Page 38 of Defending her Heart

“I can only imagine.”

“Is there a particular flower or color you’re looking for?”

“That’s where I need the help. I haven’t a clue, but I’ll know it when I smell it. Her perfume is a blend of, I don’t know. It’s not crazy flowery like in here. No offense.”

“None taken.” She laughs.

“It’s sweet and maybe creamy. Does that sound stupid? Not peaches and coconut, but sometimes I pick up undertones.” Yeah, I’ve memorized her smell and her taste.

When I had my mouth plastered to hers, I inhaled so deep, trapping her scent in my veins.

“You’re quite close with her to give such a thorough assessment of her perfume.”

Oh, how wrong this nice woman is. “Any ideas?

“I don’t carry every flower in the shop but can have more variety tomorrow if you don’t find what you’re looking for.”

I follow her to a glass case and she opens the doors. Cool air washes over me, as does a blend of scents.

“I’ll take one out at a time for you to smell.” She hands me a stem with light purple flowers.

The strong scent is completely wrong. “Not even close.”

“Not lavender then.” She plucks an orange flower. “Try this one.”

I sniff it. “Closer, but not it.”

We go through a few more. Freesia, jasmine, and sweet pea. How perfect would it have been if her scent was the same nickname I have for Paisley? Although, that could be weird too.

“I can put in an order for some possibilities.”

I take out two hundred-dollar bills and place them on the counter. “Will this be enough to get you started?”

“More than enough.” She slides the money back to me. “There’s no need to pay in advance. If I find what you’re looking for, you can pay me then.”

“You’re an angel. Is tomorrow too soon?”

“It may be. Come back in two days and I’ll have an arrangement of sweet florals for you to inspect.”

“Can’t wait.” I tap the brim of my hat and head to practice.

Later that night, I work Kendall into conversation with Paisley, which isn’t hard because she’s a constant chatter box hellbent on detailing every second of kindergarten.

Steering her to a time when Kendall babysat, I ask, “Hey, Sweet Pea, do you remember when you and Miss Wentworth stopped for ice cream?”

“Yeah. We went to the park and she pushed me on the swings but not as high as you and then she watched me on the slide and the see-saw. She sat at the other end and isn’t as big as you, but she was more careful and didn’t make me fly in the air, but I like flying in the air with you.”

I should have known the simple question would turn into a series of run-on sentences. I let her ramble a little longer before I interrupt.

“What flavor ice cream did you and Miss Wentworth get?”

Paisley puckers her nose and mouth as she thinks deeply. “I got cotton candy on a cone. It dripped down my hand a lot and Miss Wentworth had a stack of napkins and kept wiping my hand for me.”

“That’s nice.” I rub my temples. “What flavor did she have?”

It’s a stretch, expecting a five-year-old to remember what flavor someone else had, but my daughter has a storage box of random details in that little skull of hers. She’s quite the observer. I’m sure it’s more so because she loves to get in everyone’s business, but I’ll use it to my advantage.

“She had chocolate with peanut butter chunks. Or maybe peanut butter candies. Like the peanut butter cups. She told us at school that chocolate peanut butter was her favorite. Remember when you made me a grilled peanut butter banana sandwich?”

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