Petal Plucker

by Iris Morland

  Paul was the worst, though. I dated him for six months before I discovered that he was already married. With three children. We had been at our favorite Thai restaurant, and I’d just bitten into a spring roll, when a woman—who turned out to be his wife—stormed in, threw a glass of bubble tea into his face, and caused such a scene that the cops were called. Suffice to say Paul and I didn’t last beyond that little nugget of information getting out.

  My friend Anna kept telling me that I chose these guys for a reason. “You subconsciously knew they were creeps and that you’d never have to commit to them,” she would always say. “How about you try dating someone you don’t meet on Tinder?”

  I tried my hardest to vet the guys I dated. I really did. As the years had passed, I developed what I called my Honesty Policy. I tried to be as honest as I could, and I expected the same of other people. Should’ve been simple, right? Except honesty is apparently one of the hardest things ever for people.

  Quite coincidentally, I actually had a date with a guy I hadn’t met on Tinder, but on Bumble, the same evening Jacob had come into my shop. His name was Marcus, and he and I had been messaging via Bumble for a few days before he finally asked me out for drinks. He’d told me he was a computer programmer, that he thought it was cool I ran a flower shop, and he hadn’t made any jokes about my full name being Dandelion. For me, that meant he was pretty much marriage material.

  Marcus had chosen a brand-new bar in Belltown that was so dim I could hardly make out what he even looked like. He was tall, that I could tell. Dark hair, dark glasses. He was wearing either a blue or gray shirt. He pulled out my chair for me, so that was a plus.

  “I always wanted to go to school for music, but my parents wouldn’t pay for my tuition if I did. So now I’m a computer programmer,” he said.

  His voice was so bland that I couldn’t tell if he resented his parents, was grateful to them, or was simply apathetic. “Do you ever want to go back and get a degree in music?”

  “Why would I? There’s no money in the arts.”

  “Well, sometimes it’s not only about money.”

  He snorted. “Only a woman would say that.”

  The evening continued on in a similar fashion: he mansplained to me how to grow hydrangeas; he told me that he hadn’t initially wanted to message me back but that he’d been feeling lonely so he decided, what the hell?

  I found myself thinking about Jacob as Marcus talked. I realized early in the evening that he wasn’t the kind of person to ask questions of other people, so I only needed to nod or say hmm a few times.

  I couldn’t imagine Jacob treating a date like this. But then again, what had I to base that assumption on? I didn’t know him. He was still as charming as ever, still handsome and confident, but that didn’t mean he’d want to listen to his date talk about her job or her cat or her parents. Yet despite my best efforts, I kept going over our meeting, wondering if my mom was right in that he hadn’t wanted to see me at all but had wanted to scope out the store.

  Maybe he wanted to see both you and the store? I thought, which was the dumbest thing ever. That wouldn’t exactly be a compliment.

  After an hour, I couldn’t take listening to Marcus any longer. I’d rather go home and watch Chopped with my cat at this point.

  “It’s getting late,” I lied. “I’m going to head out.”

  Marcus paid for our drinks—at least he knew enough about dating to do that—and tried to kiss me as I got into my car. But he ended up kissing my jaw and then giving me those awkward first-date hugs where both parties were stiff and self-conscious. He told me he’d call me; I didn’t feel like reminding him that I hadn’t given him my number.

  I’d forgotten all about Marcus by the time I arrived home. My brain was on two things: work tomorrow, and Jacob. Mostly Jacob, if I were being honest. I couldn’t stop obsessing over his motives. It shouldn’t matter; he wasn’t my problem. I didn’t even like him. I wasn’t a lovesick teenager anymore who was going to start writing Mrs. Dandelion West all over my notebook, surrounded by hearts.

  I was an adult now who also had no intention of giving up my last name, because, to quote Gretchen Wieners from Mean Girls, “that’s just like the rules of feminism.”

  I fell asleep watching an episode of Chopped where the contestants had to make a dessert out of an ostrich egg, bitter melon, salsa, and barley, which sounded terrible no matter what you ended up creating.

