of my chair when he’s talking to Patrick on my other side and his arm brushes against my shoulders.
I want to curl into him, like a cat finding a spot of sunshine.
He sang to me and it was amazing.
There was no date.
The knowledge changes things; frees the painful flutter than I’ve had
in my chest for the last few days. It makes me happy. It makes me sad that I wasted time when I should have trusted him.
It makes me nervous because there’s nothing holding me back.
At the end of the evening, Patrick sways towards me. “What time do you want me tomorrow?” I cringe at the slurring of his voice.
“First thing. I’ll pick you up at seven.” I narrow my eyes at him. “You going to feel up to it? I really need to finish.”
“No problemo.” But as he waves, he loses his balance and topples into Adam.
“Seems like there’s a big problemo,” Dean says, holding Patrick’s shoulders so he doesn’t crush the smaller Adam. “Is he supposed to be working with you tomorrow?”
“I need to finish that garden,” I fret. “Tomorrow is the last day I have. It has to be perfect to be good enough for the Canada Blooms small garden category. Maybe he’ll be—”
“I’ll help you.”
“It’s early and you’ll get dirty,” I warn him.
“Do I look like the type that gets bothered by a little dirt?”
~
The next day I pick him up at Clay’s at seven in the morning.
As much as I’ve missed Dean, I’m a woman on a mission today. I don’t allow anything more than simple small talk as I bark instructions, give orders and take full advantage of Dean’s strength.
By the middle of the afternoon, both of us are filthy, covered in sweat and dirt, and exhausted. But it’s finished.
And I have to say it looks perfect.
The line of green-yellow hostas border the west side of the garden, tucked up in the shade of the fence that still has the smell of freshly cut cedar. On the east side, Dean helped me lay a path of fieldstone pavers with delicate sprigs of purple heather filling the gaps leading to the garden. The lawn is fresh turf and Erin and Dale have done as I asked, watering it twice daily so that it’s lush and green.
The garden is beautiful.
“I don’t know what half those flowers are, but it looks amazing,” Dean says. His expression has the same awe that I had last night when I heard him sing.
Sing to me. I still get tingles when I think of it.
“You did a great job, Flora,” he adds, throwing his arm around my shoulders. The afternoon sun has baked the sweat on my skin so I don’t shrug off his arm.
It’s heavy and warm and nice.
“Thanks for your help,” I tell him gratefully. “I don’t think I would have gotten it finished without you.”
“I don’t know how much I helped, but I think it was better than a hungover Patrick.”
“Poor Patrick. He sent me a text and he’s really feeling it. I think working in the sun would have done him in.”
“I’m happy to be able to fill in for him.”
Dean’s arm is still around my shoulders and I hold my breath, wondering how long he’ll leave it there. I could stand here all day.
Except that it’s hot and sunny and I have a feeling that I smell of outdoors, which can’t be pleasant.
Dean finally slides his arm off my shoulder when Erin and Dale burst from the house, full of excited awe about their new backyard. I take a few pictures, say goodbye to Erin and Dale, and pack up Cappie and the car.
It’s a slow drive home. Exhaustion settles in, like an alien taking over my body. I’m too tired to talk, and too tired to remember to drop Dean off at Clay’s until I find a parking spot right across from my house.
“Did you want to hang out here?” Dean asks.
I hiss with frustration. “You want to go to Clay’s.” I put on my signal and wait for the line of traffic flowing by to stop so I can pull out.
“I don’t have to go to Clay’s,” Dean says, sounding overly casual. “Are you busy tonight? Do you have plans?”
“Other than going to bed, I have nothing in my schedule.” I rest my tired arms on the steering wheel as I glance over at him. Things have been different between us. We need to talk. We haven’t talked in days.
Something has shifted and I haven’t found my footing yet.
All day long, I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask him about it. While working in the garden with him has its own rewards, in-depth conversation isn’t one of them.
Instead of talking though, I got to stare at his long legs, watching them turn golden brown in the sun. And once, when Dean dumped a bottle of water over his head, I had my fill of thin cotton sticking to his muscular torso.
Dean sang to me last night; sang my favourite song.
But he went out with another woman. Granted, it didn’t sound like much of a date, more of a favour to Trev, but still—a date. To say I’m confused is an understatement.
Something has changed, and I’m almost afraid to hope that it might be for the better.
“We could hang out, maybe watch a movie.” Dean’s suggestion isn’t the most original, but makes it the thought of an early bedtime as dull as a rock. “If you’re not too tired.”
“I could handle a movie,” I muse. “Star Wars?”
