Page 33 of Fierce

The Language of Flowers

Charles pulled into the parking lot of the Botanical Gardens, and Hemi said, “Right. Roses,” and climbed out of the car.

Charles was holding the door, but it was Hemi’s hand taking mine again as I got out. I could feel that my dress was riding up, and he must have noticed, but he kept his gaze on my face, and I appreciated it. Of course, then he put his sunglasses on again, and I couldn’t tell where he was looking.

He let go of me and put a hand out for Karen, but she didn’t take it. She said, “Is this some kind of old-timey chivalry thing?” and hauled herself out, taking her backpack from Charles with a “Thanks” that at least saved me from wanting so sink through the ground.

“Karen,” I said helplessly, feeling my color rising as it had all morning. “Please. What’s Hemi going to think?”

“That I’m honest?” she said. “And able to get out of a car by myself?”

“No worries,” Hemi said. He told Charles, “I’ll ring you. Thanks.”

Charles nodded and climbed back into the car again, and Karen said, “You say ‘thanks’ to your chauffeur. That’s pretty cool.”

“I’m a Kiwi,” Hemi said. “A New Zealander. We tend to be polite. And democratic, you could say.”

“Oh, is that what you are.” I muttered it under my breath, but he heard it.

“Most of the time,” he said, and I must have shot him a pretty skeptical glance, because he laughed, then dropped his voice to murmur, “Except when I’m…not. There are times when a command works so much better, eh.”

“See, Hope,” Karen said. “You don’t have to be polite all the time. I told you.”

“That’s not what Hemi’s talking about. So what do you think? Shall we go see some roses? Or are we going for the walking-out deal again? You’re getting a little close,” I told Hemi. “I’m just saying.”

“That’s what I’m hoping,” he said, beginning to walk up the path with me.

“Really?” Karen asked, hustling along behind us. “You want her to walk out?”

“No,” Hemi said. “I want to get close.”

“Oh. Flirting.” Karen sighed. “I never get flirting. It’s kind of stupid anyway, don’t you think?”

“I always did,” he said. “Inefficient. But your sister’s bringing me around to her way of thinking. Seems I’d forgotten about the subtler pleasures.”

That got me turning to look at him again. “Didn’t we talk about not flirting?”

“No,” he said. “We talked about not pushing it. And I thought you wanted a date. Dating is flirting, least the way I remember it. But I’m keeping it on this side of the line, aren’t I.”

“That ‘command’ thing?” I didn’t want Karen to hear this, so I kept my voice soft, which was a mistake, because he had to lean toward me to hear it. “Not so much.”

“Mm.” He kept it soft himself. “But you noticed. Got you paying attention, didn’t I.” He inclined his head even more toward me and took a breath. “And that’s Coco by Chanel. Very nice indeed. Not what I’d expected from you, though.”

“Because I’m such a simple girl?”

“Getting the picture, aren’t I. And it’s this way.” He put a light hand on my lower back and steered me to the right, and I had to fight myself not to lean into him.

“I’m kind of feeling like a chaperone right now,” Karen informed us. “So you know.”

“Yeh,” Hemi said. “That was the idea, wasn’t it.”

“Hope’s not that hard to get,” Karen said, and I gasped. What?

“I mean,” Karen went on, oblivious, “she does go out with guys. Without me along.”

“Mm,” Hemi said. “I’m a bit special, maybe.”

“Because you’re too rich?” Karen asked.

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