Page 4 of Bloom and Burn
I laugh. He laughs. Man, he’s so full of shit! But like, in a good way. In an amusing, fun, intriguing way, because even though he’s evidently someone with money, he doesn’t act like a rich asshole.
He pays with his credit card, and I thank him, expecting him to be on his way so I can be on mine. But he lingers, looking anywhere but at me. I’m pretty sure he’s trying and failing to come up with something to say, so the embodiment of professionalism and excellent customer service that I am, I decide to save him from his awkward suffering.
“They aren’t for a funeral, are they?”
He gapes at me, then bunches his eyebrows together. “Excuse me?”
“The flowers. You said no occasion, but who are they for?”
“Ah.” A charming, heart-stopping boyish smile curves the left side of his mouth. “They are for my sister.”
My heart does a little happy dance, deciding that his relationship status must be ‘single’ if he’s getting his sister flowers. It, of course, disregards that I probably won’t see this fine specimen ever again, which makes a one-sided crush pointless. Unless I got his name and stalked him, of course.
“Oh…” I trail off, banging my head for a way to ask him his name without it being weird. “Um, you need a card,” I blurt out, yanking open the drawer where we keep them.
He taps his fingers on the floral bar’s wooden top. “I do?”
I wave off his question. “Of course. Cards with nice messages make people extra happy. I bet your sister will love it.”
What I said is kind of bullshit, because while some people appreciate cards, just as many don’t care if they get one. But my authoritative delivery was top-notch, so I’m convinced he’ll buy it.
“Sure then,” he agrees, chuckling, and gives me a pointed look.
Okay, maybe he’s seeing right through my bullshit, but he’s humoring me anyway.Swoon. As if he couldn’t get any better.
I take out a black pen and open the card. “What’s the message? To whom and from whom?”
He examines the bouquet, thinking while I ogle him shamelessly. And, of course, he catches me in the act too when he abruptly snaps his eyes back to me.
I panic. My heart lurches into my throat, pounding loudly. “You’re cute.”Oh, fuck! Not what I meant! Ryan, get your shit together.“I mean, the flowers! It’s cute that you want to gift them to your sister.”
He hums, and I swear to god, it’s in an appreciative, ‘I like how direct you are’ way. “To Emily. You were right,” he dictates slowly, so I can keep up with him. “Alpacas are evil when they haven’t eaten. Just like you.”
I snort. As an only child, I’m not an expert on this kind of thing by any stretch, but I’m sure throwing jibes at one another at every opportunity is how siblings express their love for each other.
I’m about to ask him for confirmation on my hypothesis, but scratch that because there is a more important piece of information that I must obtain. “And your name?” And since I’ve already made an idiot out of myself, I add, “Nameandsurname, as per the unspoken rule of writing cards to your siblings.”
Hechuckles in that sexy way from earlier and I chance a glance up. His face is lit up with the most adorable smile I’ve seen. I’m bewitched, there and then. And the best news? He’s totally enjoying this as much as I am.
“Jack,” he says, mid laugh. “Jack Keller.”
Jack Keller. I write out his name, racking my brain because,fuck, I know it from somewhere! Ugh!
In Estacada, there are two Jacks my age: one is a mechanic, and the other one is the son of Ella, the owner of the Ginger Cookies bakery. This Jack is neither, obviously… Sowheredo I know him from?
“Well, Jack Keller, I hope your sister likes the flowers,” I tell him, tucking the card between two dahlias.
He straightens up, and flashes me that dreamy lopsided smile with the slight dimple on the left side. “I’m sure she will…” He squints at my badge. “Ryan. Thank you and… have a good night.”
I parrot back the same absentmindedly as my heart races and crashes and sinks. Because,fuck. I finally recognize him. Fuck, fuck, fuck, it can’t really be him!
But it is. The dimple is right where it was all those years ago.
Jack Keller and I went to the same high school. He was friends with the older boys who bullied me at the start of my freshman year. And then, one day, he simply disappeared.
2
Jack
