by Finn, Emilia
“Nope. Because unlike other women who may not be so sure of themselves, I know that your bad moods have absolutely nothing to do with me, and everything to do with you. I can understand that about you without accepting it as my own baggage.”
“You’re so fuckin’ sure of yourself?” I reach out and take a lettuce leaf. “I don’t know that I’ve ever met such an arrogant woman.”
Again, her brows furrow. “In a woman, you call it arrogance, and say it with a negative inference. But if I were a man, I would be called a leader, confident, a trailblazer. Are you saying I’m less of a woman because I won’t let a man gaslight me?” She snorts. “No siree. Not in this house.”
I look around the kitchen, and grin at the marble countertop. “This is my brother’s house.”
“It’s nice, too.” She turns so I get a good view of her ass and the gap between her thighs. She studies the stove, the cabinetry, the fridge. “When it’s time to renovate mine, I wonder if he’d help me? We can design it together.”
“Is that a genuine question?” I ask. “Or are you still trying to annoy me by using my brothers?”
“A little bit of A,” she laughs. “A little bit of B. It’s not my fault Lorraine the slut broke you. And it’s not my job to fix you.”
She’s so quick with her responses. So sharp and unbending on things that… well… more women should be unbending on. So I accept her words, and know them to be truth.
“Nixon would give anyone the shirt off his own back,” I tell her. “If you told him you wanted his kitchen, we’d have a hard time stopping him from tearing out his own backsplash and driving it to your place.”
“I don’t want his backsplash.” She runs her fingertips over the rough tiles. They were chosen because of their imperfections. Glossed up to show something broken can still be beautiful. “But he has good taste. It’s minimalist, but classy. Modern and sexy. And I really like the fridge built into the cabinets.” Finally, she looks to me and grins. “My kitchen is still stuck in the hippie era. And having a fridge built into the cabinets seems so lush.”
“I helped him install the countertop.” I slide the tip of my finger across one of the veined lines in the marble. “I helped him carry it in and lay it down.” I meet her eyes and smirk. “That’s my flex for today.”
She snickers under her breath, then asks, “Did Troy help too, or…?”
“I hate you.” I blow out a gusty exhale of frustration.
I want to be mad. I want to be mean. But she’s playing, and her laughter hurts my gut.
That’s new.
“Yes, he did,” I huff. “I hope you get to meet him soon, then I hope he shows you exactly who the fuck he is. You’ll be begging for me to be your friend. You’ll swear I’m sweet and kind, and you’ll stop trying to use him to annoy me.”
“But would I?” she laughs. “It’s so easy to tease you.”
“Seems that way,” I sigh.
Turning quiet for a moment while the action film plays not so far away, I stare at Nadia’s every imperfection.
It’s crazy, I know. I should be looking at her assets—both of them, since the way she leans on her elbows puts them on display—but instead I look at the tiny hairline scar on her chin. The small circular dent, perhaps a mark made by teenage acne, on her cheek. I see the way her eyes are supposed to be green, but come with the extra flecks, the impurities, I suppose some might say. Nadia’s nose is pert, upturned, and a little snobbish.
It’s ironic that she says my behavior makes me unapproachable. But her nose does the same for her.
I study her long hair, the ends at varying lengths, as though she doesn’t get it cut. It just grows however it wants to, and she accepts that about herself.
“Mitchell Rosa. Whatcha lookin’ at?”
My gaze goes back to hers, then to her plump lips as they curl into a grin. “You,” I answer truthfully. “It kind of annoys me that I think you’re beautiful.”
“Well,” she sniffs, “that’s offensive.”
I chuckle at her unhappiness. “I was so sure I’d prove you were a bitch. I would have your ass booted out of town and back on the train to wherever you came from.”
“Still offensive,” she drawls. “I drove my ass here. And… now what?”
I frown and study her playful eyes. “Now what, what?”
“Well, you wanted me out of town. That didn’t work. What’s your new game plan?”
My cock thickens in my jeans. “Now I’m wondering how many times we can sneak in and out of beds together before anyone notices.”