  The night after I’d first seen Jacob, I dreamed about him, because my life was a walking cliché. It started out inauspiciously: Jacob coming into Buds and Blossoms and ordering a bouquet of poison ivy. Since this was a dream, my dream self shrugged and went to the back to get my basket of poison ivy—as you do.

  “Dani,” said Jacob, his voice like melted chocolate wrapped in velvet and served up in a perfect gift box straight from Saks Fifth Avenue. “I’ve missed you.”

  My dream self smiled seductively. “I know you did.” (Dream self was way more confident than my actual self.)

  “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Every day for the past nine years, I wanted you. You’re so fucking gorgeous. I’m hard just looking at you.”

  The dream escalated rather quickly after that. Jacob pushed the poison ivy bouquet aside, the glass shattering on the floor, as he yanked me into his arms. I felt up his torso, which was now blessedly shirt-free thanks to the magic of dreams. He had dark blond chest hair that rubbed against my aching nipples (my shirt and bra had also disappeared, praise the lord).

  Jacob lifted me onto the counter and ripped off my jeans and panties in one go, his blue eyes like the blue of a flame. When he kissed me, my entire body shuddered. Even though this was a dream, I could feel the scratch of his beard against my chin. I could taste him on my tongue, and I felt my pussy grow wet from that simple imaginary kiss. One of his hands cupped my breast, the other parting my thighs. I arched against him, begging for more.

  He touched my aching clit with infinite slowness, and for some reason, he wouldn’t speed up. Apparently, even in a dream, I couldn’t get Jacob West to do what I wanted.

  “I always wanted you,” he said.

  “Even when we were kids?”

  “Yeah.”

  At this point, his cock burst through his jeans like something out of the Hulk, but my dream self took it in stride. His cock was huge. I gasped. “Oh no, it’ll never fit,” I said.

  “It’ll fit, baby. It was made just for your pussy.”

  He thrust inside me to the hilt. I could feel an orgasm building inside me as he pounded into my wet pussy. He felt so big that I was sure he was going to tear me apart. Somehow, he managed to keep rubbing my clit as he fucked me, and I felt that familiar tightening in my belly that signaled that I was close.

  Something sharp dug into my side, breaking my concentration. I tried to brush it away, but then it started really hurting. I was about to tell Jacob to stop digging his claws into my ribs when I woke up and realized the only claws digging into my ribs were my cat’s.

  “Goddammit,” I said with a groan, flipping over and making my cat, Kevin, jump off of me with an annoyed yowl. I pounded my fist against my pillow. “I was just getting to the good part!”

  Of course, now I was horny and desperate, and with Jacob’s face in my mind, I strummed my clit until I came so hard my vision went a little black. I was gasping and sweaty, and so turned on that after letting my body come down for a few minutes, I was able to rub out another orgasm.

  Damn. I had never been very good at getting myself to come more than once during masturbation. Apparently, Jacob brought out the big guns in that regard.

  As I got out of bed and made breakfast, I wondered if I needed to get laid in general. Jacob had just awakened something inside me that could get relief through other means, or through another man. Hell, I could message Marcus, if I were really that desperate.

  Except I didn’t want Marcus. Despite it being the worst idea ever in the history of forever, I wanted Jacob.<
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  Too bad that was never going to happen.

  Chapter Four

  Although my family was hardly best friends with the West family, they did live in our neighborhood. After Jacob had told me about his dad’s stroke, I felt guilty that my parents would never send them a bland casserole and a Get Well card. So I made a quiche that I hoped was seasoned well, bought a card, and walked to the Wests’ house to drop it off.

  But when no one answered the door, I realized I probably should’ve called ahead. Not that I had their phone number, but I could’ve found it somewhere. Not wanting to just leave it on their doorstep for the raccoons to munch on, I walked over to Flowers to drop it off there. Judith had opened the store this morning, and I didn’t need to be there until the afternoon shift.

  It wasn’t exactly a surprise to see Jacob again, but my heart did that annoying little kick it always did when I thought about him. I spotted him off to the side, helping a customer. I felt awkward with my quiche and card. Did I look around like I was going to buy something? Or did I just stand here and wait?

