Oh well, no reason to waste both. He strode in and watched the game—alone. Thankfully, the Astros won. He thumbed a quick message before leaving.
U missed a great game. Ur off the guest list now.
No reason not to put a guilt trip on him.
Yeah, listened to it while I worked. Can’t believe they waited until the sixth inning to make a run. How was it?
Carter stubbed his toe on the curb as he crossed to the parking lot where his car waited. He swore, the adrenaline of victory waning under the pain. The prior day’s weather had wet the concrete such that it smelled damp. Still, the faint aroma of barbecue at the bar down the street masked it enough to tempt.
He considered going for ribs and a beer then shrugged. He, too, had work to get done.
Awesome. They’re out of town for two weeks to Seattle now.
He dropped the phone into his console and drove home with the intention of firing up his laptop for a few hours. Maybe he’d stop and ask Maddie if she wanted to go to the next game. She probably needed to get out. Hell, he could just give the tickets to her and let her take someone else. Or he could take someone other than Jackson. There was a thought. He grinned and flipped on the turn signal. He suddenly had a need to spice up his apartment.
With plants.
• • •
Other than the shrill of sirens from the cars tearing out of the police department, Abby hadn’t seen a lot of excitement for a weekend afternoon. Of course, she over-thought the implication. Was this the sign of a business slack that could be trouble? She had no idea, but she hoped it was only the prior day’s rain that had potential customers sidetracked.
Still, she’d been able to listen to the game and now was whistling to the blare of Miranda Lambert’s latest tune. Actually, she alternated between singing the parts she knew and whistling the ones she didn’t. With no customers, she wasn’t worried about offending.
The display shelf by the counter had to be rearranged to make room for twelve bridal bouquets and boutonnieres for the Taylor-Babbinet wedding. She grappled with baby’s breath and roses, gasping then cursing when she caught her finger on a thorn.
“Dammit! Missed that one.” Abby thrust the blood drip on her fingertip away from the lace ribbon and leaned over the counter for a clipper to cut the little bugger. Her fingers wouldn’t—quite—reach.
“Whatever it is, I’ll get it for you.”
She jerked upright and dropped back to the floor. As she whirled to see who had entered while she danced and whistled, her elbow snagged a crystal vase and water sloshed onto her pants. The vase teetered, threatening to fall.
“Uh-oh.” Carter apprehended the vase just before it tumbled from the edge. Unfortunately, the entire contents had already dumped onto his shoes—and pants.
“Holy crap, you startled me.” Abby scrambled to collect the flowers and tossed them on the counter before heading to her stock room to get a towel.
“Sorry about that.”
“Did you—” She stopped herself from finishing with have fun at the game?
She hadn’t wanted to see him and have to set the record straight, but here he was. In the flesh. “Um, you want to buy more flowers for your girlfriend?”
He snickered. “Nope. Over. Done. Stick a fork in her. I was just out and about and thought I’d get some plants for my place.”
“No flowers? We have some great arrangements over there and they smell wonderful.”
He briefly glanced where she pointed but shook his head.
“Flowers die too fast. I want something that will last—that I can’t kill.”
“Okaaay. Well, almost anything can be killed with the wrong care. Plants are kind of a personal thing. If you get ones that fit your habits they flourish. So, are you high maintenance or low and easy?” She meant to say low maintenance and easy-going, but it came out different.
“Hmmm.” Carter rubbed a finger and thumb across the leaf of a braided money tree. “Easy? I guess but not that easy. High maintenance, definitely not. Not sure what you mean by low but I’m willing to give it a try.”
Then he had the nerve to grin. Seriously?
“Low maintenance and easy-going, goofball. As in, don’t give me something I have to water every day because I’ll probably forget. High maintenance would be someone that has a set routine and never varies from it. I once knew a guy whose entire life revolved around his watch. His alarm went off at 6 a.m., he showered until six fifteen. He dressed in fifteen minutes and promptly brushed his teeth at six thirty, following with a comb through the hair at six thirty-five. He left work on time and ate dinner at seven every night regardless of where or with whom. He couldn’t handle variations. He could do high maintenance.”
Carter grinned. “Sounds boring.”
“You have no idea.” Yikes, did she really say that? She thrust a hand over her mouth and tasted blood from her finger. Should she add she once considered marrying the bore?
He lifted the money tree and inspected the pot. “I guess he penciled in sex around nine p.m. on Wednesdays and Saturdays so he could be promptly asleep by nine thirty? Did he also kiss good-bye at six forty in order to be out the door by six forty-one?”
He did not just say that. Blood dripped to the floor, reminding her she still needed to dress the wound.
“I wouldn’t know.” Technically, she did know and he was spot on, but for some reason that was TMI at the moment. There was no reason to discuss something that had been over for two years. She pulled a paper towel from the roll on the counter and wrapped it twice over the thorn prick then cupped it in her fist. “A guy that can handle the high maintenance type—”
“Of plant.”
“Yes, of course, the high maintenance type of plant—can probably go with something that needs to be watered more often and on a set schedule. Those kinds of plants wither quickly if their schedule isn’t kept up and they have to wait for attention. They’re more finicky and needy.”
