Page 6 of Spring Fling

“I’m sure you’ll do great,” he replied. His directness made my cheeks feel warm. “I mean, you told me a bit about your approach when we… you know, ended up talking flowers in that, um, bar. You have a real passion for design, and what’s more—you think outside the box. You’re not afraid to beat your own drum. Both qualities I appreciate.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry if that’s too personal. Just saying I believe in you.”

A small thrill passed through me at his sincerity. “Thanks,” I managed, feeling a flutter in my stomach. “That’s refreshing to hear. My parents are doctors—two of them—and they never quite took my interest in plants and art seriously. They had my siblings follow in their footsteps. I’m the baby who refused to go to med school or law school. My ex, Grant, also never respected my career. So… yeah, sometimes I wonder if I’m chasing pipe dreams.”

His eyes sharpened with empathy. “I get it. My own family was supportive, but the academic crowd at my university used to roll their eyes at me filming casual how-to videos. Then they went viral, and here we are.” He gave me a sideways grin. “In short, you’re not alone. And from what I can see, you’re definitely not wasting your time.”

The line moved forward, prompting each of us to take a step. My chest felt lighter hearing his words. “I appreciate that.” There was a closeness creeping into our exchange, something reminiscent of the easy banter we’d fallen into that night last year. I reminded myself not to slip too far back into that memory. This was real life, and a lot was at stake now for both of us.

After paying for my foam, I lingered, uncertain if I should walk away or see if Hayden wanted to talk more. The underlying tension thrummed—just being near him made my pulse race. I found myself remembering the warmth of his hands, the way he kissed my neck in the dark. My body heated at the recollection.

His gaze flickered over me, as though he, too, recalled our previous intimacy. “So, you, um, ended that relationship with Grant before the show last year?”

I swallowed, nodding. “Yeah, it ended in a not-so-friendly way. He dismissed my ambitions; even told me I was dreaming if I thought I could actually succeed. That’s partly why I…” I hesitated, cheeks warming. “Why I let loose with you that night at the other expo. I’d been dying to prove to myself I wasn’t who he made me out to be.”

A half-smile tugged at Hayden’s mouth. “You’re a go-getter. I saw that then. I see it now.”

My heart stuttered. I couldn’t help smiling, even as my mind buzzed with longing. “Well,” I said, voice lower thanbefore, “thank you for saying that. But maybe we should keep it professional, like we said.”

He gave a short nod, albeit reluctantly. “Right. Professional.” Then a swirl of movement on the path behind him made us both look up. A flash of crimson caught my eye. Ariana St. James approached, her trademark confident stride drawing immediate attention. To my dismay, her focus zeroed in on Hayden.

“Oh, hi, Hayden!” she called out in a tone too bright, heading straight toward us. My pulse sank.They know each other of course.Ariana’s impeccably styled hair glinted in the sunlight as she halted next to him, ignoring me entirely. Her manicured hand brushed his arm. “I was hoping to track you down about a potential joint photo op… The sponsors love the idea of ‘America’s Floral Sweetheart’ meets horticulture’s rising star.” Her pageant smile glowed.

I stiffened, trying to maintain neutrality. Hayden offered a polite nod, though tension gathered at his jaw. Or perhaps that was just my imagination. “Sounds good. I’m heading to a meet-and-greet now in fact. I’m sure the photogs will be there.”

Ariana beamed, hooking her arm around his. “Perfect. I’ll walk over with you, and we can talk more about it.”

I tried to mask the churn of jealousy in my stomach. Ariana was already leaning close to him, exuding a claim over the conversation. My heartbeat pounded in my ears. Hayden flashed me an apologetic glance, and I forced a tight smile, stepping back.No reason to stand here feeling overshadowed.Ariana turned, acknowledging me with a faint flick of her gaze. “Oh, hi again, Daisy,” she said, then promptly refocused on Hayden.

