“It’s all I can think about.” His hand moves lower, cupping the back of my neck. “You and me, together—I can’t get it out of my head. Now every time I look at you, I want to kiss you, but I know that—”
His lips are hot against mine as I cut him off mid-sentence. He freezes, surprised, and panic seeps into my brain. I didn’t think it through; I certainly didn’t plan it.
I pull back, pausing for just one moment to run my bottom lip against his. After all, I might as well make it good before I burrow into a hole and die.
When I do lean back, Kyle stares at me in the lantern-light, his shoulders moving up and down with his rapid breath. He looks like he ran a mile.
Just when I’m about to bolt to the Jeep, his hand, still hot on my neck, gently tugs me to him.
Our mouths meet again. This time, the kiss is hesitant, testing. It’s as if we’re each waiting for the other to change their mind. It’s a slow burn, a gentle simmer, and it makes every limb in my body go weak.
Too soon, it’s over.
So badly, I want to yank him back. Goodness, I want to tackle him to the blanket and make him kiss me for real. I only manage to resist that urge because he looks so torn.
Kyle folds me into a hug, holding me like his life depends on it. I can’t place my finger on it, but something isn’t quite right.
After a long, long time, he says, “I don’t think I’m ready.”
My world crumbles at my feet. And here I was, thinking it was a perfectly wonderful kiss—hoping, even, that it would be the first of many, many more.
“Okay,” I murmur against his shoulder, feeling like I could die right here.
19
I panicked, all right? Cut me some slack. It wasn’t my brightest hour. It’s as though Heath’s advice and Sally’s warning keep battling in my brain.
And as good as that kiss was—and believe me, it was good—I lost my nerve. Because maybe it’s better to go on as we were than risk ruining everything.
“I think you should take me home,” Kaylee says softly.
I close my eyes, hating myself.
“Sure.” I let her go, unable to look her in the eye, and stand. She takes my hand when I offer to help her up, but she drops it as soon as she’s on her feet.
I gather the picnic things and toss them into the back of the Jeep, not even bothering to be careful about it. I’ll deal with it in the morning.
I glance at the clock on the dashboard as we make our way back to the main road. It’s eight-fifteen. The eclipse started about ten minutes ago. I look for the moon in the sky. Sure enough, part of it is shadowed, and it’s beginning to turn orange.
“Pull over,” Kaylee says with a sigh, catching me looking. “We came out to watch it. Let’s watch.”
I glance at her. “You sure?”
She nods.
I find a wide spot and park the Jeep. I amble out, shoving my hands in my pockets, and stare at the sky. I don’t really expect Kaylee to join me, but she makes her way through the dark and stands by my side.
We don’t talk.
The minutes stretch on. At almost nine o’clock, the eclipse reaches totality. The moon glows an eerie red, and the stars around it seem to shine brighter in the muted light.
“Thank you for coming with me tonight,” I say, my eyes turned upward.
In answer, Kaylee sets her hand on my arm and squeezes. She then walks back to the Jeep, and I follow. We drive for a while, heading to town. About the time we hit pavement, my phone chimes with a voicemail. We must have been out of service for a while. I don’t bother to check it. It can wait.
I pull up in front of Kaylee’s house, and I turn to face her. “Are we okay?”
She rolls her eyes and forces a smile. “Yeah. We’re fine. “
“I’ll see you tomorrow then?”
She nods as she gets out of the Jeep. I watch her go, anxious that we’re not really fine.
It’s quiet in the car when Kaylee is gone, quieter even than when Kaylee was here and not talking. I don’t listen to music on my way home, choosing instead to brood.
I don’t know if I did the right thing tonight. I’d like to think I did, that depriving myself was for the good of our relationship. Noble even.
But right now, it just feels lonely.
Weary, I walk up my drive. My house, too, feels especially empty. It’s a good thing shelters aren’t open this time of night because I’d probably adopt a dog or cat on impulse, and that doesn’t usually end well.
