Page 45 of Ashes of the Past
He steps closer, studying it with an intensity that makes my heart skip a beat. He’s so close that I can smell his woodsy aftershave and see the small scar that runs along his neck. I inhale slowly, trying to calm my racing heart.
Why am I so…aware of him and everything about him right now?
I could just move a little closer so that he looks down and kisses me again. Yeah, that would be nice.
“It’s beautiful,” he says finally. “She’s going to love it.”
I smile, clearing my throat as I get out of the spicy scene that was unfolding in my head.
Get it together, Brynn. I know it’s been a while since you’ve been with a man, but this is ridiculous.
“Good. She deserves it.” I say softly.
He reaches for his wallet, but I shake my head. “This one’s on me.”
“No, ma’am, it is not. What was the whole point of your speech if I let you just hand these to me?”
“Okay,” I giggle. “I see your point.”
“I appreciate the gesture, though. You did an amazing job with these.”
“You’re welcome,” I reply, meeting his gaze.
I can feel the ridiculously goofy grin on my face.
Oh my God, Brynn! Knock it off! I’m acting like my childhood actor crush just walked in the room.
We stand there briefly, neither of us speaking, but it feels as though both of us want to. Then the bell jingles again, and the moment is broken.
“I’d better get going,” Jack says, taking the bouquet.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice a little unsteady. “Take care.”
He nods and heads for the door, but just before he leaves, he turns back. “You’ve got a gift, Brynn. Don’t ever forget that.”
And then he’s gone, leaving me standing in the middle of the shop, my heart racing and my mind spinning.
Chapter Eighteen
Jack
The flowers sit on the passenger seat of my truck, and I can’t stop glancing at them. The tiger lilies and whatever else she added—they’re not just flowers. They’re a statement, a story, and somehow, Brynn managed to capture my mom’s spirit in a single arrangement. It’s impressive, and it’s distracting the hell out of me.
I pull into Rachel’s café again, grabbing a box of pastries Mom loves. Rachel’s already working behind the counter, her usual energy buzzing around her like she’s had too much of her own coffee. She spots me and waves me over.
“Jack! Back so soon? What can I get for you?”
“Hey, Rachel. I just need a box of those lemon bars. My mom loves them, but she doesn’t bake like she used to. It’s her birthday today.”
“Oh, it is? Tell her I said happy birthday! And give her a hug from me. I’ll send you with the lemon bars, this birthdaycupcake, and…” She looks around her display case and pulls out a red velvet cookie. “This is also her favorite.”
“Will do,” I say, sliding a bill across the counter as she hands me the box. “Thanks.”
“Anytime!”
I nod and head back to the truck, the box of pastries joining the flowers on the seat. The scent of lemon and sugar mixes with the floral notes, and for a second, I’m hit with a wave of nostalgia. Mom’s kitchen used to smell like this when I was a kid—sweet, warm, and comforting.
Man, she used to bake so much. It was one of her side hustles before those were a thing. She worked two jobs and also made fresh-baked goods for people during the holidays for extra cash.
