Page 21 of Petite Fleur

He should be made into a statue in a museum somewhere.

"Where do you work? So I can give these back." I ask him as he hands me the two clearly expensive canvas bags, hanging them over my shoulders for me.

They feel heavier. Maybe it's because of the thick straps on my shoulders taking the weight rather than my arms wrapped around paper bags, but I'm not about to complain about him letting me borrow these.

"Nonsense. I have far too many of them anyway. Every time I come to the store, I end up buying more because I don't want to leave my place in line to grab mine out of the car. It's a never-ending cycle of reusable bags until my trunk is so full that I bring them into the house and start over. Keep them, I insist." He says sweetly. I can't say no to that, I kind of don't want to anyway.

I turn to walk away from this man, but it feels wrong. It not only feels rude, but it almost feels unnatural to walk away.

“Maeve.” I finally say.

This man raises an eyebrow at me but says nothing; he just takes another assessing glance at me.

“My name is Maeve.” I clarify after a short pause of just watching him stare at me, lost.

He gives a short nod, and a small smile breaks across his handsome face. “Leon.” He replies charmingly.

I give him the same short nod and a quick smile. “Until we meet again, Leon.” I say as I walk away from this man and toward the sidewalk.

“I'll be waiting, Maeve.” He shouts back.

Chapter 7

Leon Aldon

I should not have talked to her.

I should have walked, no ran, the other way when I saw her standing in front of the apple cider.

She's far too beautiful and far too pure for my world.

For me.

But the damage is done, and I don't know if I'll be able to leave her alone.

I knew it was game over as soon as I got too close. She smells heavenly, like fresh blueberries, warmth, and everything good in the world, and she's somehow even more stunning up close.

Fuck!

I really fucked this up.

I just couldn't stop myself when I saw her on her knees in the parking lot, picking up the remains of her things that sprawled out across the pavement.

I just had to step in. Right?

Right?

I'm telling myself I did. That any reasonable and sane person would help a stranger pick up their things.

I'm telling myself that I was just being a good guy and that it had nothing to do with Maeve being stunningly beautiful.

Don't worry; the irony is not lost on me that I'm debating if I'm a good man while driving home from buying an entire trunk full of bleach and some fucking apple cider.

I don't even like apple cider!

I put both gallons in what are now her reusable bags and hoped she didn't notice until it was too late to make me take them back.

Those were my nicest bags, too.

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