“Needy for attention,” he repeated with his back to her as he bent over a fern that perched on the floor.
“Yes, as far as care goes.” He baited her with an innuendo. In a way, it was entertaining. Also dangerous. With his back turned, she had ample time to soak in the way the jeans slung low on his hips and cupped gently against areas that—her eyes jolted upward as he whirled to her with a wide grin.
“What about you?”
Her mouth went instantly dry. “Me?” she squeaked.
“Yeah, what would you suggest? High maintenance or low? If you were choosing a plant, which one would you go for?”
“Well, I’m not a good judge. I work here every day and can pamper them as much as they need.”
“Do you?”
She had the distinct impression he meant something else, and she wasn’t sure what. “Do I what?”
Her knees wobbled when Carter strode closer, pulled the towel from her hand, and wiped the blood gently from her skin. “Do you pamper your plants? Do you give them the attention they crave right on schedule whenever it’s needed? Or do they suffer and wither, awaiting that precious care they yearn for, only to have it denied until they’re so shriveled they can’t function?”
Abby swallowed the gigantic lump in her throat. His fingers were darker and rougher but they stroked intimately against the injury.
“I always pamper the things I care about but, for the most part, I’m a low maintenance kind of person. Sooo,” she dislodged herself from his grasp and picked up a philodendron, “this is the only kind of plant I’d bother with at home. It’s easy, undemanding, and still perks up when I douse it with water. No matter how poorly I manage it. Here, at work, is a different story.”
Carter tsked. “Sounds like you’re one of those lucky few that can keep professional and personal lives separate.”
Okay, that’s it. He made no sense and all of this tiptoeing around something was fun, but weird. “Okay, Carter, what exactly are you getting at? You want a plant, take this one. Or n
ot. That money tree you had earlier was good too. And easy.”
“Easy works.”
“Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“Aargh, you know what. Stop all this innuendo. Buy a plant. Or don’t buy one, but stop the word games, capisce? I’m busy.” She grabbed a water spout and headed toward one of the shelves. The plants didn’t need watering, but it kept her mind elsewhere.
“You didn’t look busy when I got here, you looked—happy. Like you were in your zone.”
She was glad he hadn’t mentioned the particular zone she joined included dancing and singing wildly to country music. “I was, thank you.”
He lifted the money plant to the counter along with the philodendron. “Just curious, what happened with your blind date the other night? Did you ever figure out why he didn’t show?”
Yikes. Am I really going to lie to him again? No, it’s time he knows the truth. After all, it’s not my fault he texted. I just … answered. Tell him. NOW.
Carter dug into his wallet for cash. “So, have you heard anything more from Amanda, our friendly lying, cheating ex-girlfriend? Does she want me back yet? Did she ask about me?”
Okay, maybe not. He’d hate me and he’s obviously still into her. Abby cleared her throat and shot a quick glance at the sky for forgiveness.
“No. The blind date did show, though. I was with you.”
Chapter Eight
Carter wanted to smile but didn’t. Would it be wrong to high-five a woman for getting ditched by a blind date? Probably.
“He saw us and left?”
“Not exactly.”
It would have helped if he could read her expression but her back was turned. She was pressing keys and scanning the barcode on his plants.
“Well, did you tell him you were there? Did you set up another time to meet?” He grimaced and pretended to sympathize. “What kind of man just leaves without at least trying?”
Her shoulders hefted up and down as she slammed the drawer shut with his money inside. She held out a hand and dropped change into his palm. “Water these guys once a week. Keep them out of direct sunlight, maybe near a window but not right in front of it. There’s some plant food in the soil already, but you’ll need to add more in three months. Other than that, they should do great.”
He lifted the plants and anchored one on each hip, realizing he’d made a slight tactical error. It was two blocks to his car and they were beyond bulky. Should have picked smaller pots. If he could get them there without dropping them, they’d have to hang out the window for the short drive to his apartment.
Abby glanced at the clock on the wall above the door. “Uh-oh, I’m late! Not exactly the best way to make an impression.” She walked him toward the door in a rush. “Sorry, I have to close up.”
“Another blind date?”
“No. Something much more important. A wedding.”
Huh, what? He jerked to attention and she rushed to gather flowers into a box. Oh, of course—a wedding delivery. He stood outside the window, watching for a second, until one of the pots slipped from his hip. He grabbed hold, trying not to let it spill as it clunked to the pavement.
“Carter, you busy this afternoon?” Abby stood in the doorway, her black hair hanging in wisps over her eyes.
“Just getting my plants settled into their new home. Why?”
“Want to help me load this stuff into the van?” She tossed her head toward the box she’d filled.
He scooped up the dirt he’d spilled on the sidewalk, dropped it back into the pot, and wiped his hands. Going to a wedding was about the last thing he wanted to do—outside of visiting a dentist. But he guessed he could help load the truck. “Sure. No problem.”
Abby grabbed one of the plants. “I’ll drop you off on the way to my delivery so you won’t have to carry these.”
An hour later, Carter frowned at the white tablecloths and twinkling crystal above them. How he’d allowed her to talk him into helping her load and unload the flowers was a mystery. She’d been describing the place to him, talking nonstop about how exciting it was, and telling him it was her first wedding since the opening.
