Page 15 of Fighting Fate

Damn!Seems I can’t get away from my thoughts of her, no matter what. I’ve pulled back the last week, ignored every urge to poke the bear, hoping that I’d be able to catch her disarmed. But I’m at a loss because the longer I ignore her, the harder it is to keep her from my thoughts.

“It’s the colours that get me. The mishmash of the pastels and neutrals…baby blue and light pink with the splash of bright yellow. Beautiful!” she sings, holding up the bouquet.

I take it from her, wondering what the hell I’m going to do with it while I take my phone from my arm strap and touch it to the card reader she holds out to me.

“You’re good at this selling thing,” I tell her, chuckling down at the fragrant bouquet.

“Learned from the best.”

“Oh yeah?”

“My mum. She always used to say that there’s no easier sale than a man that’s already looking. Apparently, your lot don’t bother to unless you have someone in mind.”

When I laugh at the truth of her remark, she asks, “Do you? Have someone in mind that is…”

“I do.”

“Yeah, you got that look about you.”

“What look?”

“Well,” she muses, walking around me to stand at my other side where she plucks a couple of ribbons in yellow and blue. Adding a lace trim to them, she loops them around the stems of the bouquet in my hand. “You see…there are two looks men come to me with. One, they’ve really messed up and they look like they need help fixing it. Two, they look like they want to make someone smile.”

“How do I make a stubborn girl smile, then?”

With a laugh, she fluffs her hair. “Playing hard to get, is she?”

“Something like that.”

“I’m going to need you to elaborate.”

“I think she’s been hurt, and now she’s scared, so of course, she’s a little standoffish.”

“Just a little?”

“Maybe a lot, but she’s spunky, and I like that in a woman. I like a challenge, but I don’t want to chase her away, so I’m pulling back.”

“Yeah, about that…” The quirk of her brow tells me she’s about to school me. “Never pull back—it makes you look unreliable and unsteady. Every woman’s worst nightmare, especially when we’ve been hurt.”

I guess it makes sense. Still, Willow is so different that I’m not sure a ruthless pursuit will work with her. My gut tells me she needs to be wooed.

“Okay, so…if I were her and you showed up on my doorstep with a bunch of pretty flowers, I’d definitely take notice.”

“I sorta already did the flower thing.”

“By sort of, what exactly do you mean?”

“I sent her flowers.”

“That’s sweet, but definitely try delivering them yourself. It’s the little personal touches that matter the most…” While I ponder her statement, wondering what personal touches I can do for a woman I spent a night with, she adds, “Take the time to deliver them yourself. Make the effort, and she’ll see you’re different to the guys that have hurt her.”

Checking the time on my phone, I thank her for her advice, unsure of how useful it is when it comes to Willow. I’m a few feet away when the florist calls at me, “Have a shower. The smell of sweat is a definite no-no.”

“Thanks!” I call back, jogging towards my apartment building.

By the time I get to my place, I’ve thought it through and decided to continue with my plan. The penthouse is darkening as the sun sets behind the Tower of London view. While I gulp down a couple of glasses of water, my phone buzzes on the kitchen counter.

Orla: Out of sight and out of mind.

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