  Jacob had just reached for a vase of lilies when his gaze caught mine. The customer also happened to reach for something, and I watched in horror and amusement as the customer’s arm accidentally hit the base of the vase and proceeded to spill its watery contents all over the both of them.

  “Oh!” and “Shit!” were said from both customer and Jacob. Jacob set the vase down, only for it to begin to drip water down onto the shelf below. Seeing Jacob actually frazzled and, well, human, was a unique experience for me.

  Since Jacob hadn’t gotten to this point yet, I set down the quiche and grabbed some paper towels from underneath the counter. I was well-versed in floral-related accidents, that was for sure.

  “I’m so sorry,” Jacob kept saying at the same time the customer kept also apologizing. It was basically an apology battle. It looked like most of the water and bits of lilies had splashed onto Jacob; the customer had managed to get little more than some water on her shoes and the arm that had collided with the vase.

  I cleaned up the water from the floor as best I could after I’d handed the two of them paper towels to dry off with. “Dani, you don’t have to clean that up,” said Jacob.

  “Go get that wet apron off.” I smiled wryly up at him. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

  He looked grateful, hurrying to the back. I helped the customer and, since Flowers had an old register that didn’t involve any codes to enter to use it, I was able to get her checked out by the time Jacob came back out.

  “Did she leave?” he said.

  “Don’t worry, I took care of her.”

  I looked him up and down. His apron had kept his clothes dry, except for a few water spots here and there. Today he wore jeans and a green sweater. He looked delicious in green, and if I weren’t careful, I’d start munching on him like the snack he was. Nom nom nom, my brain and libido went. Nom nom nom, J is for Jacob and he is yummy in my tummy.

  “Thank you, then.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess we’re even now.”

  I was confused for just a second before I laughed. “Oh, yeah. I guess we’ve both been attacked by vases now. It comes with the territory.”

  He pointed to the quiche, which was probably cold by now. “Did you bring me food?”

  “It’s not for you. I mean—it could be. It’s for your parents. I felt bad after you’d told me about your dad. It’s a quiche,” I added, as if that detail were actually important.

  Surprise crossed his face. He looked at me like he couldn’t quite make me out. “Well, then I guess I should thank you a second time.”

  As the silence blossomed between us, I glanced around Flowers for the first time in years. Last time I’d been here I’d been in elementary school. It looked much the same, except for the new paint on the walls. I could’ve sworn they’d had more bouquets and arrangements on sale, but they might’ve moved toward custom orders. I had no idea. My dad had been the one to pay attention to those details.

  “Besides getting all wet,” I said, because, for some inexplicable reason, I didn’t want to leave, “how’s it going with the whole taking-over-the-business thing?”

  “Well, I look like I fell into a rosebush,” he said as he showed me his scratched palms. “And I forgot to use flower food in the bouquets so now they aren’t blooming as much as usual. But the customers are nice, so I’ll figure it out. I always do.”

  He sounded so confident in his abilities that I felt irritated. I’d worked my ass off to get where I was. Did he really think he’d learn everything he needed to know by magic?

  “I’m sure you will figure it out. You always seemed more than capable when we were younger. You were the most popular boy in school. You were the person everyone wanted to be: perfect in every way.” I added in a harder voice, “You were prom king of our little universe.”

  He stilled at that last comment. “I’m not perfect.” Now he sounded really annoyed.

  “Maybe not, but close enough.”

  He gestured toward where the vase accident had happened. “Do things like that happen to perfect people?”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “What is the point? Enlighten me.”

  “You act like this is all going to be so easy. You’ll just ‘figure it out,’ and it’ll just magically come to you.”

  “Is it really that complicated to understand? Running one flower shop?” He cocked an eyebrow.

  I was rather tempted to throw another vase of lilies at him. “You’re so arrogant.”

  “Not arrogant. Just confident.”

  I scowled. “God, you’re still as much of a butt-face as when we were kids.”