I remember as I go through a stack of junk mail that I need to check the voicemail and see who called.
“Hi, Kyle,” an all-too-familiar someone says. “We need to talk. I was hoping we could—”
The minute I hear Ava’s voice, my gut twists into a knot. I hang up before finishing the message.
20
“How was the date?” Savannah asks when I walk through the door. She pauses her movie—something with dancing and music and seriously sparkly costumes.
“In a word,” I say as a sink onto the couch next to her. “It was a disaster.”
Her eyes widen with surprise. “How is that possible? You were literally in his arms when I left.”
“Well, it was going great in the beginning. Kyle packed a picnic —"
“So romantic!” she gushes.
“— and while we were waiting for the eclipse to start, he kissed me. Like, hand in my hair, sigh-inducing sort of kiss.”
She raises her brows, waiting for me to get to the bad part.
“And then, not even a minute later, he told me he wasn’t ready.”
“Not ready?” she demands, offended on my behalf.
“I know.” I roll my eyes to hide my disappointment, but the truth is, it hurt.
A lot.
“It’s been months now, Savannah,” I say. “If Kyle isn’t ready, maybe that just means he’s not ready for me. Maybe he’ll never be ready for me.”
She switches off the TV. Then she crosses her legs on the couch and turns to face me, giving me her undivided attention. “Not necessarily. Maybe ‘I’m not ready’ simply means…I’m not ready.”
“We’ve been doing this for such a long time. I’m tired.” I shake my head. “I don’t know. Maybe we’re not supposed to be anything more than friends.”
Savannah studies me, narrowing her eyes as if in deep thought. “You know what I think you need? Sleep. Things might look better in the morning.”
Hopefully she’s right. I say goodnight and head into my room. The minute I lie down, my brain thinks it’s the perfect time to scrutinize every little detail of the night. Growling, I pull my blankets over my head, trying to block it out.
* * *
“Roses are classic,” I promise the man in front of me. He appears to be in his late twenties, and I would bet he’s never been in a floral shop in his life. “She’s going to love them.”
“They’re not too much?” He frowns at the sample roses I brought out to show him. They’re a gorgeous, vibrant red, and he just ordered two dozen of them.
“Not for Valentine’s Day,” I assure him. “Though you can certainly change your order to a dozen and the arrangement will be just as beautiful.”
“I’m going to propose,” he tells me, almost like he’s making a confession. “I want everything to be right.”
There’s nothing like working in a floral shop around the most romantic day of the year—especially when you’re feeling about as romantic as a coldhearted, gnarled and withered goblin.
Obviously, things have not progressed with Kyle as I had hoped. Once again, we slipped right back into the friend zone. I’m getting really sick of hanging out there.
We’ve crossed a dozen things off his list, and it’s become apparent the list is worthless. Seriously, it’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever had. Win his heart.
Please.
The man pays for his roses, and I confirm the delivery date. He writes the card, complete with a surprise proposal. I know it�
��s his proposal because he asks me to spellcheck it.
I just love my job. (Says no single florist ever.)
When the man leaves, I wander in the back to see what June’s working on.
“Just be careful,” June says into her phone. “You know how I worry.”
I try not to listen, but it’s hard when the shop is so small. I don’t have to be a psychic to know who’s on the other end of the line. June’s daughter is a bit of a thrill-seeker. She and her husband have done everything from skydiving to parasailing to bungee jumping. Sometimes, when they’re off on their adventures, June’s teenage granddaughter comes to stay with her. She must be going on this trip, however, because I haven’t heard anything about it.
“Love you too,” June says. “Call me when you land.”
“So, what daredevil activity is Alisha off to now?” I ask when June ends the call, admiring the stargazer lily arrangement she’s putting together.
My boss shakes her head, laughing a little. “That girl is why I went gray at 37.”
