Page 49 of Confusing Cade
“Those peonies,” he said, pointing to a bundle. "How much for the bunch?"
The woman nodded approvingly. “They're greenhouse-grown, flown in special from up north. Forty-five dollars.”
He pulled out his wallet without hesitation, handing over the cash. As she wrapped the stems in brown paper, he turned back to me, the bouquet now in his grasp. “For you,” he said simply, holding them out like an offering.
I took them, inhaling their delicate, sweet fragrance, but surprise tightened my chest. “Peonies? They're not even in season here.”
A soft chuckle escaped him, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that always made my heart skip. “Well, I think you deserve something unexpected, something beautiful that defiesthe odds.” His voice dropped lower, laced with meaning. “Like us, maybe?”
The comment hit me harder than I expected, a quiet reminder of how far we’d come. These flowers, out of place yet thriving, mirrored our story in a few ways. They were improbable, resilient, and blooming against all reason. I pressed them to my chest and the petals cooled against my skin, pushing forward a swell of emotion I hadn’t anticipated.
Then, just before we got back to shopping, he turned to me. “I’m going to give you more access to the Promenade plans.”
“What? Are you sure?”
“Yes.” He smiled. “This isn’t just about the opening anymore. Not for me. I want you part of my future, and that means my company too.”
“Oh my.” My heart quickened in my chest, throbbing against my ribcage. Of all the things I might have expected, this wasn’t one of them.
“I’m glad the county commission pushed us together, Bella. Really glad.”
“I am too,” I said.
And I was. Immensely.
In that moment, surrounded by the market's lively chaos, with Cade's hand finding mine again and the peonies whispering hints of possibility, I felt a spark of optimism. And as we walked on, side by side, I allowed myself to savor the here and now, curious about what might come next.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CADE
This wasn’t love. It was too early, too soon for that kind of talk. But it wasn’t just sex either. That was clear from the way I couldn’t stop thinking about Bella, the way I wanted her around, not only in my bed but in my day, my space, my head.
The market trip on Saturday was easy, fun. We wandered through the stalls, her arm brushing mine as she pointed out fresh fruit or laughed at my bad bargaining. Every touch sparked something, a quiet hum of wanting more. Later, we hit the local bar to catch a football game. She leaned close, her knee against mine, whispering sarcastic jabs about the players. I barely watched the game, too caught up in her warmth, her sly smile, the way her eyes held mine like a challenge.
That night, she stayed over. We made love three times, each one different. The first was fast, desperate, her hands pulling me closer like she couldn’t get enough. The second was slower, more deliberate, our bodies finding a rhythm that felt like it belonged to us alone. The third was soft, intimate, her breath warm against my neck as we moved together, eyes locked. We fell asleep tangled up, her body curled against mine, her steady breathing lulling me into a calm I hadn’t felt in a while.
On Sunday, we barely left the bed.
We stayed wrapped up in each other, talking about random things. Her favorite movies. My worst cooking attempts. Theway she fidgeted when she was nervous. We kissed, sometimes soft, sometimes hungry, losing hours to the pull between us. It felt natural, like we’d done this a hundred times before.
When Monday came, I hated watching her leave. Driving to work, I could still smell her on my clothes, hear her laughing in my head. I kept replaying the weekend—the way she felt, the way she looked at me. This wasn’t love, not yet, but it was more than I’d bargained for, and I was already hooked, waiting for the next time I’d see her. At the office, I spent most of the day unable to focus. The hours drained away, until shortly before noon, Lois rapped on my doorframe.
“I’m going out for lunch. May I get you something?” she asked.
