Kissing the Boss

by Linda Kage

  That was silly, I knew. But I still couldn’t shake the sense that I’d ruined everything by revealing my truth to him.

  Here, I’d always thought the truth was supposed to set a person free. Yet it had seemed to make Ezra more suspicious and untrusting.

  When I reached home, I slumped onto my couch after changing into my comfy yoga pants and paint-stained T-shirt from college. Then I stared at the blank screen of my television. I didn’t bother to reach for the remote to turn it on, because I didn’t particularly want to sit here alone with my thoughts. My head was currently depressing company. So I jumped up about three seconds after flopping down to change back into clothes that weren’t stained. After that, I stopped by the kitchen for the last of the chocolate chip cookies I’d made.

  With the cookies in tow, I left my apartment again, locking up behind me.

  I’d kind of become obsessed with visiting the new flower shop nearby. Not only did they sell some amazing arrangements of roses, but I think the owner was also a wood-making craftsman or something to that extent. I wasn’t sure, but half the shop also had these amazing things like baskets and chairs and tables and bookcases for sale. I liked browsing, just to see what was new.

  And if I could’ve afforded it, I would’ve bought a bouquet of flowers for my apartment every day just to brighten the place up. The owner of the shop knew it too. Sometimes when they had to throw an arrangement out because their flowers were starting to wilt, he’d give them to me instead of the dumpster. In return, I brought him baked goods, which he seemed to appreciate.

  I wasn’t sure I could stomach eating the last of the chocolate chip cookies anyway. They’d only remind me of Ezra and depress me even more.

  “I brought cookies,” I announced as soon as I stepped inside Rosewood. The bell overhead jangled in pleasant greeting.

  Shaw, the owner, had been leaning his forearms on the checkout counter as he read something on an e-reader. But at my call, he looked up with a welcoming grin.

  “Kaitlynn! Hey. Good to see you. Even better when you bring food.”

  His smile was infectious and drew me toward the counter, already shedding bits and pieces of my depressed mood. There was just something sweet and friendly about Shaw that made me happier when I left his store than I did walking in.

  “I used your mom’s recipe you gave me. And, wowza, you were right. They’re divine.”

  “Did you?” He turned all grabby-hands and reached out. I laughed as I passed the cookies over, then held my breath as he fished one from the bag before bringing it to his mouth.

  After the first taste, he closed his eyes and nodded. “Oh, yeah,” he said, “they taste just like hers.” Opening his lashes, he sent me a grateful glance.

  He’d told me once his mom had died recently, and his father had passed away long before that. Our shared orphan status made him seem like a kindred spirit. But today, my mind only whirled back to Ezra, remembering how he’d talked in the dark of the garden about his own mother who’d died in a fire. I suddenly wanted to know if his mother had ever fixed any food that could fill him with happy nostalgia.

  “You should’ve stopped by on Friday,” Shaw was saying, dragging me from my thoughts as he started on a second cookie. “Isobel had this beautiful arrangement of roses, carnations, and baby’s breath we had to throw out. You would’ve loved them.”

  “Oh, man.” I snapped my fingers in disappointment. “I have no idea why I didn’t pop in.” Until I realized, oh yeah, I’d been moping in my apartment because Lana had fired me.

  Wow, it didn’t seem as if that had only been last week.

  So much had happened and changed since then.

  “Oh my God, I love this purse!”

  I jumped, not having realized another customer was in the store. When I glanced toward the woodworking half of the shop, I discovered a woman just standing up from where she’d been kneeling and studying a wicker-woven bag on a lower shelf. She held it up to show it off.

  “Uh.” Shaw frowned, confused, and scratched his dark hair. “That’s actually supposed to be a basket.”

  The woman merely shrugged. “Whatever. Purses are just glorified baskets anyway, right?” She carried it toward the front desk. “This one is so cute; I have to have it.”

  “Um…” Shaw glanced at me as if unsure how to answer before he carefully said, “Okay. Sure.”

