Page 11 of Resisting Temptation

I nod slowly, understanding where she’s coming from. It’s taken a long time for us to get our reputation to where we want it. People trust us to deliver beautiful fresh flowers all over the Savanah region, and they trust us with their special days. “Thank you for coming to me. I’ll see what I can do.”

The two of us finish our late lunch in silence, deep in thought. The afternoon is slow, and I help out washing vases and getting ready for market run in the morning. Then I help as we pack up the front of the shop, bringing in potted plants and hanging baskets. I close off the till while Stella puts the leftover flowers in the fridge for the night. But I’m not really here. I’m trying to calculate how I make this work. Because I know I only just found out about this opportunity, but I want it more than anything I have ever wanted in my life, and I’m going to make it happen. Just not sure how yet.

Chapter 7

Noah

I’m cooling down after my early-morning run by jogging down Main Street. Just like yesterday, Paisley is sitting on her patio sipping from her polka-dot mug. Her unruly curls are swept up off her face in a messy bun, and she’s wearing pale blue plaid flannel pajama bottoms and a fluffy-looking sweater. She looks cute as hell. But it’s knowing what she has on under the PJs that has me imagining things I shouldn’t. That cute little silk number she wears to bed every night.

I stop on my front lawn and take hold of the fence as I stretch, being mindful of my ankle. It took me a whole year to recover from the bullet wound that destroyed my Achilles. At last, I can finally do some light running. The realization that I will never play football again continues to weigh me down. There was no contingency plan for me. I know I should have had one, but partof me thought I was invincible. That I wouldn’t need one. And now I only have myself to blame for the emptiness I feel. I put my career above everything: family, relationships, education. I was consumed with being the best that I could be, and I was. Until the loudpopthat brought me to the ground instantly, pain splitting through my ankle. When our physio explained I would never play again, I thought my life was over. If I had just stayed out of that bar. If I had walked away when he called my name. At first, I thought it was a case of wrong place, wrong time. But when I heard his friend call his name, I knew it was a targeted attack. Her father had come through with his threat to destroy me.

I can feel Paisley watching me, and I glance over in her direction, catching her. She might like to act as if she hates me, but I know under all that hostility, something still lingers between us. My lips turn up at the side in a questioning smirk. They say,“You want your hands on this again, don’t you, baby?”

“Fine morning, isn’t it?” I offer her a wave and a cheeky smile.

“It was.” She stands, glaring daggers in my direction, and I can’t help but laugh. She won’t even have a simple conversation with me. The woman is as infuriating as she is beautiful. I know I fucked up when I left her without a word, but what’s worse, ripping the band-aid off or a sad goodbye? We both knew when we started hooking up that summer, what we had couldn’t ever go anywhere. I had a career to go back to. People who relied on me. And she was a girl I never should have touched in the first place. What we had was fucking hot, but I shouldn’t have ever let it go as far as I did.That’s the problem. When it comes to her, I always go too far. And we both paid for it.

As I finish stretching, a familiar voice catches my attention before I head inside.

“Mr. Harrington,” Mrs. Rashford hollers from across the street. She has a blonde lady with her, and she grabs her arm as she crosses the road, hurrying toward me. The two women are wearing white tennis outfits and holding rackets, as if they just finished a match. “So glad I caught you. This is Whitney.” She presents the shy-looking girl in my direction.

“Hi,” I offer, not having to guess why I’m being stopped this morning.

She smiles sweetly, if not a little uncomfortably.

“Your casserole was delicious. I can grab the dish if that’s what you’re after?” I say, hoping to end this conversation quickly. I’m covered in sweat and ready for a hot shower.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it, dear; it’s a family recipe. Whitney can make it as well, and it’s every bit as nice as mine. She’s not just a talented vet, but skilled in the kitchen as well.”

“I’ll have to test it out at some point.” I plaster a polite smile on my face.

“What are you doing on Saturday night?” the old woman asks, her thin brow raised in interest.

I try to think on my feet, but I’ve got nothing. “Ah, nothing at this stage.”

Her lips turn up at the side, pleased with my answer. “Oh, that’s not good enough. A catch like you should have a date on the most romantic day of the year.”

I look between the two of them, puzzled as to what she’s on about. Whitney shifts uncomfortably. But her nan beams back at me like she’s won the lotto.

“Nan, stop,” Whitney says through clenched teeth. If she wasn’t feeling uneasy earlier, she definitely is now.

The old lady grins at me, a glint of mischief in her cloudy eyes. “Whitney is free as well. How serendipitous. You should have a Valentine’s night out together.”

Poor Whitney blushes a deep shade of beetroot red. She looks completely embarrassed by her pushy relative. And she should be, this woman is relentless. I glance toward Paisley’s house and notice her still lingering in the doorway. A date with someone else isn’t a terrible idea. I have nothing better to do, and Whitney seems like a nice girl. “What do you say, Whitney, you want to have dinner Saturday night? I’ve been told Villa Bella Cucina in Bluewater Beach is a must-try. A friend of mine runs it. I’m sure I could swing us a table even on the busiest night of the year.”

“That sounds really nice.” She smiles sweetly, relief washing over her.

Mrs. Rashford looks pleased with herself and claps her hands together. “You can pick her up at six. This is her phone number, and she lives right across the street. The white house next to me.” She points it out, so I know exactly what she’s talking about, even though she already gave me the street tour.

Whitney rolls her eyes at her nan, and I can’t help but chuckle at the two of them. She must drive her granddaughter insane. “See you then.” A smirk plays on my lips as I watch her lead her nan away, their chatter fading behind the gate.

A door slams behind me, and when I glance back in her direction, Paisley’s gone. I’m not sure if she heard that conversation or not, but it couldn’t hurt my cause if she did.

Nostalgia engulfs me as I enter the mayor’s office through the glass sliding doors. The last time I was here, I had a can of red spray paint in hand and a bottle of bourbon. I was also only seventeen, but I wanted my father to pay for destroying our family and thought somehow that vandalizing his precious office would do that. If the boys didn’t find me and drag my sorry drunk ass out of here, my life could have gone very differently.

Margo Parish, the chick who dropped in to my place the other day, greets me with an outstretched hand, ready for me to shake. Her perfectly manicured nails are a deep shade of purple that coordinates with her pantsuit, her hair slicked back on the sides, and her handshake firm. She gives off a don’t-fuck-with-me vibe that I appreciate.

“Mr. Harrington, thanks for meeting with me to go over options for your campaign. I was so thrilled when you called.” She shows me through an open door, a twinkle in her eye that tells me she’s not bullshitting.

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