Page 53 of Red Flags Only

Jupiter:Not in an office romance.

Lyra:Are you writing an office romance?

Jupiter:…

Jupiter:Mind your business.

Ah. Right.

I snort.

Lyra:We can have the work date so long as you leave your knife at home.

Jupiter:D: But what if some poor woman’s furniture needs an artisan touch? I’m supposed to leave her in her deprivation?

Lyra:Yes. No knife or no date. You choose.

Jupiter:You’re a cruel, cruel girlfriend.

Jupiter:I’ll leave the knife under Mars’ care.

Bless. My furniture is safe for another night.

I confirm the time of our date with Jove, then spend the next hour repotting plants for customers. Just me, the butterflies, and the soil. It’s not my favorite service I offer, but it’s not my least favorite either. Half the hour is spent tackling a monstera with extensive root rot, which ends up looking more like a twig than a houseplant by the time I’m done with it. I wince and hope the owner understands. She just needed some… trimming. She’ll come back bigger and better for it.

In a few months.

And you know customers. Real good at seeing the big picture and being super patient waiting to see the results.Sogood at it. Always.

I scratch my nose, then remember that my hands are covered in fertilizer and dirt. Yikes.

Wiping my nose with the hem of my dress instead – because I’ve once again forgotten to put on my apron, I decide that now is as good a time as any to call it a day.

I give my workbench a quick organization, then jump as I’m snuck up on in my greenhouse for the second time in as many weeks.

“I’m here for my stuff,” a familiar, not entirely welcome voice snips from the doorway.

I turn, squinting against the afternoon light to see Chrissy standing there, arms crossed tight against her chest. “Chrissy?”

“My stuff, Lyra. I want my stuff. I can’t believe I’ve even had to come all the way out here to get it. The least you could do is not play a bumbling idiot when I show up.”

I blink, appalled. Then I wonder why I’m so surprised.This is how Chrissy talks to me. This is always how Chrissy’s talked to me. Why should I expect any different?

“The leastyoucould do,” Jove’s voice rumbles behind her, “is not show up at someone’s house making demands and hurling insults when you’re asking for a favor.”

Chrissy spins, arms falling as she comes face to face with Jove.

I move through the rows of plants scattered amidst my greenhouse until I’m feet away from them and Jove’s looming figure is clear.

“I’m not asking for a favor,” Chrissy blusters. “She has my stuff and I want it back. She’s lucky I’m not asking for more. She owes me after the way she’s treated me. Not that it’s any ofyourbusiness.”

“Seems my business when someone is speaking that way to and about my girlfriend, who’s never been anything but kind and respectful to you despite your constant attitude and horrific behavior.”

Chrissy scoffs. “Like you’re one to talk about ‘horrific behavior’. You ruined my grandpa’s truck.”

“He deserved it,” Jove replies, nose scrunching as he takes Chrissy in.

Her hands hit her hips, and I instinctively take a step back.

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