Dean’s smile is one of relief, almost like he’s afraid I’m going to tell him to go home. “Maybe more than one if you’re up for it.”
“Sounds good.” Dean’s smile makes me forget about how tired I am.
“I have to shower,” I warn as he helps me unpack the car, keeping Cappie’s leash looped around his wrist. “That might take a while.”
“So do I. Do you have a towel I could use?”
Tiredness is completely forgotten as all I can think of is Dean being naked in my house. “I could find one.” I smile hesitantly, hoping he can’t read my thoughts.
Once inside, the air conditioning makes me sigh with relief as I head for the kitchen to scrub the dirt off my hands. The room feels small. Dean takes up so much space with his height and his shoulders. Cappie slurps at his water bowl, a fat bumblebee buzzes outside the window, while the setting sun turns the sky a dark orange. I look anywhere but Dean. His presence is so there; he’s everywhere. I’ll bump into him if I move.
“Why don’t you have a bath?” Dean suggests. “You’re exhausted. Or I could go if you’d rather just—”
“No.” I may be tired but my night looms empty and alone if he leaves. “I don’t want you to go. But I should get cleaned up.” I hold out my hands to show him the dirt embedded under my nails. Manicures have never been my thing. “If you don’t mind waiting for a second shower.”
He takes a step towards me in the tiny kitchen. For a heady moment, I think he’s going to kiss me. Instead, he cups my cheek with a warm hand, stroking his thumb along my jaw. I fight the urge to rub my cheek against his palm.
“I’ll wait for you as long as you need.” With a rueful grin, he tucks a stray hair behind my ear. “I’ll even cook for you.”
Food is the last thing on my mind as my stomach does some Olympic-worthy tumbles. “I think I have carrots in a bag in the fridge,” I say with a nervous laugh. Why am I nervous? This is Dean and we’re friends.
I think the friendship has flown out the window.
“I think I need something more substantial. I’m a big boy, you know.”
My breath catches in my throat. “I think you have some dirt in your beard,” I whisper, combing my fingers through the ends. He trimmed it recently, the colour more of a reddish-blond from being in the sun today.
“I’m very dirty,” Dean says in a low voice. His gaze locks into mine and I sway towards him, drawn by his lips curving up into a devilish smile.
Then he backs away. “I’m sorry,” he says with a gasp of laughter. “I can smell myself and it smells bad. You need to go have a bath so I can shower because I really stink.”
I’m still laughing as I head upstairs.
Dean
Flora is upstairs in the bathtub.
Which means she’s naked.
I can’t get my mind off that fact.
I scrub the dirt off my hands and my face and rehydrate with a bottle of water, tempted by the ca
ns of Guinness I find in the fridge. I need a cold shower.
It would have been so easy to kiss her. And I think she wanted it, too.
I heave a shaky breath, anticipation tying me up in knots. She’s upstairs and I’m down here, but I’d really like to be up there with her…
Cappie waits in the doorway to the kitchen, his pink tongue lagging out of his mouth.
“Is this awkward for you too, buddy?”
Cappie pants a response.
“Need to go out? Want me to take you for a walk?” At the magic word, Cappie flies to the door like a shot. “Guess so.” I go to the bottom of the stairs, with my eyes screwed shut to the image of a naked Flora immersed in bubbles.
The bubbles would smell like flowers. “Flora?” I call. “I’m taking your dog out for a couple minutes.”
“Okay.” The sound of splashing water drifts down the stairs. “I won’t be much longer.”
“Take your time. I’ll find something for us to eat when I get back.”
I clip on Cappie’s leash, find poop bags in a drawer and close the door carefully behind him. It’s muggy, the last of the sun hot against the back of his neck as I walk along the sidewalk, letting the bulldog sniff where he wants to.
She’s in the tub, naked…
“Let it go, let it go,” I hiss under my breath as Cappie lifts a leg on a lawn bag. A woman walks by with a stroller and looks at me strangely.
The dog is lagging in the heat by the time I bring him back, hoping to avoid being in the house with naked Flora. As I start up the walk to Flora’s, an older man steps out of the door of the semi-detached and Cappie lunges towards him. “Cappie, no!”
“Well, hello, pup.” The man leans over on his cane and Cappie drags me over, snuffling a welcome.
He glances up at me. “And who are you?”
“I’m, uh, a friend of Flora’s.”
He harrumphs. “Flower girl got a new boyfriend already. That didn’t take long.”
“We’re friends.”
“Anyone is better than that tight-assed prig who kept sneaking in at all hours. I didn’t like him.”
