The Roommate Problem

by Mariah Ankenman

  Hmm, then again, if anyone needed to loosen up and experience all the fun the city had to offer, it was August “stick-in-the-mud” Porter. She held back another snort of laughter. He wouldn’t like that description any more than the last one.

  “We might want to give him a few days to get settled in before I start introducing him to everyone.”

  Pru nodded, as if that was the sensible thing to do. “Good point. I’m sure Agatha will introduce us all sometime in the near future anyway.”

  Oh, Agatha. She was going to have to stop by and see the sneaky old lady who failed to mention to her grandson that Mo was short for Moira. Just like her nonna, Agatha had a wicked sense of humor, and Mo loved her for it. Though this little joke might have gone a bit too far. August had looked like he swallowed a beehive last night when he realized she was his new roomie.

  Poor guy.

  She’d make it up to him by taking him out for a night on the town. Show him the sights and all the wonderful things Denver had to offer. After all, that’s what good roommates did. Even if Mo wasn’t the cleanest person to live with, she was—in her humble opinion—one of the most fun.

  It was settled. They’d have drinks, swap stories, bond as new roomies, and who knew? Maybe she’d even find a way to help him unwind the ball of stress he seemed to carry around.

  She tucked back into her work, Pru and Lilly already absorbed in their own tasks. This weekend, she would take August out, and then maybe next week she’d invite him to dinner with her friends. Being new in town, the guy needed to meet people, and lucky for him, Mo knew the very best people in the city. Maybe she could even find him a date.

  A sigh of regret left her lips. Too bad she was living with the dude or she’d make a pass at him. He was hot with two Ts. And tall. Okay, everyone was tall compared to her, but something about the big guy just made her want to climb him like a tree and yell timber. Ooooh, maybe she could convince him to wear flannel, live out her lumbersexual dreams.

  No. Bad Mo. She couldn’t jump her roommate. As much as her hormones wanted to, it’d be a bad idea to do anything to risk her financial security. So no doing the roomie. Because she might be a lot of things, but stupid wasn’t one of them, and starting anything with a man she lived with was a bad idea.

  With a capital B.

  Chapter Four

  “August! My sweet boy.”

  August felt his lips curve up into a smile as he stepped into Porter’s Petals, the flower shop his grandmother owned and ran. The woman who’d been the only bright spot in his chaotic childhood stood behind the large wooden counter at the front of the shop. A line of sweet-smelling flowers in various shades of yellow and pink lined up before her, waiting to be placed in a bouquet of some kind, if he had to guess. Her cheeks wrinkled, the fine lines around her eyes deepening as she graced him with a smile that never failed to lighten whatever load was weighing on his mind.

  Damn, it felt good to see her loving face again. He really needed to visit her more often. At least he’d be seeing her consistently for the next few months, and if he could get her to agree to his plan…he’d never have to say good-bye to her ever again.

  “Hi, Gran, how are you?”

  She rushed around the counter to hurry to his side. He towered over her, but she put her arms around his neck and tugged, and August was helpless to do anything other than bend his knees so his grandmother could give him a good squeeze that nearly choked the air out of him. The old woman still had a lot of strength in her. That thought made him happy. He’d been worried about her health lately; she was getting on in years and needed to take better care of herself.

  It was one of the main reasons he’d finally decided to come out to the city. Temporarily. The city made him itch. He’d never lived in Denver, but he had grown up a little over an hour away in Colorado Springs, a large city in its own right. So many people all crowded together but not noticing a damn thing around them. His parents both lived in the Springs but on opposite sides of town. It used to take him two buses to hop back and forth between their houses when they were too busy with their other kids to pick him up for their custody days.

  He hated buses. Give him a town you could walk to the end and back in an hour any day.

  Agatha pulled back, her smile dropping into a disapproving frown as she looked him over. “I would be doing better if my loving grandson had deigned to call his grandmother last night—the one who was worried sick about him getting into town.”

  A load of bull. If his grandmother had really been worried, she would have called. Repeatedly. She was just giving him a hard time. Probably because this was the first time he’d come to visit in more than a year. Guilt churned his gut, but he pushed it aside. He was here now.

  “I got in late. I didn’t want to wake you.” He knew she needed more sleep and headed to bed earlier these days. “I sent you a text.”

  “You young folks and your texts.” She reached up to pat him on the cheek. “What’s wrong with speaking to a person directly?”

  For one thing, his grandmother always took her hearing aid out when she answered the phone, so she couldn’t hear half of what he was saying. She said it whistled when she held an electronic device up to it. Cheap piece of crap. He’d be adding “buy a new hearing aid” to the list of things he wanted to do for her.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t call.” He placed a kiss on the top of her head, inhaling the aloe-scented lotion she’d used daily since he was a boy. The smell always put his nerves at ease. “But don’t think I don’t have a bone to pick with you, either, Gran.”

  She dipped her head, moving fairly quickly for a seventy-three-year-old as she hurried back behind the shop’s counter. Her fingers fussed with the flowers, picking up the stems and arranging the plants with a focus she hadn’t possessed when he first arrived.