  The woman plunked the basket purse on the counter next to the cash register and then opened the small beaded coin purse she had strapped over her shoulder before pulling out a wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

  She was about my height and size, but where my hair was a pale, white blonde, hers was a wild carrot-top red. With her lips painted magenta and two small silver hoops piercing the septum of her nose, she had a brooding rebel sort of image to her, except something in me said she was actually a dreamer. As far as I could tell, a light coating of freckles kissed every inch of skin she had while her jaw and lips reminded me a lot of Neve Campbell.

  I found myself staring because I’d always thought Neve was stunningly and uniquely beautiful. Plus, she looked familiar, but I couldn’t point my finger on where I’d seen her before. I swear, I knew that face, except I was positive we’d never actually met.

  She glanced my way, catching me in the act.

  Flushing hot, I motioned toward her purse, the one she already owned, not the one she was purchasing. “The one you have is cute too,” I said, in the hopes of distracting her from the fact I’d been staring.

  She smiled, flashing teeth and a small dent in one cheek. “Thanks. I have a bit of a fetish.”

  Nodding, I totally understood. “Mine’s shoes,” I admitted, causing her to skim her gaze down my knee-torn skinny jeans to the rolled-up hems where I wore a pair of platform black booties with little leather tassels hanging from the sides. “If I could have a closet solely dedicated to shoes, I’d need about three of them.”

  The Neve lookalike laughed. “Yeah, I need a few of those for my purses.” She motioned to the one hanging off her shoulder. “My gran made me this one.”

  “That’s it!” I cried, suddenly realizing how I knew her face. “Mabel Blanchette.”

  She pulled back, startled, and I flushed, realizing I’d just randomly blurted a name. “I mean.” I cleared my throat and rushed out an explanation. “You looked so familiar, I was sure I’d seen you before, but I was equally sure we’d never met… Until you said Gran, and then it finally clicked. You’re Mabel’s granddaughter, right? Uh… Camille?”

  “That’s right,” Camille said slowly, suspicion splashed across her features.

  I grinned. “I’ve seen your picture in her apartment. She talks about you all the time.” Then, realizing I still didn’t make much sense, I explained. “She lives across the hall from me.”

  “Oh! Ooooh,” Camille finally drew out before pointing at me. “You must be Kaitlynn, then. She talks about you all the time to me.”

  “Does she?” Aww. If Mabel were there right then, I’d have given her a great big hug. “That’s so nice. I love her to pieces. She’s such a spitfire.”

  Camille laughed. “Oh yeah. That’s putting it mildly.” We shared a grin before she shook her head. “You know, I can’t believe we’ve never met before.”

  “I know. You and Mabel should definitely come over for dinner some evening. We’ll have her tell us all her tales about the days she was a dancer in Vegas.”

  “Oh my God!” Camille laughed. “She told you about that too, huh? My dad swears it’s not true, but I don’t know. I kind of think it might be. I mean, dancing in a nightclub to becoming a school lunch lady and mother of three? It’s totally plausible.”

  “Totally,” I agreed, nodding and making us both laugh.

  “Wow, sounds like one interesting grandma,” Shaw put in.

  “Interesting is another mild word for her,” Camille said before asking, “How much do I owe you?”

  Shaw pressed a button on the cash register, maki
ng it clang open. “Fifty-three, forty-eight.”

  “Cool.” Camille pulled a credit card from her wallet and cheerfully announced, “Cheaper than most of the purses I buy too.”

  As Shaw processed the payment, I admired the vintage Mary Jane flats Camille was sporting. They looked like something that might’ve been designed at JFI. I was about to ask where she’d gotten them when the bell above the entrance rang, admitting another customer.

  Curious, I glanced back to find another familiar face. Gabby, a petite woman with dark, shoulder-length hair who lived on the first floor of my building stormed inside, carrying a bouquet of red roses. She narrowed brown eyes at Shaw before marching close enough to pause beside me and slam the flowers onto the countertop.

  Leaves and petals exploded everywhere.

  Shaw jumped and glanced up, while I shied warily away from her. Even Camille grabbed her new basket off the counter to pull it protectively closer.

  Glancing from the bouquet to Gabby’s face, Shaw pointed. “Hey, those are our flowers.”

  “I know.” Folding her arms over her chest, Gabby glowered. “I read your store’s label on the ribbon. That’s why I’m here.”

