Page 45 of His Greatest Treasure

“I’m making up for lost time. I couldn’t stop if I wanted to.”

16

OLIVER

I’ve never beenone to care about flowers or plants in general, but Avery’s shop is nice. It will be better once it’s finished, but she’s got a good, solid foundation.

There’s plenty of space and natural light. It has a break room, bathroom, and a big cooler that would rival one at a restaurant. The messy writing and flowers painted on the cold walls make it unique, and Nova’s proud of her work in a loud way.

“Your air con should be good to go now. If you have any questions or concerns, give me a call, and I’ll come back out,” the technician tells Avery, a small card extended toward her.

I stare at him, my shoulders squaring of their own accord as she takes his card. He ignores me the way he has since I arrived, only offering Avery a final nod before leaving, a large bag jostling around on his arm.

Mom has Nova in the backroom under the pretense of saying goodbye, but they’re giggling like nuts back there, and if I had to guess, I’d say Mom’s filling the girl full of the candy she keeps in her purse while showing her photos of all of us as kids. She hasn’t stopped talking about Nova since she met her, and I know she’s trying to make up for all the years she’s missed. If Avery let her, I know she’d love to do the same with her.

She’s not the only one.

I ignore that thought and close the door after the technician. With a quick glance up and down along the street, I search for the man we’re all waiting for. It feels wrong as hell to let him take Nova from Avery, even if it is only for a couple of nights, but it’s not my business.

It’s. Not. My. Business.

Maybe if I repeat it enough, I’ll finally get it through my thick fucking skull.

“You and your mom don’t have to stay,” Avery murmurs, leaning over the counter with her hands steepled beneath her chin.

“We’re staying.”

The corner of her mouth curls. “Alright.”

Her hair is loose in its ponytail, stray hairs falling around her face to frame her jaw. She doesn’t pay them any attention, leaving them there to sway in the breeze from the cool air pumping through the vents. A glass bottle of grape pop sits in front of her, dew dripping from the sides before she wraps long fingers around it and lifts it to her lips.

Blue eyes drifting shut, she gulps down the fizzy drink, the column of her dainty throat straining with each swallow. Mine closes in at how regal she makes it look. It’s fucking weird to draw that relation, but I can’t think of anything more fitting.

Avery is beautiful. She has the kind of beauty that stops you on the street and has you contemplating how on earth you’ll manage to start up a conversation with her. Like a siren singing to sailors at sea, you’re powerless to her draw, damn near ready to bend over backward just to see her smile at you.

I’ve felt that draw for years. Tried to forget about it but didn’t succeed. Even with her halfway across the world, I wished for another shot to tell her those same thoughts.

I very well might have ruined my chance, though, considering I didn’t recognize her when she was dropped right in front of meand, because of that, treated her shit and started this war of wills between us.

If she was out of my league before, she’s not even in the same universe as me now.

“Is Chris always late?” I ask stiffly.

I’ve had this guy on my mind for weeks, and not a single thing about him has given me a good impression. The way he spoke to her on the phone had me wishing he were here to pummel.

Avery sets the bottle down and licks her lips clean. She picks at the wet, peeling label. “More late than he is on time.”

“When did you decide on every second weekend?”

“After we split. It was the first suggestion I gave. He didn’t even fight me on it. I haven’t been able to decide if that was a good thing or a horrendously bad one. It saved me on lawyer fees not having to get it taken care of in court, but at the same time, he didn’t even fight for her.”

I’m tense as I stare across the shop at where she leans, waiting for her to tear her attention away from the bottle. “He’s a fool.”

“He is. Nova deserves better.”

“She’s not the only one.”

Our gazes catch when she looks up. I take two steps forward, that draw between us demanding I get closer. She blinks slowly, lashes fluttering over tired, pale blue eyes.

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