“The right to saunter in here with your smart mouth and stupid fucking clacky shoes and tell me anything about my life.” I paused and her lips pursed with pinched annoyance. “And next time?”
“Next time?”
“Bigger,” I ordered.
“Bigger?”
“A fuck of a lot bigger. This is nice, but when I said one of everything I meant it, you kinda shorted me.”
“Shorted you?”
“This wimpy vase hasn't met my expectations at all. In fact, I'd like to leave a review about the service.”
“The service?” Her voice lowered an octave, anger replacing the annoyance. Her cheeks turned from soft cherry pink to a vibrant shade of poppy.
“What'd you say the name of your little establishment was?”
“Th-The Flower Patch.” Her words were barely audible now, and I could practically see her fluttering heartbeat behind the thin skin of her throat.
I gulped, stepping closer and nailing her with my hardened gaze.
“Unless you meant to deliver the rest of my order tomorrow?” I peeled another hundred off of the stack in my wallet. “Will this cover it?”
Her wavering hands took the bill and she swallowed, eyes cast over my shoulder to the workbench with her bouquet behind me, before going up to the worn wooden beams of my old workshop ceiling. “You want me to come back tomorrow?”
“Unless you want to come back up tonight, but sunset comes earlier than you'd think up here, I'd hate for you to get stuck on one of those S curves after dark. Can't tell you how many people I've found huddled in their cars after sun sets, or even worse once the snow flies. Those open cliffs are deadly during the winter storms.”
“Deadly.” She nodded almost imperceptibly before suddenly spinning on her pointy little shoe and clicking her way out of my shop. I followed, hot on her heels and into the open air. This woman was a vision even in the dark, but by the light of day, she was sent from Heaven.
I shook those thoughts from my head, wanting to land one last sucker punch before she tore out of my life again. “And what's your name? For the review—I'd call you precious petal but I want to be a little more accurate when I speak to the level of customer service at The Flower Patch.”
She turned and straightened her spine, thrusting out her chin before catching my gaze and replying, “Maybe tomorrow's flower theme should be the...the grumpy asshole! And I'll be sure to sign the card All My Hate, Poppy O'Henry.”
And then my blood turned to ice.
Poppy O'Henry.
Captain O'Henry's daughter.
My mortal enemy.
CHAPTER FOUR
Poppy
“Fuck him.” Outright anger shook my hands as I clutched the steering wheel, backing down his stupid steep driveway. “He can shove tomorrow up his ass.”
I wasn’t even a third of the way down the ridge when I’d decided exactly what flowers would be in Maverick Wright’s next arrangement. Every dead flower out of the garbage can. I gunned my engine around another curve, my blood boiling as I realized my dad had been right all of these years.
Some people were just lowdown, good-for-nothing, moral cretins. And Maverick Wright was at the top of that list, but I wasn’t too proud to take his money. I didn’t know and didn’t give a shit what he wanted all the damn flowers for, but I would continue to take his cash with a smile on my face, and clutching my steering wheel the entire way home.
I punched the radio in search of a station, only to find the service in this godforsaken no man’s land had let me down. I froze when a soft mist landed on my windshield as the road opened up to the bare cliff’s edge. I slowed, careful to take the turns extra slowly as I came around one of the tightest corners before it opened into the famous sunflower field. I tapped my fingers on the wheel, thinking a man must really love sunflowers if he was willing to plant a field that big every year.
By the time I was down the ridge and pulling into the parking lot of The Flower Patch, the mist had turned to a constant drizzle. I slipped into the shop and began pulling all of the sunflowers I had available. I paused as I looked in the garbage can, more tempted than I cared to admit to fish a few of the faded roses out, but instead, I found an elegant black vase—the most masculine thing I could find—and began filling it to the brim with shades of sunflower.
I tucked small red ones into the bright yellow, highlighted it with shades of sunset orange and deep blood-red. The bouquet was beautiful by all standards, too pretty for him, that was the truth, but the arrangement was so tall it practically dominated the small flower shop counter. No way could he complain about the size this time around.
Eyes on the fading light outside, I retraced my tracks, tucking the sunflowers into the car and starting my engine to point myself back up the ridge and Maverick Wright. I didn’t know if I had it in me to face the dominating force of a man again, but I wanted to keep the lights on another month, so brave the beast I would.
My tiny car climbed up Lovers Ridge again, my bald tires spinning once on a curve because the mist and rain had left the edges of the road eroding. I groaned, thinking how stupid it’d been to drive up here just to deliver him the biggest, ugliest bouquet I could muster, when really I was only putting my own life in danger.
I passed the sunflower field, glad I’d at least picked out mostly dark and dreadful for a dark and dreadful man. The big fat heads hung heavy on the stalks, and turned away from the setting sun now, they just