  Suddenly the mood lightened, and he laughed. “Seriously? ‘Butt-face’?”

  “Yeah. It seemed the most accurate descriptor I could think of.”

  “You use the word ‘descriptor’ but can’t think of a better insult than ‘butt-face.’ ” He shook his head. “I think you need to work on your shit talking.”

  “Are you going to tutor me in how to insult people now?”

  “Are you suggesting that you’d like me to?” He stepped closer to me, until I could make out the light blue circle around his pupils. “Why do I feel like you’d make a terrible student?” he said softly.

  I swallowed, my throat dry. “Pretty sure I got better grades than you.”

  “I’m not talking about letter grades. I’m talking about a willingness to bend. Are you flexible, Dani? Because right now, you’re about as rigid as a board.”

  I also thought of that ridiculous sex dream I’d had, and I wondered a bit wildly if he somehow knew I’d been having wet dreams about him. Right then, I was hot and I was cold. I wanted to jump his bones and throw something at his head.

  I was pretty sure he was flirting with me. That realization in and of itself was astonishing. He could get any woman he wanted and he was flirting with me? Maybe he’d hit his head recently and had yet to fully recover.

  For a long time, I wondered if there was something wrong with me, because I’d never felt whatever it was that people called chemistry with a man. The ones I’d dated had always either bored me or left me cold. The few times I’d made out with them, my mind had wandered, or I’d been too focused on how wet everything was—and not in a good way, either.

  But right now, I felt that thrum of sexual tension that had been elusive for me for so long. I watched as Jacob’s pupils dilated, and I knew he felt it, too.

  “I’m not rigid,” I said, sounding breathy. I never sounded like that around men. Soon I’d be batting my eyelashes if I weren’t careful. “I just know what I want.”

  “Why do I feel like that’s not true?”

  “And why do I feel like I’m talking to the Cheshire Cat? Saying everything but nothing at all. Go hang out in your tree and terrorize other dumb girls, Jacob.”

  “But you’re so good at insulting me that it’s almost impressive.”

 
He’d leaned closer toward me, and I could smell his cologne: it was spicy, woodsy. It made me think of falling into his bed and feeling the rough calluses of his fingers against my skin as he moved down my body.

  I was out of sorts, off-balance, and it was because of this man. I’d convinced myself that I’d gotten him out of my system years ago, but here I was, once again getting very close to becoming a googly-eyed, lovesick idiot panting after him.

  Where the hell was my self-respect? Apparently, it had disappeared the second Jacob had appeared.

  I stepped away from him. I was better than this. Jacob was my direct competitor. It was our jobs to steal business from each other. Which meant that I couldn’t trust him, no matter how much I wanted to.

  Yet I still found myself looking around Flowers. It was partly out of curiosity, and also partly out of a desire to know my competitor. I had been here once as a kid, and it hadn’t changed much since then. It was smaller than Buds and Blossoms, and it didn’t have many arrangements you could come in and buy. I assumed that most of their revenue came from specially made arrangements and from things like wedding, funerals, proms—all the life events a person would need flowers for. Strangely, there weren’t many plants in here at all, except for a dried-out fern on a shelf overlooking the front counter and a few vases of flowers, including the lilies that had been spilled.

  “Did you really come here just to drop off a quiche?” Jacob’s voice was wry.

  I jumped, laughing a little. “Sorry. I haven’t been here in so long. Curiosity killed the cat, you know.”

  The real eye-catcher in this place was a crescent-shaped arrangement of red roses that had been placed right next to the single window overlooking the street. I wondered who’d made it. Since Jacob’s dad had had a stroke, I’d assumed he’d been too ill to continue designing, but maybe he’d recovered enough already. I didn’t feel like I had the right to pry.

  I didn’t hear Jacob come up behind me until he said, “I think I know what you’re doing.”

  I turned, and my breath caught when I saw how close he was to me. I could make out the dark blue around his pupils, whereas the outer rim of his irises was a paler gray-blue. He had absurdly long lashes, and as a woman who had tried her fair share of mascara, I found it rather irritating.