Page 65 of Wild Flower

I tuck the medallion back under his shirt, pressing it, and my hand, against his chest. “I bet your parents are very proud of the man you’ve become,” I say softly, watching a ridge in his throat travel downward like he doesn’t want to swallow that idea.

“Tell me about the contract.”

I hold his medallion to his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath. I kiss his neck softly before telling him about the bomb my mother dropped in my lap earlier today.

“You don’t happen to know a lawyer, do you?” I ask, trying to make light of the fact that I haven’t a clue what half of the contract demands. “Not that I can afford one, especially if I’m going to have to pay rent on the farm now.”

“Connor used to be a lawyer.”

“Who?”

“He’s the bartender at Flambé.”

“Flambé’s bartender is a lawyer? Why is he making cocktails?”

“Usedto be a lawyer,” Archer corrects. “He’s Arie’s boyfriend, and I don’t know why he doesn’t practice anymore. Something about hating corporate bullshit—which frankly, I respect him for if that’s the reason.”

“Do you know him well enough to see if he’ll look over the contract?”

“It doesn’t hurt to ask.”

“Seriously?”

“I’ll see what he says on my next shift.” Archer turns off the back road and heads toward Honolulu. “The real question is how long are you going to put up with your mom’s bullshit? Contract or not, you could move your flower farm. It’s a big island. There’s bound to be another plot of land you can put your greenhouse on. Then you’d be free of your mother’s meddling.”

“Tropical plants don’t move easily,” I reply, a tightness rising in my chest. I wish it was as simple as he suggests. “At least half of them will die in a major move, particularly the ones planted in the ground. And I wouldn’t dare move the larger trees.”

Even as I say it, it feels hollow.

Archer doesn’t say anything, letting my excuses sit in the silence around us. Of course, it isn’t just about the plants. It’s about my family. But I can’t articulate what I’m so afraid of when it comes to that. They drive me nuts, and space would be good for me—and them! It would probably make us closer by not being on top of each other.

And yet …

It also feels like the guest house and that plot of land is my only connection to them. If I sever that, what’s left?

“It’s a good suggestion,” I say, even though it feels like a lie. “I should look at other options. That would be professional and smart. I really do have to run the numbers to make sure I can even stay afloat if I have to pay rent on the farm.”

“Do you think they’re trying to put you out of business?”

Archer’s comment stings like a fresh coal pressed to my throat, burning so hot I don’t know what to say in response. My parents aren’t vindictive. They know I love my farm. Yes, they think the whole business is an impractical hobby that I should give up, especially when I invest in sub-tropic species that are hard to keep alive and barely make a profit.

“They’re my parents,” I say weakly. “They wouldn’t …”

But I’m not so sure. If I didn’t have my farm and the boutique, what would I do?

I let go of the medallion that I’ve been clutching against Archer’s chest. “Let’s go out and do something fun,” I say, needing to forget all this for a minute. “Get smashed, jump off a cliff.”

Archer’s hand falls to my thigh. “Feeling reckless, Wild Flower?”

“Yes.”

He smiles.

Archer doesn’t feel like real life. He and Finn are a fantasy, a wicked distraction I’ve brought into my life to remind me just how much I don’t fit into the normal way of things.

And if I’m abnormal, then I may as well go all in.

“Tell me, Archer,” I say, moving his hand higher up my leg. “How would you be reckless?”

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