Then his mouth got ahead of his brain, and perhaps the stupidest thing ever leapt off his lips. “Why don’t I go with you and help you get set up just to make sure it goes smoothly?”
Once the words were out, he couldn’t take them back. He wanted to, but it was too late. She’d busied herself securing the plants, boxes, and ribbon before closing up the truck. When the door clanged shut and she turned, he considered a quick escape. He assumed she’d say no. She hadn’t, and somehow it wasn’t the least bit awkward.
That, in itself, was confusing.
“It’s just a wedding, not a funeral. Don’t start hyperventilating.” The scrape of cardboard on the truck bed brought his attention back to the present, as she hefted the box of flowers and handed it to him.
He blinked. “I wasn’t.”
“Your face is as white as those lilies. You can leave if this weirds you out. I can manage on my own—it’s not like I haven’t done it before.”
The comment slapped him back to reality. What was it about these things that made most guys run for the hills? He shrugged. The permanency, of course. In his experience, permanent never worked. No more than trusting—he’d tried that with Amanda—another one of Roger’s stupid ideas. You need to get past what happened to your sister and trust people. Accidents happen. It’s not like Carley intended to deceive everyone. Yeah, right. That’s exactly what she intended. And apparently Amanda too. The woman in front of him now wasn’t asking for his trust or permanency. She was simply asking for a little help. That was easy enough.
“Unless you want to drive me back, I might as well help. I’m already here and if it bothered me, I wouldn’t have volunteered. You do a lot of weddings at this place?”
He glanced around the room. They were in the alcove of a historical landmark, a building that had once housed the elite socialites of Galveston. Presently, it was a museum by day, open for tourists, and available for parties after hours. An unusual but attractive site with flowers and ribbon trailed throughout.
When he turned back to Abby, she shook her head. “This is just the reception hall. The wedding is at the Catholic church, a very formal affair. We’ll go there next and deliver the bouquets, corsages, and flowers for the vestibule. Can you grab the other box too? I’ll get the door.”
“It must get old after a while.” He moved away and let her latch the door behind.
“What? Weddings?”
“The smell. You spend all day around all these and probably get tired of it. I always thought that was why girls liked flowers—because of the scent. It covered up all the ugly smells.”
She grinned. “Well, that’s definitely a plus but no, ah, you obviously haven’t bought many of them, have you?”
Carter plunked the box on a table and began distributing the candleholders to tables. Should he tell her he’d seen enough flowers for a lifetime at family funerals? “Only when I had to.”
“Flowers, candles, scented oil, room fragrances—they’re all an aphrodisiac. They set the mood.”
He liked the sound of that. “Mood for what exactly?”
She avoided eye contact. “Whatever. Dinner, asking for a date, going beyond the date—”
“To?”
“To whatever. A guy can’t go wrong with flowers.”
A deliveryman from the food caterer strode up and asked where to put his cargo. Abby pointed toward a door, stating to check there for the family. The creak of his dolly wheels across the tile broke the silence.
“Don’t you notice the smell of a room or a person?” She quirked a brow as she placed the last flowers, with an ornate candelabra, at the main table. Actually, he did notice. He’d noticed her scent the minute she ran past him ages ago but never thought about it until now. Flowers, however, weren’t the same.
He shook his head, not ready to make that admissio
n. “Unless there’s food involved, nope. Now, if you filled this room with eau de barbecue or maybe la scent de steak, you’d have me in a second. My heart would be full.”
Abby threw a stem she’d cut from the arrangement at him and gathered the boxes. “No wonder you’re single.”
“What? That’s not romantic?”
“Not even close. Next thing you’re going to tell me is your favorite smell is sweaty gym clothes after a workout.”
“Nope. After a weekend baseball game. That’s the best.” He took the boxes and stacked them in her truck while she fumbled for the keys. With them in hand, she tapped against his chest.
“Maybe you should try flowers with the next girl and see if it lasts longer.”
He rubbed the spot she’d thumped. “Ouch.” On a whim, he grabbed the hand with the keys inside and pulled her to him. He ran his cheek along her neck and sniffed. “You’re assuming I want it to last long. Maybe I should test your theory and see what you smell like. See if … ”
It wasn’t the smell that caught him off guard. Nor was it the closeness. With his cheek against hers, the first thing he noticed was how soft she was. Amanda had been all woman, but she’d been so concerned with makeup and hair she often felt … starched. Abby’s hair was soft and wispy against his cheek, suggesting silk against his roughness. It rendered him unable to speak or move.
She stepped back and he lost his balance for a second then righted himself. The look in her eyes was mostly alarm. But there was something else. Maybe a little—fire?
He straightened his shoulders and grinned. “Nope, nada. You smell like dirt.”
“And you smell like deodorant with a little sweaty gym socks thrown in.” She strode to the driver’s seat and hopped in the truck, waiting on him to get in the other side.
When he did, he threw his arm across the back of the well-worn seat and let his fingers rest against her shoulder. “See, you like it. It’s sexy, right?”
“Seriously?”
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