“Are you okay?”
I cleared my throat. “I'm just used to the fresh air up on the ridge.”
“You live on the ridge?” Her voice turned up a beat.
“Yeah—you know it?”
“Know it? My dad used to take me camping up there when I was a kid. He told me about the legend of a Native American woman whose lover died in battle, so in despair, she threw herself off of the ridge and into the bay below. Now, during the full moon or during a thunderstorm, she haunts the cliff edge, warning people of the dangers of love forevermore.”
“Sounds dramatic.” I cut her off.
She frowned. “I think it's romantic.”
“If you're into shit like ghost stories, I s'pose it would be.”
She didn't reply, only huffed softly before ducking behind the flower shop counter. She rummaged in a drawer and I took the time to glance around the walls of the shop. It was covered in bright-yellow sunflowers and over-priced gardening junk, but I had to admit, the place was cute as far as places go.
“How long have you worked here?”
“I opened the shop just this year, I'm the owner.”
I assessed the full flush of freckles that dotted her nose, only visible up close and under the bright fluorescent lights. I cleared my throat, hating how much being in a woman's presence rattled me. The kind of feelings people brought up inside of me made me damn glad I spent most of my days hiding out on the top of my ridge. Haunted or not, it was a helluva lot better than life down here in the city.
“Well, you've got a nice place here. Congratulations.”
“Uh, thanks.” She popped back up, bandage in hand. “You want it?”
“For what?” I ran the pad of my thumb across my bottom lip, feeling for the bruise that I was sure would be there in the morning. “This ain't anything to worry about. All in a day's fun.”
“Fun?” She shook her head. “Not sure what kinda fun you're used to, but I guess to each his own.”
“Well, what would you call fun?” I rested a hand on the counter, leaning a little closer to her before catching myself. I backed away, realizing how dangerously good she smelled. I'd been choked by the sweet-smelling roses and carnations when I'd walked in, but she...she was wildflowers and mountain honeysuckle. I craved more of her but didn't dare.
“At this stage,” she glanced around the shop, “I'd say a big customer with a recurring order would be delightful.”
“Business that bad, huh?”
“No.” She squared her shoulders, eyes hovering on mine. “It's just...rental spaces in downtown Cherry Falls aren't exactly cheap.”
“Well, the alternative is Syn City.”
“Oh, I couldn't live there. I like open spaces, all that concrete and steel makes me claustrophobic.”
I gulped. “You and me both.”
She pressed her lips together, straightening her back and taking a few small breaths before she seemed to catch herself and glanced down at her feet. “Guess opposites can agree on some things after all.”
“Opposites, huh?” I leaned in again, this time close enough to invade her space. Instead of leaning away from me like I expected though, she cocked her head to the side, and eyes twinkling, said: “Can I take your flower order, Sir?”
I swallowed the laugh and nodded. “As a matter of fact, I'll take one of every flower you've got in this place, once a week for the next year.”
“Excuse me?” Disbelief shook her otherwise soft features.
“You heard me.” I pushed the small order tablet into her hands. “One of everything.”
“B-but, where would I deliver that many flowers to?”
“My house.”
“Your house?”
I nodded in confirmation.
“But...usually an order that big would go to a restaurant or a place of business or—”
“My home is my place of business.”
“Oh.” Her lips twitched as she began to doodle on the lines of the order form.
“Go on, write down: one of everything.”
“I know how to do my job,” she spit, obviously rattled.
I chuckled out loud this time. “Little Miss Flower Patch. Precious as a petal when she's annoyed.”
“I'm not annoyed,” she uttered defensively. “I just don't need to be told what to write down—I'll remember just fine.”
“What about my address? You need to know where to deliver them tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” She swallowed, finally moving away from the counter, picking up a pair of shears and trailing her long, pink-painted fingertips down the stem of a thorned rose. “I'll have to check my schedule.”
“You just said you wouldn't forget—”
“Right, well, if you're serious about your order, then that makes you my biggest customer.”
“Good. I want to be your best.”
“What?” Her eyes swung to mine.
“Your best customer. I want to be your best. We'll start with one of everything, but I may want to change up my order next week—I'll need you to be hands on with what's in season. I only want the best—understand me?”
She nodded quickly.
I grinned, stepping down the length of the counter to come closer to her again. I plucked the red rose stem from her fingers and grazed the edge of the ruffled petals along her temple, down her jawline, and then dropped slowly down her throat to land at the hollow. I imagined my lips replacing the petals as they caressed her creamy skin.
“Precious petal,” I said under my breath.
“What?” she breathed.
“I want your most precious petals only.” A cocky grin lifted my lips. “I'm sure you're up to the job.”
“Yes, of course, it's just...I don't understand what you're going to do with all of these flowers.”
“Don't worry, they're not for me. My cabin up on the ridge is sparse, I don't need smelly shit cluttering up the space.”
“Oh.” Her eyes were as wide as the petals of the rose when I buried my nose in the base, hoping to find her honeysuckle scent clinging to the delicate blooms, but irritated to find only the sickly-sweet
