Page 9 of Blood and Buttercups

We leave the restaurant a few minutes later, pausing outside on the bridge and looking up. Stars are just peeking through the twilight canopy above. With the bubbling water and soft landscape lighting, it’s a romantic setting.

The night is like a modern fairy tale, but my heart aches for a man I shouldn’t miss. This date was supposed to show Kevin Idon’t need him, but all it did was prove he really doesn’t care. He still hasn’t called me.

“May I be presumptuous?” Ethan asks, edging closer.

“All right…”

“Would you like to take a drive? It’s a pleasant night, and it’s not late yet.”

“In your very expensive car?”

“It’s a Lamborghini Murciélago,” he preens.

“Of course it is.” I pause, thinking over the offer. Part of me wants to go, but the other part is hesitant, and not just because I’m hurting.

This sort of thing doesn’t happen in real life, and if it does, you’re usually on the news the following day. But Ethan has been nothing but nice, and there are worse things than driving around in a bright orange Lamborghini—such as going home to an empty house and wondering why Kevin decided I’m not even worth a five-minute phone call.

“It sounds fun,” I finally say.

“Really?” Ethan looks pleasantly surprised.

I choke back my reservations. “Yes, really.”

3

After we drivearound town for a few hours, going nowhere in particular, Ethan pulls up to a small local lake. A paved walking trail surrounds it, and there’s plenty of lighting for evening use.

It’s a romantic spot, with couples holding hands as they stroll by the water’s edge.

“Care to walk?” Ethan asks.

It’s the strangest thing, and I can’t put my finger on why, but I feel uneasy.

“I’m actually kind of tired,” I say. “I think it’s about time I call it a night.”

Ethan turns in his seat, studying me. “I make you nervous.”

“A little,” I admit.

“Don’t be.” He leans over, clasping my hand. His skin is cold, making me think he might be nervous, too. “I already promised not to steal your organs.”

“I need to tell you something.”

“You can tell me anything.”

“I just found out my ex-boyfriend was cheating on me yesterday,” I admit, resting my head against the headrest. “I think I’m still in shock. Nice as it’s been, I’m not sure I’m ready for…all this.”

Ethan nods, pulling his hand back. “Then it will be a friendly stroll with no expectations.”

I angle my head to study him. “All right.”

The night air is cool and pleasant, and the smell of freshly cut grass is in the air. It’s late enough that most families are home, so the path is quiet.

“How did you start your cut flower business?” Ethan asks as we walk.

“I read an article about a flower farm in one of my grandma’s gardening magazines when I was a teen. It went into detail about how you don’t need a massive plot of land—that many small-scale growers farm right out of their backyards.”

“And that’s what you do?”

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