Page 62 of 1001 Dark Nights: Bundle Forty-Seven

“Thanks.” She took a sip, sighing in happiness at the chilled brew, not seeming bothered by the foam covering her lips. “Damn, that’s good.”

“A frosty glass makes all the difference.”

“I’m sure next up will be a temperature-controlled wine fridge for Vintage,” she teased.

He grunted. It had definitely been on his list as a necessary investment. “I’m not prickly. I’m a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to business. It’s probably different from the way you run a flower shop.”

Her smile was wiped away. Jameson mourned it. “That’s the third time you made some crack about me being a florist. You have no clue what I handle.”

“Tell me. I’m curious.”

Her brows snapped into a fierce frown. She looked adorably grumpy with that expression and he had to fight his instinct to reach for her. His emotions were all over the place with this woman. He’d never reacted to someone like this—laughter, irritation, sexual attraction. It was like a giant ball of mess.

Devon took another sip of beer as if to fortify herself. “I get up at six am so I can prep the shop, take care of the flowers, and deal with ordering supplies. I get ready for deliveries and plot out the schedule. Depending on what event I’m working on,I may need to travel to get some rare blooms. I have consults during the day since I do endless events—from school functions, weddings, holidays, birthdays, beach picnics, etc. I also have regular customers who come and go daily, including local hotels and restaurants. Weekends are mainly spent setting up for events, which you should know, can exist within complete chaos.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I can relate. Bad tempered chefs, ruined food, demanding customers, food allergies. I’ve seen it all.”

“Exactly. Flowers are the crux of many celebrations. Making sure I have quality blooms on hand is a big deal. It’s also extremely creative. Many brides and grooms have no idea what they want. They’ll come in with odd demands or pictures, and it’s up to me to pull it all together and coordinate so everyone is happy. I work my ass off every damn day. I’m not tiptoeing through the tulips with no stress, you know.”

He grinned and threw up his hands. “I get it. Honestly, I never really thought of flowers on the back end. I just see the finished product.”

“Just like a restaurant.”

“Yes.” She seemed satisfied with his reaction and took another sip of beer. He craved more from her, so he focused on his task of tidying up so he could hide his deep interest. “Why flowers and why own your own business?”

Devon placed a snow globe with a beach Santa in the tote, then absently patted Bear’s head. “My parents had a massive garden. We lived in upstate New York, near New Paltz, in this old farmhouse. Every day, mom would pick an arrangement of fresh flowers and put them all over the house. I woke up every morning to the scents of roses, hydrangeas, and lavender. She taught me the balance of delicacy and strength, and all the tricks to keep them healthy.” A short laugh escaped her lips. “I learned most lessons from my life by being around flowers.”

He dropped the bag, no longer caring if he looked hungry for more. Her musical voice wove a spell around him, urging him closer. His fingers itched to touch her cheek, slide his palm to the nape of her neck, and tilt her head back. “Like what?”

Her eyes widened. She took a few moments to study him, as if testing to see if he was teasing her. “Lessons? Pruning is one. Sometimes, you need to chop away parts of yourself to be able to grow stronger. Learn to trust the strength of the flower to grow back when the time is right.”

“What if your timing is wrong? If you prune too early or too late?”

Her lips pursed in thought. “Then you learn from the mistake and get it right the next time. You learn what the flower needs and forgive yourself. Then try again.”

His head spun. There was so much more going on within this conversation. He’d never touched deeper topics with a woman. He was great at banter, flirting, and sex. He was a master at break-ups, taking the blame for his insane schedule and inability to commit long-term. Jameson never took the time to really dig into the why—he went with instinct and kept his head down, plowing through his days and his life with little reflection.

Devon made him want to poke around. Learn what was beneath her gorgeous exterior and find what made her so uniquely her. Ask himself some questions he’d never considered.

In that moment, he realized this woman was dangerous.

“What made you want to run a restaurant?” she asked, turning the conversation around. He avoided her gaze, needing to sort through his sudden drama.

“I like being around food.”

She laughed at that, and a reluctant grin tugged his lips. “Elaborate,” she teased.

Usually, he gave the easy answer. He’d grown up with an appreciation for good food, gotten his first job at a local restaurant as a bus boy, and fell into the career. But he wanted to share a bit more with Devon. “There’s an order within chaos,” he slowly said, trying to find the right words. She tilted her head, her focus fully intent on him. “I get high off the rush of the kitchen and the urgency to get the food on the plate in the proper way, in the proper time. The buzz of energy is so intense everyone is vibrating at such a high level. And then you walk through the doors to the main dining room and there’s this peaceful type of organization amidst the frenzy of seating everyone, or getting their drinks and meals to the tables. It’s both creative and risky. I found my favorite part was trying to control the logistics in order to minimize the unknown. Being in the thick of a Friday evening rush and pulling it off gives me satisfaction.”

She nodded slowly, as if she understood the feelings beneath his explanation. “Order within chaos,” she murmured. “How beautifully said.”

He shifted his feet in discomfort. “Plus, the money is really good.”

Her laugh caressed his ears. “I’m sure it is.” She finished her beer in one long swallow and handed him the full tote. “All set. I better get going.”

She bent over and whispered something in Bear’s ear. The dog panted, shoving his body against her. He noticed she was covered in dog hair but didn’t seem to care, casually brushing off her clothes and moving toward the door. “Thanks for the beer.”

“Thanks for…the dog.”

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