I kept my chin high. “Yes, hi. I’d better get back to my booth. Good luck.” I spun on my heel, hugging the foam blockstight to my chest. My face burned at the sight of Ariana’s polished French tips resting on Hayden’s jacket sleeve.Why do I care so much? It’s none of my business.I marched away, blinking against the sting of envy coiling in my gut.We said we’d be professional. He can talk to whomever he likes.Still, the tension in my limbs wouldn’t ease.

As I distanced myself from them, I glanced over my shoulder. Shaking my head, I told myself to stay focused on my work. But an ache throbbed in my chest, telling me this might be more complicated than I’d ever planned.

Chapter Four

Hayden

The midday sun felt unrelenting as I slipped behind the main festival tent, hoping for just a moment of solitude before my scheduled lecture. My head spun from the constant barrage of sponsor demands, autograph lines, and polite applause. Usually, I’d welcome a chance to discuss plant propagation with eager listeners, but the weight of publicity obligations drained me. Leaning against a support post, I pulled out my phone, fighting the swirl of tension rising in my chest.

Right on cue, my phone buzzed—the publisher again. My jaw tightened. After a quick glance around to ensure no one hovered nearby, I answered, bracing myself for a fresh wave of instructions.

“Hayden? Finally caught you,” came the clipped tone of Marlene. “Glad you picked up. We have a new development that might interest you.”

“I’m listening,” I said, forcing myself to sound calm. A dull ache throbbed at my temples, leftover from the morning’s sponsor meet-and-greet. They’d wanted me to pose holding a giant potted fern while two local luminaries flanked me,plastering big smiles for the cameras. My face already felt stiff from forced grins.

Marlene wasted no time. “We’ve arranged an exciting opportunity—Ariana St. James’s management wants to collaborate with you on a special demonstration. She’s rumored to be in serious talks for her own lifestyle TV show. Apparently, the producers want a scientific angle alongside her flair for beauty. They see you as the perfect partner.”

I swallowed a groan. Ariana’s presence made me uneasy. It was clear the woman craved attention, something I detested. “What would that even entail?” I asked warily.

“A kind of…synergy,” Marlene continued in that bright, unstoppable tone. “The producers propose a public demonstration at the festival—some combined arrangement or greenhouse tips. This is more than a cameo, mind you. If you two click on camera, it could pave the way for you to be featured on her upcoming show. The sponsor behind the series is pushing a big budget, which means huge exposure for your brand.”

I set my jaw, recalling how I’d spent the past months trying to distance myself from performing like a show pony. “I’m not sure. Ariana’s style is pretty different from mine. I focus on sustainable gardening methods. She’s all about catering to the rich and famous, right?”

Marlene chuckled, ignoring the tension in my voice. “That’s exactly why it’s a perfect match—opposites attract. The sponsor wants to play up your horticulture credibility and Ariana’s star power. You two become the talk of the festival. Everyone wins.”

“Except I’m not exactly comfortable faking a relationship for publicity,” I said quietly, scanning the busy grounds from my spot behind the tent. Rows of bright booths lined the field, visitors milling between them. A small patch of daisiesfluttered in the breeze, prompting a flicker of memory about Daisy Parker. In the distance, a cheerful voice announced the next round of demos. “This might come off as dishonest to the audience.”

Marlene’s tone shifted to something more insistent. “This is how the entertainment world works, Hayden. If you want to pivot from YouTube to mainstream, you’ll need bigger audience appeal. Ariana St. James is your ticket. Also, they’re floating the idea of a… well, a romantic angle to generate buzz. Sort of a ‘fake date’ scenario—like a storyline, if you will. You wouldn’t have to actually date her, just give the impression. Cozy photos, subtle hints, that sort of thing.”

My stomach twisted. “A fake date?” I repeated, struggling to keep my voice even. The notion disgusted me; the idea of staged romance for cameras felt disingenuous. And if Daisy saw that… She’d misunderstand everything. My chest tightened with guilt, flashing back to the fleeting moments she and I had shared only yesterday. We’d agreed on professionalism, but it didn’t mean I wanted her seeing me draped over Ariana for a publicity stunt. “I’m not sure about that, Marlene,” I said, picking my words carefully.

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