Page 16 of An Unexpected Kind of Love

“Excellent news, that makes my job a bit easier. Sign here.” He gingerly sets the flowers down on the front desk and shoves his clipboard at me. Beyond him, a couple of customers curiously watch on.

Gemma appears in the periphery of my vision, peeking out from behind bookshelves. She creeps closer, like the proverbial moth to the inevitable flame, not one to miss an opportunity to witness me embarrassing myself again. She gawps. “Wow, Aubs.”

“Clearly, there has to be some sort of mix-up,” I say to the courier, ignoring Gemma. “This isn’t a florist shop. It’s a bookshop. And I’m expecting a stock delivery today—books only. There’s not a single flower in my order. I didn’t even order any gardening books.”

The man runs a finger down the page, reading the delivery details. “It’s not for the shop. It’s a personal delivery. For you.”

“A personal delivery?” I ask, frowning. “From whom?”

He shrugs. “Guess you’ll need to read the card, mate. Now, I’ve got another dozen deliveries to make before all the flowers wilt from heat. The air-con’s just gone in my van.”

Hesitating, I look from the clipboard to the truly magnificent flowers. I pluck the card from the wrapping and open it. It’s written in a hand I don’t recognize.

A thanks for Saturday. You’re incredible. Sorry for making you uncomfortable.

Oh, shit.

These can’t be from Blake Sinclair.

My face burns hotter than the sun. Immediately, I stuff that card away into my chest pocket, away from anyone’s eyes. Especially Gemma’s, who creeps closer to the flowers. Never mind customers. Or—God—what if Eli saw them? It’s more difficult to evade him. And, it’s stupid, but I feel guilty.

I snatch the clipboard, scribble a signature, and return it to the courier just as quickly. The man does a double take at my sudden move into action.

“Must be a good card.” He looks amused. “Right. I’m off.”

So he goes and Gemma approaches, clearly awed by the flowers.

“These are beautiful.” She gently touches a peony, then leans in to sniff, her dark ponytail hanging over her shoulder as she does. Today, she’s in a blue dress slightly darker than the cornflowers. She turns to me, hands on her hips, and gives me a broad grin. “Now you gotta spill everything.”

My glower is intimidatingly ferocious, I’m sure of it.

“They’re not from Eli, are they?”

I give her a wry look before doing my best to go back to looking fierce. Which, unfortunately for me, is about as convincing as being a vicious golden retriever. I’m also the furthest thing from an actor that there could possibly be, and I wear everything on my face, whether I like it or not. “I’m not answering that.”

I don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing that she thinks they would be from Eli rather than someone new. I mean, I’m nothing if not predictable in my newfound curmudgeon lifestyle. But still.

“Well, someone obviously likes you. A lot. God, how romantic. I wish someone would send me flowers like that.” Gemma sighs dreamily, gazing at the arrangement.

“I’m fairly certain there’s some books in urgent need of stocking—”

And then comes the second unwelcome interruption of the morning. A woman wearing a baseball cap enters, accompanied by a man who carries a camera and measuring tape. They both wear black lanyards with some sort of identification hanging down. There’s a determined air about them.

Of course my scowl returns instantly and whatever this is, I don’t like it already. They don’t pause to look at any books. Rather, they’re making sweeping looks, sizing up the shop in a way I don’t care for.

“Hi,” says Gemma brightly, straightening from another sniff of the arrangement. “How can I help?”

“We’re here to start work,” says the woman, checking her clipboard. Already, the man starts taking measurements of the doorframe. “Sorry we’re late. We were held up on set. Hope you don’t mind.”

Gemma smiles. “Not at all. Aubrey would be happy to help you out.”

And then she disappears into the depths of the shop.

I miss the flower courier already. Whatever this is, it already promises to be highly irritating. “You people already bought all of my green books. I’m fresh out.”

The woman chuckles. “I’m Alice Rutherford. Sorry to miss you the other day.” She extends a hand.

I grit my teeth. The location scout. Right. “I didn’t agree to anything.”

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