Page 20 of Knot in Bloom
“I can see that.” His smile reveals something warmer beneath the polished exterior. “Tell me about your work, Sadie. How did you get into floral design?”
I start talking about my business, about the challenges and rewards of small-town life. He listens in a way that feels genuine—asking follow-up questions that show he’s actually paying attention. When I mention the difficulties with seasonal suppliers, he nods like he understands business challenges. When I talk about creating arrangements that match people’s emotions, his eyes warm with something that looks like fascination.
“Here you go, darling,” Millie appears with water glasses and menus. “What can I start you folks with to drink?”
“Wine might be nice,” Reid suggests, glancing at me. “If that works for your business dinner?”
“That sounds fine.” I notice Millie’s knowing look but ignore it.
“I’ve got a nice red that goes perfect with the pot roast special.” She looks between us with barely contained amusement. “Though judging by the way this young man’s been walking past our flower shop every morning this week, I don’t think he’s just here for the food.”
“Every morning?” I glance at Reid, who has the grace to look slightly embarrassed.
“Maybe I’ve walked past your shop a few times,” he admits. “Admiring the window displays.”
“Every morning with his coffee,” Millie adds helpfully. “Real dedicated to those flowers.”
The heat in my cheeks intensifies. He’s been watching my shop for a week. Thinking about me before we even met.
“She’s observant,” Reid says after Millie leaves with our orders.
“She’s a menace,” I reply, but I’m smiling. “The whole town is like this. Everyone knows everyone else’s business before they know it themselves.”
“Is that what you like about it? The community?”
I consider the question while opening my portfolio. “I grew up here, actually. My parents moved to Florida when they retired, but I couldn’t imagine leaving. This place... these people are like family. I wanted to build something that mattered to them. In a big city, flowers are just decorative. Here, they’re part of people’s most important moments.”
I spread out photos of recent arrangements, watching his face as he studies them. His expression grows more focused, more interested, with each image. When he leans forward to examine a photo more closely, something in his scent shifts—becomes richer, more intent.
“These are incredible, Sadie.” He picks up a photo of the Kerr rehearsal dinner centerpieces—the rustic arrangements that saved the day. His fingers brush mine as he takes the photo, and the brief contact sends heat racing up my arm. “The way you’ve combined textures and colors... it’s like visual poetry.”
I don’t pull my hand away immediately. Neither does he. For a moment we’re both very still, the photo forgotten between us, his thumb accidentally tracing across my knuckles.
The compliment sends a pleasant shiver down my spine. “That’s exactly how it feels sometimes.”
We talk more about the logistics of his weekly arrangements, about timing and delivery schedules. Professional details thatshould be straightforward, but I find myself getting distracted by small things. The way his hands move when he gestures. Long fingers, manicured nails that speak of a different world than mine. How he listens with complete attention when I explain my process. The subtle shift in his scent when he leans forward to look at my portfolio photos.
When I reach across the table to show him a pricing sheet, my bracelet catches on the edge of my portfolio. As I try to untangle it, Reid moves to help. His fingers work at the delicate chain while I hold very still, hyperaware of his proximity. He smells even better this close, and I can hear his breathing change slightly when my wrist pulse flutters against his thumb.
“There,” he says quietly, freeing the bracelet. But his fingers linger a moment longer than necessary, thumb tracing over the spot where my pulse beats rapid and obvious. “Got it.”
I wonder if he can sense my body’s response to him in the small booth. From the way his pupils have dilated, I think he can.
It’s the same focused interest I’ve come to appreciate in Levi and Caleb, but different somehow. More formal. Like he’s cataloging everything I say for future reference. But there’s warmth underneath the politeness, genuine curiosity about my work and my life here.
“You mentioned growing up here,” he says. “Was it always your plan to stay and build your business in Honeyridge?”
“Not exactly. I went to college, then moved to a bigger city. But when I came back to visit, I realized this was where I belonged. Where my work could matter most.” I trace the edge of my portfolio. “What about you? Do you enjoy traveling for projects, or do you prefer being based somewhere?”
“I used to think I preferred the traveling. New places, new challenges.” His eyes hold mine for a moment, and I can see his pupils are wider than they were when we sat down. “Butlately I’m finding myself drawn to... staying put. Finding deeper connections instead of always moving on to the next project.”
The weight of his gaze makes my breath catch. There’s something in his tone that suggests he’s not just talking about work. When he shifts in his seat, leaning slightly forward, his scent grows richer, more complex. I notice my own scent responding—honeysuckle blooming sweeter.
I can tell he notices the change too. His hand tightens around his wine glass like he’s fighting the urge to reach across the table.
When Millie returns with wine and food, the interruption feels almost jarring.
“Pot roast for the lady, steak for the gentleman.” She sets down plates that smell incredible. “And Sadie, honey, Tommy Clanton was in earlier about anniversary flowers for his wife. Seems word’s getting around about your talent.”