June’s layered shoulder-length hair, which she has trimmed every month like clockwork, is as white as snow. Since she’s only 60, she might have something with that theory.
“They’re headed to Florida for a family vacation,” she goes on, answering my question. “Megan wants to see the ocean.”
“I want to see the ocean,” I joke. “Can I go with them?”
She chuckles. “Well, Alisha and Garth have decided it’s the perfect opportunity for them to go on one of those shark adventures.”
“I have no idea what a shark adventure is.”
She looks up at me as she snips a lily stem. “You know—one of those boat tours where you get in the cage and they lower you into the ocean amidst a swarm of sharks. Cage diving, I think it’s called.”
“A swarm?” I laugh. “Is that the scientific term?”
“I have no idea. I don’t want to know.”
“Is Megan going?”
“She’ll be on the boat, but Alisha isn’t comfortable taking her in the water. Knowing my Megan, she wouldn’t want to anyway. I’m sure her idea of an ocean adventure is lounging on the beach and trying to catch the eye of a hunky lifeguard.”
It’s always slightly disturbing when grandmas talk about hot guys, but for June’s sake, I hide my cringe.
“Well, hopefully, she’ll get a chance to do that too.”
June’s cell rings with another call—this one about the upcoming conference.
She’s scheduled for a presentation at one of the largest floral events of the year. She’s been prepping for months, working on her speech, making sure she gets everything right. All I can say is I’m glad it’s her and not me. I think I’d rather go in that shark cage than stand up on stage like that.
She frowns at something the person on the other line says and waves at me to finish up her arrangement. Just as I get started, the bells above the door chime, alerting me that we have another customer.
They’ve been coming in like a trail of ants all day—the door has barely shut since I arrived at nine this morning.
Since it’s only four days until the holiday for which our business revolves, right now, we’re dealing with mostly organized, thoughtful husbands and boyfriends who all plan ahead.
On Thursday—Valentine’s Day—we’ll be swamped with the last-minute types who feel guilty about buying grocery store flowers but didn’t have the forethought to order something in advance. I like them the best. They’re the ones who look like we line our floor with needles, cringing the moment they walk in the door. Others have this wrinkled-nose expression—like we’ve personally tricked the country into celebrating the holiday.
Maybe some of that joy comes from the fact that I’m feeling cynical this year. It’s hard to say.
But the man who walks through the door isn’t a thoughtful boyfriend. It’s Kyle.
“Hey,” he says, looking all handsome and off-limits. “Can you do lunch today, or are you swamped?”
“Nope.” I walk to the refrigerated display case to see if we’re running low on anything yet. “It’s been crazy busy. I’ll probably eat a snack bar.”
Go away, Kyle.
I know. It’s messed up. I told him after the kiss that we were fine—and I thought we were. But I don’t know if I can keep doing this. It hurts too much. It feels like I give him everything, and I don’t have anything left for a real relationship—something I really want. And I’m apparently going to have to start looking for one because this one with Kyle probably isn’t going to pan out.
The real question is, how do I be Kyle’s friend without being in love with him? Because that’s how it’s always been for me. Kyle is my best friend, and I’m secretly in love with him. It’s practically part of my identity.
I’m venturing into new territory, and it feels like I need some distance to figure out how to navigate.
“I thought you might be swamped today,” he says, undaunted. “I’ll grab you something and bring it back. Any requests?”
I can’t look at him because I know I’m going to hurt him. I head back to the counter, pretending to be busy, busy, busy even though there’s a lull right now. “No, that’s all right. I’m good.”
“Okay.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “You want to play mini-golf tonight? They’re doing a half-off special.”
Two guys walk in, saving me from having to answer. One looks vaguely familiar. Apparently, I look familiar to him too because he grins when he sees me. Where do I know him from?
“Hey,” he says, walking straight for the counter, grinning. “Crochet any dog hair blankets recently?”
I laugh, realizing it’s the guy from speed dating—the nice one, not Yellow Tie.
