Truth be told, I would have done myself a favor minding my own business. That would've meant no Maverick swallowing up all the space in my shop last night, and no big flower order today. Life, what a double-edged sword it dealt. My dream came true paired with my worst nightmare. What a bitch.
I pulled into the library parking lot, meeting the librarian just as she was looking up outside.
“Afternoon, Poppy. What a beautiful arrangement.” A welcoming smile split her face.
“The lilies looked so beautiful this morning, I couldn't pass them up. They made me think of you.”
“Aw, you always know just what I need. You have a gift, my sweet girl.” She patted my cheek. “Now, where are you off to with that dark and dreary order?” She pointed to the large vase overflowing with dark flowers and seat-belted in my passenger seat.
I laughed. “I think I did a fairly good job then. They're for Maverick Wright up on the ridge.”
Her eyebrows shot up her forehead and I covered my mouth instead of blurting out a laugh.
“Maverick Wright ordered flowers?”
“Sure did. He's now my biggest client—my largest arrangement every week.”
“Well, how about that. I guess that makes miracles possible then, doesn't it?”
“How do you mean?”
“Maverick doesn't just avoid coming down off the ridge but a few times a year for supplies, he also doesn't invite anyone up there since...well...ever, come to think of it. I haven't heard of a soul being up Lovers Ridge since I've been living here. He only eats what he can hunt or harvest from the land, and trades for fish at the marina once in a while. There's a whole field of sunflowers about halfway up the ridge that he plants every year, and all the high school kids go there for their senior pictures—it's beautiful, but also why I'm surprised you're saying he placed a standing order for fresh flowers—he's got as many wild ones as he could want.”
“Really? My dad used to take me camping up there all the time when I was a kid and I always made him stop at that sunflower field, I had no idea Maverick planted that field—I still think of it in my mind when I can't sleep at night or I'm feeling overwhelmed. Lovers Ridge was always my favorite place to spend weekends with my dad when I was a kid, we'd make hotdogs and smores and he'd tell me ghost stories. My favorite was the native woman that—”
“Jumped off the ridge for love—be careful up there, Poppy, those curves get dark at night and the shadows from the trees along the cliff are deceiving. There's a reason only men like Maverick Wright live up at the ridge—it's not fit for everyone. Watch yourself, with the ridge and the man, they're both dangerous.”
“Are you serious?” The fear I'd felt in his presence last night came crawling back up my spine, causing a trickle of goosebumps on my neck.
“Deadly serious, Poppy. You're too young to be messing around with things like that, keep your head down and get in and get out. Men like that are exciting, but that kind of excitement always comes with a darkness few can carry.”
I couldn't speak. Could barely breathe. I swallowed the dry cracked ball in my throat, nodding and thanking her for her order again before going around the front of my car and sliding into the driver's seat. I clutched the wheel, sweaty palms slipping along the leather as I imagined the steep climb up Lovers Ridge, the wide open view it offered of the bay and tiny islands beyond.
It was my favorite part of camping as a kid: that view. Now, the idea of going up to Lovers Ridge suddenly struck terror in my veins.
And here I'd been worried about a simple ghost story.
CHAPTER THREE
Maverick
I snarled as I glanced at the clock, well after five and still no deliveries. “Where the hell is she?”
Winchester, my hunting dog, glanced at me from across the workshop, big puppy eyes seeming to understand my frustration.
“Hello?”
“Shit!” I slammed my thumb with the hammer as I turned. “I mean, in here,” I shouted, flicking on more lights in the shop as I realized sunset came early on this side of the mountain, so the place had probably looked empty. I hadn't gotten much work done on my project today anyway, thoughts of the precious petal on my mind.
“Maverick?” Her voice was quiet, tentative. Hell, she sounded scared. Normally I liked the idea of instilling fear in the people I met, but I winced a little inwardly at the idea of her sweetness being tarnished one bit by all of my ugly.
“Welcome.” I flicked on the dark hallway light that led into the open area of my renovated shop. Her eyes landed on me for the first time and she winced and looked away.
I gulped and swiped at my face, realizing I'd had my head in the engine of a tractor trailer all day and probably looked a fucking sight. Grizzly under the best conditions, downright fucking barbaric under the worst. I swiped a palm over my face and into my short hair before looking at it and realizing I'd probably just spread oil and grease across my cheeks.
Fuck me.
I sighed, realizing I didn't have a goddamn thing to lose now. I stepped forward, reaching out to her for the vase. “Thanks for the flowers.”
“Ugh...” She stepped closer, one dainty pointed pink shoe after another in my greasy shop. She stepped further into the light and I could see the soft rose-pink shade of her dress, soft ties at each shoulder just begging for my teeth to...
I cleared my throat, yanking the vase from her and setting it on the grungy workbench.
“Perfect,” she uttered.
I glanced back at her, catching a note of something off-key. “It is perfect.”
“I