Her cheeks warm; a sweet blush rather than an angry flush. “Your brother knows.”
“He won’t tell a soul.”
“You seem so sure,” she challenges.
“I am. He still hasn’t told Beck how I stole Lorraine back in senior year.”
Scandalized, then snorting, Nadia presses her hand to her cheek and shakes her head. “Naughty. And we both know poor Lorraine didn’t enjoy herself that last time. You’d have been bent on revenge rather than pleasure. Prove to yourself you could get her back, bed her, get yourself off, then send her home. That’s how it went down, right?”
“Well…” And now my cheeks warm. “I can’t say that’s all that redeeming of me. Kinda sadistic and mean, if we’re being honest.”
“This is true,” she nods. “Definitely sadistic. Alarm bells are sounding in my head.”
“But that’s what happened,” I admit. “Beckett had graduated and gone off to college, so it was just me and Lorraine all alone again. I knew there were no feelings on his end, since he’d already started traipsing through college girls before orientation day had even ended. So I did what I did, and felt good about it.”
“I hate that the bad boy act turns me on.” Her breath comes a little quicker. Her rosy blush warms.
“Alarm bells are sounding in my head,” I repeat her words on a laugh. “And you said you’re too confident to fall for the bad boys.”
She giggles and pushes up to stand taller. “That’s not at all what I said. I said I was too smart to fall into trouble with them. Falling into bed is a whole other thing.”
“And so…?”
“And so…” She considers for a moment. “Maybe you could knock on my door sometime. I won’t kick you out, you won’t jump to nasty assumptions, and then we’ll negotiate.”
“Negotiate… what?”
She flashes a wide grin and spins to open the fridge door. “Who gets to come first. I know you can play a girl dirty like that now, so if at any point I suspect you’re racing to the end and planning to leave me hanging, then I might have something to say about it.”
“Yeah?” I watch her move, watch her help herself to my brother’s kitchen as she grabs a beer, and then a bottle opener from the drawer. She pops the cap off, tosses the opener back into the drawer, then taking a long pull of her beer, she sets it down and slides it across the countertop. Frowning, I ask, “What are you—”
“I know, right?” Her tone is wrong, her words don’t fit. “I think having the display by the front window will be best,” she continues. “That way, we can draw people into the shop. Then I think we could even consider selling trinkets; suncatchers, charms, that sort of stuff. Abby?” Nadia smiles over my shoulder so I’m forced to turn around. “I was just telling Mitchell about this idea I had.”
“Oh yeah?” Clueless, Abby comes through the kitchen, around behind me so she trails her fingers over my shoulder blades in greeting, then she goes to the fridge and studies the offerings on the top shelf, where Nix keeps the sugary stuff. Candy bars, chocolate buttons, gummies, and flavored milks. “I heard something about trinkets. Tell me more.”
“A guy comes in to buy his lady flowers, right?” Nadia’s eyes come to mine for a beat, then back to Abby. “The majority of our drop-in clientele are going to be dudes who want to get from the front door, to the counter, and then out again. We’re going to make it harder for him. Make him pass all the pre
tty stuff. Upsell.”
“Sexist, rude, and bordering on harassment,” I insert, purely to be an ass.
“Hush,” both women say at once.
“Not only are we going to upsell to the dudes, but adding those extra glitters, plus the window display, will bring in the impulse buyers, the browsers, the—”
“The women,” Abby finishes for Nadia. “They’ll walk every aisle and see what treasures they can find.”
“Exactly! And not only that, but we might also teach women to treat themselves. There’s no rule anywhere that says a woman has to wait for a man to bring her flowers. We’re too awesome for that. Too sophisticated and independent.”
“Yeah, well, that’s my cue to leave.” Pushing up to stand, I grab the beer Nadia half-chugged, bring it up to my lips, then wink when her eyes slyly come to mine.
Until later, we’re saying. To be continued.
13
Nadia
Oops
“You posted on my social media!”
I glance up when Mitchell’s grunt reaches my ear just a half second after the sound of the bells above the shop door.