  “I’m sure I have no idea what on earth you’re talking about, August.”

  Ah, denial. The Porter family trait.

  “Oh, really?” He stepped up to the counter, placing an arm down and leaning over. “You have no idea what I could be upset about?”

  She glanced up, covering her guilty expression with a shake of her head. “You’re a very sweet boy, August, but you can be a bit of a broody moody at times, so I couldn’t possibly know what could be troubling you at the moment.”

  Broody moody?

  What in the world did that mean? That made him sound like an angsty teenager who spent all day locked in his room listening to My Chemical Romance. He hadn’t done that since he was fourteen.

  Sure, he might be a little stoic, a bit of an introvert, but he wasn’t moody. And his grandmother could try the innocent act all she wanted, but since she had been the one to teach him how to count cards at the age of eight, he knew the old lady knew exactly what he was talking about. She might be able to fool others, but she couldn’t pull the wool over August’s eyes.

  “Mo, Gran.”

  She glanced up, blinking widely behind her thick glasses. “Mo?”

  “Yes, Mo. My new roommate.” He leaned farther over the counter, looking his grandmother directly in the eyes. “My new female roommate.”

  “Oh, Moira!” Grandma clasped her hands together, a bunch of pink roses held within their grasp. “Such a sweet girl. And her apartment is rather large for the city. Plenty of room for a strapping young man such as yourself.”

  He sighed, knowing he’d have to be direct if he wanted to get any answers out of her. “Gran, why didn’t you tell me Mo was a woman?”

  “Did I not?” She shrugged, going back to her work, focusing on the flowers once again. “Ah well, it doesn’t really matter, does it? From what I’m to understand these days, men and women live together all the time. As friends, platonically, romantically.”

  He didn’t like the way she said that last one. He wouldn’t put it past his grandmother to be trying to fix him up wit
h Mo—wasn’t like she hadn’t tried to set him up a million times before. Something about wanting to see him happily settled or something. No, thank you. His dad and mom split up when he was a kid, their supposedly happy marriage tossed aside for a shiny new one. Much like their kid.

  Half the people he knew were either divorced or separated, and the rest fought so much they might as well break it off. August hadn’t seen one happy, lasting relationship in his entire life.

  His grandparents had been happily married for thirty-five years according to Gran, but Grandpa had died when he was just a baby, so he hadn’t witnessed any of their so-called bliss. Still, his grandmother kept trying to set him up, and he kept dodging that bullet like the future train wreck he knew it would be. And if she thought to hook him up with Mo, the woman who he was sharing an apartment with for the next six months, she had another think coming.

  He couldn’t imagine a worse idea. And it wasn’t just because they were going to be living together. From what little he knew of the woman, they were complete opposites. Her sunshiny cheer made him want to crawl into a dark cave and stay there for a week. The chipper attitude was exhausting. Seriously, who had that much energy at the end of the day? Also, what kind of monster ate pineapple pizza?

  “Mo and I are just roommates.” Thanks to her.

  She shrugged, grabbing some yellow roses and adding them to the bunch. “For now, but Moira has a way about her. I’m sure you’ll be friends in no time, and who knows? In a while, maybe more.”

  He had to stop this right now. In a childhood when he’d been shuffled back and forth between his mom’s place and his dad’s, Gran’s had been the only house that felt like home. While he was expected to keep track of his own schedule and possessions with his parents, Gran always made sure she was looking out for him, allowing him to be a kid for a few weeks a year. She was his safe space, comfort, and he hated to crush her dreams, but there was no way in hell he and Mo were even going to be a couple. Even friends was pushing it.

  “Gammie,” he said softly, using the nickname he’d called his beloved grandmother as a boy. The one that always got her to listen. “You know I’m only here for a short time, right? Just long enough to sell the shop.”

  Her gaze snapped up, the happy light now a cool burn as she put down the bouquet she’d been working on and pointed a stern finger in his direction. “August Lionel Porter. I have told you time and again I am not selling this place. My mother started this shop and passed it on to me. Your father wanted nothing to do with it, and that’s fine, but I had hoped you, with your love and skill to grow the most beautiful flowers this side of the Rockies, would one day take over.”

  And he’d told her time and again he didn’t like the city and had no desire to live there. He needed fresh air, open spaces, and a plot to grow his own flowers. He loved the beauty of flowers, the ageless meaning behind each and every botanical, the way they could convey a million messages: condolences, friendship, well wishes, love. What August didn’t like was the day-to-day running of a shop. He wanted to grow, not sell.

  People skills were not his forte. Flowers were.

  Flowers were easy to care for, easy to understand. All they required was soil, sun, and water. They didn’t give away your dog because your new wife’s kid was allergic. Flowers didn’t shove you off on your dad when your new husband wanted to take the family to Hawaii for spring break. The family that included his kids, but not you.

  Flowers were so much easier to deal with than people.

  “I’ve told you before”—he reached out to grasp her hand in his—“I don’t want to run the shop.”

  “Then I’ll have to continue to run it myself,” she huffed, pulling her hand away.

  Stubborn determination also ran strong in the Porter family.

