Page 8 of Forget Me Knot

DINAH

He’s here. He came back and, Sweet Baby Ray, he has the softest looking stubble running along his jaw that was most certainly not there last night.

Rugged Ken.

I have to physically stop myself from hopping over the bar and skipping across the room to get to him faster.

Did I fantasize last night for far too long—despite Emory’s lackluster input—about mystery man and our epic meet cute? Yes. Yes, I did. There were flower drawings, full on daydreams, and musings about weddings that I will not get into now. I’m a warm-blooded woman who hasn’t felt thepitter patterof my excited heart coming to life in quite a while. I will not apologize.

I did eventually begin to wonder if I’d somehow imagined the electricity between us. I was caught up in the excitement of the night. In the success of the grand opening and the warm welcome from Honey Hill’s residents. Surely I hadn’t experienced aonce in a lifetime, love at first sight, maybe weshould just run away togethertype moment with a complete and utter stranger. That would be crazy. And I’m not crazy.

But here he is now, and all those same butterflies are breakdancing in my belly. And frankly, I’d like nothing more than to throw myself into this man’s arms.

I know, I’m insane.

I feel it.

“So, you came back for those Cinnamon Twists afterall.” Whoa. First sentence delivered with surprising steadiness. We’re off to a good start.

Only,Kenjust stares at me. Stares. But not in anI just met my future wife for the second timesort of way. He’s looking at me more akin to a person who’s in need of a translator or maybe a strong antacid. He narrows his hazel eyes, and I falter.

“Dinah?” he asks, voice scratchy and somehow unsure.

“Uh, yeah.” Laughing his question off in a way that screams discomfort, I try again. “Do you… um… Do you want some coffee maybe? Or—”

“No.” His eyes search the room as if he’s seeing it for the first time. “It looks like the inside of a Polly Pocket in here.”

I laugh, though I'm sure it comes out as more of a startled welp. I don’t know how to take that. He seemed to likeeverythinghe saw last night.

“Um. Thank you?”

Taking a deep breath through his nose, like he’s holding himself steady, those piercing eyes of his land on the flowers I have near the register.

I follow his line of sight. “Oh, Charlie brought those for me this morning. I’m assuming you know Charlie, right? I get the feeling she knows just about everyone around here. She’s been so sweet to me.” I clench my hands together, feeling more and more insecure by the second. “My sister, Emory, brought me thedaisies from the shop next door. I thought it was a bike shop, but it’s not.”

“Petals.”

“Yes!” I say, excited, because maybe he’s warming up to me again. “It’s got the sweet robin’s-egg blue bike up front with the basket of flowers.”

“It’s spelled P.E.T.A.L.S.”

“Right.”

“Bike pedals are P.E.D.A.L.S. It's a different word.”

I point my finger up in the air, proud I remember my middle-grade English lessons. “It’s a homophone.”

He looks to the heavens rather than at me, mumbling more to himself, “I know it’s a homophone."

“Then we’re in agreement.”

Waving him off, I arrange the flowers a bit, admiring them again and avoiding eye contact for the first time since he walked in. “Anyways, the roses you brought… Well, I put them in my apartment upstairs.”

Eyes flicking back to mine, his jaw tightens. “Roses?”

“Yeah. I know they match the vibe down here, but they’re so beautiful I wanted to see them when I woke up this morning. Thank you, again.”

He grunts—GRUNTS—and takes a decisive step towards the door.

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