He steamrolls forward in a sexy uniform that makes my blood leave my brain and zoom someplace it really shouldn’t. He races his way from the front door to where I stand at the counter—another reason, I think, to create a type of maze for customers—then stopping so we’re only a single desk apart, he leans in so our noses almost touch. “To that girl from high school—you know who you are. You know what you did, and now, so does Abby. Watch your back. Shit’s bout to get messy.” He waves a hand in the air; anger, mortification. “Nadia! What the fuck?”
Gritting my teeth, and glancing around the shop in search of my boss, I place my half-constructed bouquet down and meet Mitchell’s eyes. “First of all, volume please. Your sister is here.”
“She’s out front, talking to an old biddie,” he snarls. “Next.”
I glance up, through the window display, and find Abby exactly where Mitchell says she is, with who he said she’s with. “Well, alright. Second, and in my defense, I posted that when you tossed your phone in my lap and left for the kitchen. I wasn’t yet privy to the bit about you getting your revenge already. So… that was my bad.”
“Nadia! I had to explain that shit to about a dozen different people—including my sister just now! I couldn’t say you did it, so I had to take it on the chin.”
“She’s small,” I argue. “I doubt she hits hard. And in the future, just claim you were hacked. Fixes everything.”
“You put a hit out on a woman who is now married and has kids!” he blusters. “She’s on the school PTA, carpools, and probably does yoga or some shit in the park every Saturday.”
I purse my lips, though it’s to hide my smirk rather than express displeasure. Mitchell Rosa might be the easiest person on this planet to taunt. “You know an awful lot about this woman you claim not to like, Mitchy. Shall I organize a school reunion and stuff your pockets with condoms?”
He leans closer. Threatening. Mad. “You posted on my social media. You hacked my phone, and violated my privacy.”
“False. I used the phone you tossed into my lap—unlocked, so there was no hacking. And don’t sweat it, no names were mentioned.”
“You’re a pain in my fucking ass,” he declares. “I hardly know you, and you’re already causing problems for me.”
“Wanna swing by my place tonight after your shift? You can come over and get to know more of me…”
Whatever he’d planned to shout at me next dies on a gurgle. I’ve made an offering. Peace, or otherwise, too good to pass up.
“This angry-wildman thing you have going,” I continue on a sultry purr, “it’s making me tingle. You’re pressing all my buttons, Mitchell Rosa. But I have one in particular I’d like you to pay close attention to.”
His eyes narrow to slits. “You’re playing with me.”
“Partially,” I laugh. “I’m trying to derail your psychobabble. But I’m also kinda digging that uniform you’re wearing, and wouldn’t mind peeling it off with my teeth. I’ve never slept with your kind before.”
“You have!” He snags a single red rose from the vase at the end of the desk. “In your own damn bed.”
“But you weren’t in uniform,” I reason. “It doesn’t count.”
“You’re crazy,” he breathes out. He’s already picturing my naked ass. I know he is. “The point of sex is to take clothes off. Not admire them.”
I shrug. “There’s something about a girl dropping to her knees and looking up at a uniform. Doesn’t matter what kind it is, she’ll still do it. Win-win, really.”
“Fuck.” Groaning, he tosses the rose back when I flash a teasing grin. “I’m gonna—”
But who fucking knows what delicious thing he’s going to do to me, because the bell above the door jingles and his baby sister walks in. “Mitchell Rosa! Even Mabel knows about that post you made. What on Earth were you thinking? Were you drunk at movie night and I didn’t even notice?”
He should be turning to her. He should move away from the desk and face his sister, so the fact he doesn’t, I’m pleased to know, means he’s rocking a hard dick and is yet to get it under control.
“You were so quiet.” Abby makes her way around the desk. “You barely spoke. But it turns out, you were waging internet war and using me as your sword.”
When she stops beside me, close enough her arm brushes mine, I let my gaze drop, and spin away with a bouquet in my hands.