  He sighed. “You shouldn’t be working so hard, Gran. You should be retired, enjoying yourself.”

  “I do enjoy myself. Right here. In my flower shop.” A sneaky smile crossed her face. “But I could be persuaded to cut back on my hours if someone were to take over.”

  Someone being him. Yeah, not going to happen.

  “I have a life to get back to.” Sort of.

  He’d quit his job working on one of the largest flower farms outside of Telluride, subleased his apartment, and sold a lot of his things. He didn’t plan to go back but instead had a different plan. A new dream. One that involved finding a small plot of land and starting his own flower farm. Nothing huge, just big enough to financially provide for himself and his grandmother. Give her a chance to finally retire, sell the shop, and take it easy without having to worry about endless days of filling customer orders and all the paperwork that came with running a business. A little piece of sweet-smelling heaven all their own.

  He didn’t want to take over the shop, but he did want to take care of his grandmother, and the only way he knew to do that was by growing beautiful flowers…for other people to sell in their shops.

  He’d been socking away money for years, and he finally had enough to start his own flower-growing business. Now all he had to do was find a place for this new venture. A place outside the city. How could anyone grow anything in a concrete jungle?

  “You could have a life here, August.”

  He made his way around the counter, guiding his grandmother to sit on the wooden stool by the register. The hard wooden stool. He made another mental note to get her a stool that at least had a soft cushion on it. Though if he had his way, she wouldn’t need a new stool because she’d sell the dang shop. But he knew his grandmother. He was in for a fight on this one. He had her best interests at heart, even if she didn’t see it that way.

  “Sit down, Gran. You’ve been on your feet too long.”

  “Oh, this is rich.” She chuckled but sat as he requested. “You trying to take care of me. Wasn’t too long ago I was putting bandages on your scraped knees and making sure you ate all your veggies.”

  He grinned. “Yes, but you also gave me a cookie as a bribe to eat the vegetables.”

  “I’m a grandma.” She lifted her chin. “We get to spoil the little ones. It’s the right we earn as grandparents.”

  And he was grateful for it, because his childhood would have been a lot bleaker without the doting love of his grandmother. Which was why this need burned within him to take care of her. He didn’t want her working her fingers to the bone. He wanted to provide for her, make sure she was comfortable and able to pursue whatever activities she wanted. She took care of him. Now it was his turn to return the favor.

  “I’m not a city kind of guy.” He tried another tactic.

  She shook her head. “You haven’t even given the place a try, August.”

  True, but he spent a few weeks in the summers here as a kid. Granted, that had been a while ago, but he hadn’t liked the noisy, busy place then. Staying with Gran had been great, but the city reminded him too much of home. What could have changed over the years to alter his opinion?

  “Let’s make a deal,” his grandmother said.

  “I eat all my vegetables before my cookies now, Gran. There’s no need to bribe me to be healthy anymore.”

  “Don’t be smart, boy,” she admonished him, but she said it with a loving smile on her face. “Now, I propose—hand me that ribbon, please.”

  He dutifully passed over the silky white ribbon laying on the countertop by his hand. Chuckling to himself, he watched his grandmother wrap the piece of cloth around the finished flower bundle, completing her task while focusing all her mental energy on him. A move that reminded him so much of the happy times he’d spent in this shop as a young boy; it made his chest ache. Honestly, it did hurt him to sell the place, but he couldn’t see any other option. Grandma couldn’t run it forever, and he just couldn’t see himself living in the city.

  What else could he do?

  “I think you should give Denver a fair shot,
” she said, placing the finished bouquet in a glass vase by the register. “Give the shop a fair shot.”

  She placed a small, wrinkled hand on his chest, directly over his heart. “Maybe even give the idea of opening yourself up to love a fair shot.”

  The woman was asking for the moon.

  “If you still feel the same in six months, we can discuss, in earnest, selling the shop.”

  Wow. He hadn’t expected his grandmother to agree so quickly. Tentatively agree, he reminded himself. Granted, she probably thought a few months in the city, working at the flower shop, living with a beautiful but ridiculous woman would change his life’s plan. She was wrong. Nothing could steer August from the course he’d set out.

  “Okay, Gammie.” He placed his hand over hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’ll give it six months, but then we talk. For real.”

  “So sure you’re right, Auggie.” She smiled, using her childhood nickname for him.

  He grinned, giving her a pointed look. “It’s a family trait.”

  “Oh, you.” She slid off the stool and gave him a hug before pulling away and shooing him to the back. “Now go get me more ribbon. I’m almost out, and I need to make three more bouquets for this wedding tomorrow. Mo is coming by first thing in the morning to get them. Perhaps you could ride over with her.”

  “I have my own car.” He waved, ignoring his grandmother’s attempts to match make him and his new roommate as he headed to the tiny back storage area where he knew she kept her floral supplies.

  He riffled through the shelves of floral tape, wire, foam blocks, vases, and other items until he came to the drawer with the ribbons. Warmth spread in his chest as he glanced around the room that was constantly changing but somehow always the same. Gran was forever reorganizing her stock room, but it always held the same supplies. A constant comfort he could rely on.