Page 16 of My Surly Valentine

“No, it was back on Wolfe Mountain. That’s where his family is from.” Her eyebrows lift. “You didn’t know he’s part of the Wolfe family?”

She says the name as if I should know who they are. “No.”

“Oh. My. I’m so sorry.” She steps back, glancing toward the window. “Huh. There must be a celebrity in town for Valentine’s Day.” She gestures toward the ski resort, where a sleek black helicopter is landing.

Ten seconds later, my phone rings.

And I instantly get averybad feeling.

10

AXTON

Three steps into the flower store, I feel like I’m crouching down, trying to hide. I roll my shoulders as I head for the counter. This should be easy. Plenty of men do this every year.

I vaguely recognize the woman behind the counter from seeing her around town over the years. The look of complete shock on her face says she recognizes me as well.

She adjusts her thick, red-framed glasses. “Good afternoon. May I help you?”

“Yeah. I need flowers. You know…for Valentine’s Day.”

She smiles politely. “Romantic, family, friend, or coworker?”

“Definitely romantic.”

She walks toward a giant refrigerated case filled with more kinds of flowers than I knew existed. “Are you thinking traditional, like long-stemmed red roses? Or something a bit trendier?”

I point to a hot pink daisy thing. “She has some stickers like that on her laptop.”

Something shifts in the woman’s eyes. “All right. How about a fun mix, with some of those Gerbera and a variety of pink roses?”

“Sure.” I clear my throat. “Whatever’s good for the first Valentine’s Day with a new girlfriend – but for God’s sake, no ferns.”

She moves quickly and efficiently, collecting a bunch of different flowers and greenery from the cooler, including sprigs of white stuff that frankly look like weeds to me. Once she holds it all up together to show me, it looks like those fancy floral arrangements I remember from the doctor’s office. But perkier.

“Looks good,” I shrug.

She nods, then brings the flowers to a table, arranges and wraps them in green paper, then ties it all together with pink ribbons. “Nice,” she says, regarding her handiwork. “A lot of men just go for the red roses, but honestly, I think they’re a bit heavy and dark. This is sweeter. More romantic.”

I make a non-committal grunt, then look through the enclosure cards. A lot of them have pre-printed messages, but I pick a plain one that for bonus points has a hot pink daisy on it.

Except – dammit. Now I have to think of something to write.

What would Hazel expect? What do guysnormallywrite? Screw it. She knows me well enough to know I have no idea what I’m doing with this whole relationship stuff. I test the pen and write the most honest thing that pops to mind.

This is the first time I’ve been inside a flower store in my life. That’s how much you mean to me, Hazel. I hope this Valentine’s Day is the first of dozens and dozens.

I pay for the flowers, both shocked and amused by the price, then stash them in the back of the truck under a tarp, figuringthe cool air will keep them fresh. I mean, they were in a fridge, right?

Just as I begin to approach the bookstore, Hazel comes out with an expression I don’t entirely like. “What’s up, baby?”

I have to confess, the way she bites her bottom lip is sexy as hell, but I can’t stand the cloudiness in her eyes.

“Um… How many restaurants are there in town?”

“A few, but the food at the ski resort is the best, in my opinion. That’s why I picked it. Why? Do you want to get in the truck and scroll through the rest online?”

Her head shakes. “No… I’m probably just being silly. Let’s go.”

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