Page 25 of Eight Years Gone

Jagger brought the last few buckets of flowers to the fridge while Grace dealt with Simplicity’s first customers of the day.

“If you wait here, I’ll get your arrangement, Mr. Torelli.”

“Sure.”

Grace headed Jagger’s way, looking damn good—stylish and subtly sexy. She’d pulled some of her hair back in a barrette, leaving her spectacular face unframed.

Grace had always known how to wear a pair of jeans. Her long, slender legs in snug denim were magic. And her tight little ass… Christ, he missed giving it a good squeeze.

“I need to get in there,” she said to him, keeping her voice cool as their eyes met.

He opened the door to the fridge, letting her step inside before him, breathing in the scents of her perfume and shampoo mixing with hundreds of flowers.

She grabbed the pretty arrangement of sunny fall blooms and turned, stopping short of smacking into him.

Long ago, he would have pulled her against him for a quick kiss. They would have grinned at each other while he playfully cupped her breasts or she teased him with a brush of her hand against his package.

Now, she cleared her throat while she stood stiff. “Excuse me.”

He stepped out of her way, letting her walk back out. Apparently, today was going to go about as well as yesterday.

When Aunt Mags had tracked him down at Todd and Ruby’s last night, asking for his help, he’d foolishly thought that his time at the shop might give him and Grace a chance to talk. So far, she’d done everything possible to avoid him.

He walked back out of the fridge, looking toward the half dozen boxes of various colored roses that needed to be unboxed, dethorned, and set in water to rehydrate.

He’d told Maggie he would haul buckets for her, but maybe if he went after the roses, Grace would be forced to stand in the same room with him while she created the numerous orders that needed to be filled.

By his estimation, she’d done everything she could out front, waiting for him to finish up. Eventually, she would have to come back here.

He moved to the table, grabbing the first box of coral-colored blooms. Pulling at the cardboard, he frowned when he spotted the mold on one of the petals.

“Uh-oh.” He winced, already feeling sorry for the supplier who would get an earful from a pissed-off Maggie Wilson. If there was anything he knew about Aunt Mags, it was how serious she was about the quality of her flowers.

He picked up the stem, bringing it out front as Grace smiled and waved to her customer.

“Tell Mrs. Torelli we hope she feels better.”

“I sure will. These should help. Thanks again, Grace.”

Grace’s smile disappeared as she faced him. “What’s wrong?”

“These are no good.”

She took the bloom from him, twisting it in her fingers as the familiar little line formed between her brow as she frowned. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Okay.” He turned to go back to the table.

She grabbed hold of his arm. “Don’t tell Aunt Maggie.”

He turned to face her again as she dropped her hand.

“The stress isn’t good for her MS. It causes flare-ups. She’s had more than a few lately, and it’s taking her longer to recover each time.”

He nodded, seeing the distress in her eyes. Not only was Grace running the store, she was also going out of her way to manage Maggie’s emotions. “What else can I be doing to help you?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

“Grace, I’m here—”

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