  Concern knitted Shaw’s brow. He reached for the bouquet. “Is there a problem with them?”

  “No,” she huffed. “They’re absolutely gorgeous. So I want you to stop selling them to the bastard who keeps giving them to me.”

  “Oh!” Surprise rounded his mouth before he lowered his eyebrows with sympathy. “I’m sorry. Did you guys not make up this time?”

  “Make up?” Gabby shook her head, not understanding. “This time? What the fuck are you talking about? There was no making up, because we’ve never been together.” Jabbing her finger toward the roses, she explained. “These aren’t apology flowers, doofus, they’re a bundle full of I-want-you, guilt-trip flowers from a guy who won’t take no for an answer.”

  “Ooh.” Camille whistled as she winced. “That’s bad.”

  I had to nod, also cringing in sympathy. “Real bad.”

  Gabby glanced toward us, nodding as well, only to blink in surprise as she focused on my face. Her scowl faltered, but she couldn’t quite morph it into a smile. “Kaitlynn. Hey. What’re you doing here?”

  “Longingly gazing at all the pretty flowers,” I answered honestly. Then I motioned to the half-mangled bouquet she’d just banged onto the countertop. “Those are some awesome roses.”

  “Here.” She grabbed them and thrust them at me. “You want them? They’re yours.”

  “Uh.” I scrambled to catch them against my chest before they fell to the floor after she let go of them so fast. “Um, thank you?” I asked more than said, wincing because I wasn’t sure if she really wanted me to take them or not.

  “You’re welcome. I certainly don’t want them.” She promptly turned back to Shaw, her angry expression returning.

  Shaw glanced uncertainly between the three of us on the other side of the counter. “I’m confused,” he said slowly, looking worried. “How is it bad to buy a woman flowers in order to show her you’re interested in her?”

  We gaped at him as if he were insane before Gabby growled, “It’s bad because I asked him to stop. Repeatedly. I understand how diligence and hard work are good things to help you get what you want, but this dude passed cute persistence two dozen bouquets ago. Now it’s just creepy. He’s a freaking stalker, and you’re enabling him.”

  “No!” Shaw waved his hands and took a step back. “I’m not. I swear—”

  “Now he acts like I owe him something,” she continued. “I didn’t ask for any fucking flowers, and I certainly don’t want them, not from him, anyway. So I refuse to sleep with the asshole in some kind of jubilant gratitude. It’s not happening.”

  “Yeah,” Shaw agreed, nodding, his eyes wide with I’m-not-sure-what. “I wouldn’t sleep with him either.”

  “Right?” After motioning her agreement, Gabby set a hand on her hip and arched perfectly trimmed eyebrows. “So what’re you going to do about it?”

  “Me?” A glazed, deer-in-the-headlights look crossed Shaw’s features. “I, um…”

  From behind him, a woman’s voice asked, “Shaw? Is everything okay out here?”

  Shaw whirled around, relief coating his features. “Isobel!” He rushed to her so he could take her arm as if seeking comfort. “Yes. I need you.” Turning her toward the dark-headed woman, he said, “Ma’am, this is Isobel, the owner.”

  “Oh!” I blurted in surprise, accidentally gaining everyone’s attention, even the woman who—shock—when she looked at me head-on revealed scars on one side of her face. Flushing, I cleared my throat and waved at all the staring eyes. “Sorry.” With a cringe, I addressed Shaw. “Ignore me. I just always assumed you owned the shop.”

  His smile was warm as he eased closer to Isobel. “No. I just work here. Iz is the true owner. She grows the flowers and displays the arrangements.”

  I nodded and smiled at her. “Your flowers are lovely. I’d buy some every day if I could.”

  Isobel nodded graciously with a regal kind of movement I would love to learn to emulate. “Thank you. Though Shaw is being far too modest. We run the place together. All the woodworks are his.”

  Shaw humbly ignored that part, telling Isobel, “This is Kaitlynn, by the way, the one I was telling you about who always brings us snacks.” He turned back to me. “And this is Isobel, my better half.”

  “Nice to meet you.” I reached out to shake with her. Her fingers were cool and her grip pleasantly firm.