“I had no clue you were the type,” I add fuel to the fire, and gently place my bouquet in a display vase near the front of the shop. “I was assured Mitchell was the quiet Rosa, but now I’m hearing this?” I turn and grin when my eyes meet his. “I’m scandalized.”
“He’s quiet,” Abby says seriously, “but deadly. He takes care of business in silence, and neither wants nor seeks praise for it.”
Yeah. It would be tacky to seek praise for searching a girl out, revenge-fucking her, and leaving her high and dry without the orgasm, way back before either of them were old enough to legally drink.
But of course, I say none of that. Instead, I tsk and adjust my bouquet. “Like I said, scandalized.”
“Oh, Mitchell!” Abby’s tone lightens. “Did Troy text you this morning?”
Instead of looking at his sister, Mitchell’s gaze remains on me, then narrows.
Tease a guy about his brother once, and he’ll never let you forget it.
“No,” he growls. “He texted you?”
“Yes! He said he’s moving today and plans to be out of communication for a short while. This of course made me sad, but he said after that, he’ll be coming home. He promised a taco night.”
“Oh?” I grin. “I love tacos.”
“You can come!” Abby insists. “I’ll let you know as soon as it’s planned.”
“Well, that fixed that.” Grunting, Mitchell pushes away from the counter and turns toward the door—which just so happens to be the general direction I’m standing. His pants are not tented, his inflated dick, not so perky. “I’m going back to work. See ya, Cadabby.”
“Bye, Mitchell. See you tonight for dinner?”
“Uh… no.” His eyes meet mine as he walks. “I have something else on tonight. But Beckett will for sure feed you. Nadia.” He passes by me, close enough to touch, close enough to smell, but without it being obvious. “Good seeing you again.”
“Likewise.” I incline my head, flutter my eyes closed. I go full Elizabeth-Bennet-the-demure simply to taunt him, then standing tall again, I try with all my might to smother my smirk.
Doesn’t work.
“See you around, Mitchell. I’m so glad we seem to be getting along now. It’s best, of course, for your sister’s happiness that her brother and her assistant don’t fight every time they’re in the same space.”
“Yeah, Mooch.” At least his lips quirk as he says it, then he swings the door open and turns back to me. “We�
�ll see where you’re at twelve months from now.”
He doesn’t wait for my response—doesn’t wait for anything. He lopes through the door in the same second his phone chimes, then he’s gone, and the door slowly swings shut.
“I’ll be here,” I grumble and finish faux-fixing a bouquet that is already perfect. “Cynical ass.” Turning back to the counter, I stop again when Abby watches me with a happy smile. “What?”
“You didn’t fight!” Her smile grows and grows until it’s no longer merely happy, but officially giddy. “I mean, I know he called you Mooch, and you called him a cynical butt, but this was good. It was growth!”
“Okay.” Snickering, I come back around to the counter and grab up another pile of tulips and go to work selecting, trimming, styling.
Hours pass in companionable silence as Abby works on the Bishop wedding flowers. She must first work out exactly what flowers they want, and what additions they didn’t think to ask for but that she knows they’ll need. Then she has to work on numbers; how many bouquets, how many boutonniéres, how many table settings, how many pews in the church, how many vases inside the church. What about at the wedding reception? There are more than just the table centerpieces needed.
To get it right, Abby has to count every single flower she needs, design in her mind, since it’s not like we can create these things months in advance and expect they’ll keep. She gets one go; order the flowers in bulk, don’t fuck it up, deliver on the day, and hope it all works out.
And that’s why I’m here. To help. Because while she’s amazing at what she does, some might call me a cynic too, and I have a nasty tendency to haggle a sale until the supplier has agreed to give us their best, at their best price, and their firstborn child too.
I work the register and handle any walk-in clients while Abby does her thing, and when I’m not doing that, I’m right beside her, following behind, and running the numbers to make sure she’s got it right.
So far, she’s yet to miss a beat.
“Oh look,” I murmur when, somewhere around four, the shop door opens again to reveal that same woman from last week, the grieving woman, but this time, a man follows her steps and sticks close enough they may as well be velcroed together.