Page 16 of Just One Moment

IthoughtIhad a really good poker face, but he saw right through the act.Myheart aches that he thinks he did anything wrong.Itwas all me, getting irrationally upset over a phone number and my inability to accept help. “Graham, you didn’t upset me.I’msorry ifIgave you that impression.It’stotally a me issue, not you.Noapology needed.”

“Areyou sure?”

“Positive.”Ihope the big grinI’mflashing is enough to convince him.

Hiseyes drop to the flowers in his hand and then he looks at me hopefully. “CanIstill give you these?I’dreally like you to have them.”

“Thoseare for me?”Iask, mouth agape, heart in the soles of myChucks.

“Yeah, um”—he runs a hand along the back of his neck—“the bright colors remind me of you.”

“They’rebeautiful.Yellowis my favorite color,”Iwhisper as my fingers trace along the soft petals.Yellowdaisies, eucalyptus, and gypsophila. “Noone has ever given me flowers before.”

“Ever?”Iignore his dumbfounded expression and nod my head. “Well, that’s unacceptable.”

Whatin the world is going on?Alaugh slips free, but whenIlook up again, it gets lost in my throat, because holy shit,Grahamis smiling.It’sfaint, the corner of his lips turning upward a fraction, but it’s all in his eyes.Theyshine so bright, like early morning sunshine on dewy grass.

Apparentlymy brain has melted, because it doesn’t doanything to filter my next words. “You’revery handsome when you smile.Ilike it.”Islap a hand over my mouth and my eyes bug out of my head.

Thenit happens.Helaughs.Alaugh.It’sa little shaky, but the deepness of it sends a shiver through my bones.

Grahamisn’t grumpy.Iget why people would put him in that category, but he’s just quiet andIsuspect it takes him a little longer than most to open up.Heprobably doesn’t laugh or smile freely the wayIgive mine out like candy.It’soddly endearing, andIsuddenly want to do anythingIcan to see it again.

There’sa moment of silence before he quietly says, “Ilike it when you smile too.”Nowit’s his eyes that go wide. “Weshould get these in water,” he mumbles and nods toward the front door of the bakery.

AsIturn away from his hard, warm body, another girlish laugh bubbles in my throat.Asmiling, chucklingGrahamgiving out flowers will do that to any female.

Weshuffle into the bakery afterIunlock the door, andIfumble around, switching on the coffee machine and the display fridge lights next to the counter.Grahamstanding awkwardly in the middle of my bakery is becoming a regular occurrence.HowcanIhelp him feel more comfortable?

Igrab a ceramic pitcherIfound at the thrift store and fill it with water before walking over toGraham, who is typing something out in a rush on his phone, before he pockets it.Ihold my hand out for the flowers, but he doesn’t budge.

“Areyou taking back the flowers?”Iask.

“No.Doyou know what you’re doing?”

Pointingat the bouquet and then to the makeshift vase of water,Isay, “Stemsin water.Jobdone.”

Iswear to god, he rolls his eyes, before gingerly taking the pitcher from my hands and making his way to the small stainless-steel table at the back of the kitchen.Oncehe has thebouquet unwrapped he glances down at me. “Doyou have scissors?”

“Ido…”Iwalk to the wall of utensils behind him and pluck down what he needs and place them in his open hand.Peekingaround his shoulder,Iwatch as his long fingers peel away some of the leaves from the stems. “Whyare you doing that?”

“Youdon’t want the leaves to sit in the water, or they’ll decompose and cause the flowers to die quicker.”

“Huh.Ireally was about to ruin them.Nowwhat are you doing?”Iask as he trims the bottom of the stems at an angle.

“Ifyou cut them like this, it allows for better water intake.”

“Howdo you know what to do?”

Hepauses his nimble movements, and bends his head, his voice soft. “Mydad used to do it for my mom and sister.Afterhe passed,Ididn’t want them to go without having fresh flowers or have to do it themselves.It’sstupid.Myex thought it was weird to get them flowers.”

Myhand darts to his arm and his eyes fall to whereI’mcreasing his well-pressed suit jacket. “Don’tsay that.It’snot stupid.That’sthe sweetest thingI’veever heard.They’relucky to have you.”Igive his arm a final squeeze, before dropping my hand next to his on the table.

Noteto self: find out who his ex is, and make sure she never finds the cold side of the pillow ever again.

It’sthe first time he’s mentioned an ex, but it’s not the first time he’s shot himself down.Itilt my head to study him.Hepeers down at me, and even whenthe tip of his pinky brushes against mine, we don’t break eye contact.Thishushed moment withGrahamis comforting and dangerous.Hiscompany feels warm, genuine, and calming, but it also stirs something unfamiliar.

“Thanks,Quinn.”There’sthat hint of a smile again.

---