  “And this…” Shaw motioned to the redhead before picking her credit card off the counter and squinting at it. “Is Camille Blanchette,” he read. “She likes baskets—er—purses.” After handing her card back, he aimed his attention to the last woman, who was still stewing beside me.

  “And this is—”

  “Gabby,” she bit out with a fair amount of bitterness in her tone. But when Isobel turned to her, she straightened and cleared her throat before more respectfully saying, “Gabriella Salazar, ma’am. You have a beautiful store, here.”

  While Isobel once again bowed her head in queenly thanks, I leaned toward Camille and whispered, “Gabby lives with her dad and younger brother in the same building as me and your grandma.”

  Camille nodded in understanding, and Gabby glanced our way, having heard me. So I pointed to Camille. “She’s Mabel Blanchette’s granddaughter.”

  “Oh!” Gabby’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “I love Mabel. She’s such a badass.”

  Camille flushed with pride and nodded her agreement. “She is.”

  Across the counter from us, Shaw was busy explaining Gabby’s situation to Isobel. “…So she wants us to stop selling flowers to this guy buying from us because he’s stalking her with them and won’t stop giving her more bouquets.”

  “Oh dear,” Isobel murmured before offering to Gabby, “I’m so sorry. Have you gone to the police about it?”

  Gabby rolled her eyes. “They don’t care. Not until he actually does something threatening, anyway.”

  “So, he’s never threatened you?” Isobel asked, wringing her hands in worry.

  “No,” Gabby muttered despondently. “Nothing beyond inappropriate comments. He’s just so irritatingly cocky and expectant. He drives me up the wall with all the flowers and candy and stupid freaking persistence. And trust me, I feel bad that I’m not attracted to him in that way, but I can’t just make myself want someone. I’m not going to pretend I do, either, just to make him happy. I have more self-respect than that, and besides, it would do both of us an injustice if I faked it. Except he just doesn’t get that. It doesn’t matter how rude I am about it either; he only thinks I’m cute, when seriously, I’m this freaking close to kicking the idiot in the balls the next time he talks to me. ”

  Isobel nodded as if she understood. “Next time he comes in here, Shaw will have a talk with him about respecting a woman’s prerogative.”

  “I will?�
� Shaw said, sounding surprised.

  “You remember what he looks like, right?” Isobel asked. “The man who bought these.”

  “Yeah, sure. He’s the customer who helped us win that bet against your brother, but—”

  Isobel patted his arm in reassurance even as she turned back to Gabby. “Shaw will take care of it. He understands more than anyone how hard it is to shake off an unwanted admirer.”

  We all glanced at Shaw, who became a tomato red and had to clear his throat.

  “Aww,” Camille cooed. “You made him blush. That’s so cute.”

  When Gabby, Isobel, and I snickered, Shaw glared accusingly at Isobel. “I don’t see how this is funny or cute.”

  Camille and I shared another grin. I glanced Gabby’s way to do the same with her. But movement caught my attention from the corner of my eye. A strange current made the hairs on the back of my neck rise even as I swiveled toward the front of the store, only to see a man through the display window striding toward the entrance.

  And that man was Ezra Nash.

  “Oh my God,” I gasped as he reached for the door handle. What the heck was he doing here? “Oh my God.”

  “What…?” Camille startled in confusion as I thrust Gabby’s roses at her and dove toward the floor next to her, landing on my haunches. Then, using her legs as a shield, I practically crab walked—or more like crab sprinted—behind her so I could scurry toward a bookcase for sale and hide behind it. Panting hard, I pressed my hand to my rapidly thumping heart.

  The bell ringing above the door made my pulse lurch even more.

  “Hey, man,” Shaw greeted. “How’s it going?”

  I peeked around the bookshelf, my fingers resting against the floor as a bedraggled Ezra ran a hand through his hair and gave Shaw a look that said, Don’t ask. But then he surprised me when he turned his attention to Isobel. “You have a minute to talk?”

  The private way he said it and seeking way he looked at her signaled a connection. A bond. They knew each other well. Were close.

  My mouth dropped open as I wondered who this woman was to him. Everything inside me instantly wanted to be jealous, but my brain kept reminding me she was with Shaw. Still… I wished someday Ezra would look at me with that kind of emotional need.