Page 4 of Knot in Bloom
“Levi, you don’t?—”
“I want to.” I hold her gaze, watch her pupils dilate slightly when I step closer. She’s close enough now that I can see the rapid flutter of her pulse at her throat, close enough that her scent wraps around me despite the chaos. “What do you need?”
For a second she looks fragile, like she might crumble entirely if someone touches her wrong. Then her spinestraightens with that quiet determination I’ve seen her use on difficult customers and impossible arrangements.
I catch myself staring at the graceful line of her neck, the way her sleep shirt clings damply to her body.
“The surviving chrysanthemums. Some potted arrangements in the back room on higher ground.Maybe some branches from outside if we can make the wedding rehearsal dinner look intentionally rustic instead of desperately improvised.”
“That sounds perfect for an October wedding.”
“It sounds desperate.”
“It sounds like Sadie Quinn making something beautiful out of a challenge. Which is what you do.”
She stares at me like she can’t believe I said that. Like no one’s ever told her that her ability to create beauty from chaos is remarkable.
“You don’t understand. This was supposed to be Sarah’s perfect night. She chose me specifically because she wanted something special instead of ordering from the big florists in Pine Valley.”Her voice gets smaller.”And instead I’m showing up with whatever didn’t drown.”
I can see her spiraling, imagining disaster scenarios and disappointed customers. The way her mind works, always assuming the worst while hoping for the best.
“So we make her the most gorgeouswhatever didn’t drown, wedding rehearsal dinner centerpieces anyone’s ever seen.”
“We?”
I start assessing the surviving chrysanthemums, testing their weight and damage. The water’s cold enough to make my feet go numb, but her face—like she can’t quite believe someone wants to help her without being asked—is worth any discomfort.
“I don’t open the bookstore until noon today.That’s six hours to save what we can and create something even more beautiful than what she originally planned.”
“I can’t ask you to?—”
“You’re not asking. I’m offering.”
She’s quiet for a moment, wrestling with accepting help. I can practically see the internal debate playing across her face.
Finally, she nods. “Okay. Thank you.”
We spend the next hour and a half working side by side in cold water. Moving salvageable plants to dry surfaces, mopping up standing water with every towel she owns. And I learn things about Sadie Quinn that I want to memorize.
She talks to flowers while she works. Apologizing to damaged ones like old friends, encouraging survivors with gentle coaxing that makes my chest warm with something protective and possessive.
“Come on, sweet girl, you’ve still got some life in you,” she murmurs to a drooping flower, stroking the petals with gentleness.
She knows exactly which stems are still viable just by touch. The same way she seems to know exactly what everyone in town needs before they ask for it. Mrs. Woodbury’s standing order every Tuesday. Pastor Williams’ simple funeral arrangements. The way she talked Tommy Clanton through choosing roses for his proposal last month.
I also learn that being this close to her for an extended period is testing my self-control in ways I hadn’t anticipated.
Every time she moves past me, I pick up more of her scent. Under the distress, there’s something warm developing. Interested. Like her body is responding to my proximity the same way mine responds to hers.
She hums unconscious little melodies while working, probably matching whatever music plays in her head. Her hands are small and capable, handling delicate petals like spun glass. I find myself watching the graceful way her fingers move,wondering what they’d feel like tracing over skin instead of flower stems.
When she stretches to reach something on a high shelf, her shirt rides up just enough to reveal a strip of soft skin at her waist. Pale and smooth, with a small freckle just above her hip bone.
Blood rushes straight to my cock at the thought of tasting that skin. I have to think about inventory management and quarterly reports until I’m calm enough to function around her without embarrassing myself.
I’m so focused on not staring that I almost miss the moment when I catch her watching me. I’m lifting a heavy planter to higher ground, sleeves rolled up, water dripping from my forearms, when I glance up and find her eyes tracking the movement of my muscles.
She flushes when she realizes I’ve caught her looking. Her scent spikes with something warm and interested before she quickly looks away, suddenly very focused on sorting stems.
