Page 5 of Love so Hot

My ears perk up at this. "Oh?" I ask, trying to sound casual. "Are they... you know, an item?"

Emily shakes her head. "Not that I'm aware of, but they are quite close. It's rare to see one without the other at these events."

"Huh," I muse, my mind racing with possibilities. Could there be a rift in the Earth Defenders' leadership? And why do I care so much about Willow's absence?

Jason's voice cuts through my musings. "Why are you so interested in Willow, anyway?"

I feel a flush creeping up my neck. "Interested? Me? Please. I couldn't care less about some tree-hugging activist." The words sound hollow even to my own ears. "Anyway, I'm out of here. This place is giving me hives."

As I turn to leave, a thought strikes me. "Oh, Emily? Any idea where our green friends might be hanging out tomorrow? You know, just so I can avoid them."

Emily raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying my nonchalant act. "They're often around the flower shop downtown. But Lawrence, I really think?—"

"Great, thanks!" I call over my shoulder, already halfway to the door. As I step out into the cool night air, I can't shake the nagging feeling that tomorrow is going to be... interesting.

Chapter Three

Willow Harper

I'm arranginga bouquet of vibrant wildflowers when the bell above the door chimes. The sound makes me smile—it reminds me of wind chimes tinkling in a summer breeze. Which is fitting, since Sullivan's Flower Shop feels like a little slice of nature indoors.

"Welcome in," I say to the woman entering the shop. She gives me a smile and starts to browse.

Sunlight streams through the big front windows, making the colorful petals glow. The air is heavy with the mingled scents of roses, lilies, and fresh soil. It's peaceful here, surrounded by greenery and birdsong from the parakeets Mrs. Sullivan keeps in the back room.

This used to just be my happy place, an oasis where I could escape the stress of Earth Defenders work and chat with kindred spirit Mrs. Sullivan. But somehow I ended up with an actual job here. Not that I'm complaining—arranging flowers beats organizing protests any day.

I'm lost in thought, absentmindedly playing with the beaded bracelet on my wrist, when movement across the street catches my eye. I look up to see a group of corporate drones in crisp suits filing into the Sinclair Shipping office.

Ugh. There goes my nice view of the quaint storefronts. Now all I see is a symbol of everything wrong with this town.

I roll my eyes. River insists keeping tabs on that place is crucial "surveillance," but I fail to see how watching pencil pushers come and go provides any useful intel. What are we going to learn, their favorite Starbucks orders?

"Earth to Willow," I mutter to myself. "Focus on the flowers, not the fascists."

I turn back to my bouquet, trying to recapture that peaceful feeling. But now I'm acutely aware of the Sinclair office looming across the street, casting a metaphorical shadow over my little oasis of nature. Some days, it feels like we're fighting a losing battle against the machine of industry. But hey, at least I've got my flowers.

The chime of the bell above the door interrupts my brooding. I turn to see who's entered, and lo and behold, it's River. And he looks pissed. But then again, when doesn't he?

He storms in like a hurricane in human form, all raw energy and intensity. His choppy black hair is streaked with electric blue today, matching the fire in his green eyes. As he plops down on the stool in front of the counter, I can't help but notice how his tank top clings to his athletic frame. Not that I'm looking or anything.

"Rough day?" I ask, trying to keep my voice casual. My heart does a little flip-flop when he meets my gaze. Stupid heart.

River grunts in response, his jaw clenched tight. "You could say that."

I busy myself with trimming stems, definitely not stealing glances at the way his forearms flex as he drums his fingers onthe counter. "So, uh, how'd it go at the club yesterday? Any luck convincing the investors to pull out?"

His eyes flash dangerously. "It was a disaster, Willow. A complete waste of time. I can't believe you suggested that bone-headed idea."

I blink, taken aback by the venom in his voice. "Whoa, what happened? I thought?—"

"You thought wrong," he snaps. "Next time, leave the planning to people who know what they're doing."

Ouch. I feel my cheeks flush with a mixture of embarrassment and indignation. Part of me wants to snap right back, but I take a deep breath instead. No need to add fuel to whatever fire is burning him up inside.

"I'm sorry it didn't work out," I say softly, setting down my scissors. "Do you want to talk about it?"

River runs a hand through his hair, his frustration radiating off him in waves. "That smug bastard Lawrence Sinclair showed up out of nowhere. Made me look like a complete idiot in front of everyone."

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