“Take any walks along the beach?” I toss back.
“You work here?” His grin grows, making me think he knew darn well I’d be here.
“Nope,” I say without missing a beat. “The cash register was unmanned, so I thought I’d rob the place.”
“I heard that,” June calls from the back.
I laugh and fold my hands on the counter, ignoring Kyle—but for a legitimate reason. Customers top best-friend-who-kisses-you-under-the-stars-and-then-freaks-out.
“What can I do for you…Isaac?”
Yep, points for me; I remembered his name.
“I would like to order flowers for my fiancée,” says Isaac’s friend, a seriously hot guy in a faded red baseball cap. “Peonies, if you have them.”
“Let me check. We don’t get many this time of year.”
“I’ll talk to you tonight,” Kyle says before I disappear into the back, giving me a look that almost seems like he’s challenging me to argue with him.
Apparently, he’s figured out my game.
“Okay,” I say, and then, because I can’t help myself, I add, “Thank you for offering to pick up lunch.”
He smiles. “No problem.”
Isaac watches Kyle go. As soon as he’s out the door, Isaac turns back to me. “The Friend.”
“Your memory is a little too good,” I say wryly. “I’ll be right back.”
A few minutes later, I emerge from the cooler. “I’m sorry. No peonies. We don’t get a lot this time of year. Sometimes we can order them in for weddings, but they’re expensive because they ship from South America.”
“What do you suggest instead?” Isaac’s friend asks.
“How about I make an arrangement with big, white hydrangeas and soft pink roses?”
He nods. “Addison will probably like that.”
I go over a few more details and ask him to write a note on the little card.
“Thanks, Carter,” I say as I hand him back his change. “We’ll deliver it on Thursday.”
He nods, tucks the receipt in his wallet, and then glances at Isaac. “So, how do you two know each other?”
“Speed dating,” I say boldly, wondering if Isaac will try to deny it. Neither seems like the speed dating type.
<
br /> Carter makes a face at Isaac. “Really?” He then turns to me. “No offense.”
Mildly amused, I shrug. “None taken.”
“It’s not my fault you took the only eligible girl at work,” Isaac says, defending himself with a relaxed smile.
Carter smirks, obviously proud of the fact. He then turns to me. “It was nice to meet you…?”
“Kaylee,” I supply.
“Thank you for your assistance.” Carter then turns to leave, but Isaac smacks his palm over his chest, stopping him. “I have flowers to order.”
Carter looks skeptical. “You do?”
Isaac pushes him out of the way, so he’s standing square in front of me. “What’s a friendly flower, a non-pushy flower? The kind of flower that says, ‘I’d like to take you out, but you seem spookable, so I don’t want to come on too strong.’”
“Yellow roses,” I immediately answer, though I’m a little disappointed.
He’s got his eye on someone. I had a chance—I blew him off. It’s my own fault.
“Excellent.” He pulls out his wallet. “How many do you think I should order?”
“You don’t want to come on too strong? Let’s say three. I’ll dress them up. Don’t worry—it’ll be pretty.”
“Sounds good.”
I pull out another order form. “Are we delivering? And what day?”
“Yes and Valentine’s Day.”
“Okay. Who do they go to and where?”
“Kaylee…I don’t know her last name.” He gives me a cheeky grin. “And what’s the address here?”
I set the pen down. “You’re buying me flowers?”
“I don’t know whether that’s tacky or smooth,” Carter says, looking slightly embarrassed.
Except for a few random times in high school when the choir was selling roses around Valentine’s Day for their annual fundraiser, I don’t think I’ve ever received flowers.
Isaac leans an arm on the counter and turns to Carter. “It seems wrong to order them from somewhere else.” He turns back to me. “Am I right?”
His smile is contagious. “You are right.”
“I want one of those card things too,” he says, nodding to the display to my left.
27 Ways to Mend His Broken Heart Page 10