The Roommate Problem

by Mariah Ankenman

  “A small flower farm wouldn’t bring in as much profit as a larger one in a less urban area.”

  “But don’t you care about what Agatha wants?”

  His eyes narrowed, and the joy that had been on his face all morning vanished as he took a step toward her, dropping his hand to his hips.

  “I love my grandmother very much. She was the only one who was there for me as a kid, and I will do everything I can to make sure she is comfortable and taken care of. Even if that means helping her get rid of the drain on her bank account.”

  Was the flower shop in trouble? Agatha hadn’t mentioned anything to her.

  “What’s wrong with the shop?” Because even if Agatha wouldn’t tell her, she knew August would.

  “Nothing except her profit margins aren’t high enough to allow her to retire.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t want to retire.”

  “She’s seventy-three, Moira,” August pointed out. “She deserves to relax and enjoy her golden years.”

  Mo agreed, but the thought of Agatha leaving the city…it hurt too much. Besides, the woman had friends here, a life. How could August ask her to leave all that?

  “There has to be a compromise. A way you can both get what you want.”

  “I doubt it.”

  She scowled up at him. “Are you always such a pessimist?”

  “Are you always such an optimist?”

  “Yes.” She lifted her chin, giving him her haughtiest smile. “It’s one of my most charming qualities.”

  August stared hard for a minute before he bent over and burst out laughing. She had no idea what was so funny, but she had to say, she didn’t mind the laughter. Even if it was at her expense, August had a great laugh. Deep and sexy. It rolled around her, creating havoc in her belly and setting all her special parts a tingling.

  Make a note: get this man to laugh as much as possible.

  If she couldn’t have sex with him—and she couldn’t, right? No, she couldn’t—at least she could enjoy his happiness. Happiness was sexy. Especially on August.

  “You certainly are one of a kind, Mo.”

  A wide smile lifted her lips. “Hey, you called me Mo. Does this mean we’re friends now? Was it the gardens that won you over or the cookies? It was my amazing baking skills, wasn’t it?”

  He shook his head, those dimples winking at her as he grinned.

  “It was you, Mo. All you.”

  Something fluttered in her heart. Something suspiciously close to…feeling. Uh oh. No. Nope. Can’t do it. Having sexual fantasies about her roomie was one thing, but developing a crush on him would only lead down a road she liked to call disaster. Considering the guy planned to leave the city within the year, she didn’t kid herself that starting anything with August would lead to wedding bells.

  Buuuuuut…

  Six months was a long time. Long enough to find more awesome things about Denver to dazzle August with. Long enough for her to talk to Agatha and come up with a plan that would work for both grandmother and grandson. A way to keep them both in the city she loved. The city Agatha loved. The city she knew August could love if he just gave it a chance. Otherwise, she’d lose her friend and possibly her home. No, she couldn’t let that happen. She had time to change his mind.

  And she intended to.

  If she were Pru, she’d come up with a plan. If she were Lilly, she’d make a list. But she was Mo. And Mo simply made things happen. Through willpower and sheer optimism.

  They continued their walk around the gardens and ended in the conservatory. It was a great day, and she congratulated herself on it. All she had to do was understand August and then, boom, friendship achieved. Over the next few months, she’d get to know him even better and then…she’d find a way to point out how much better it would be for everyone if he stayed in the city, kept living with her, and took over the flower shop.

  Giddy anticipation filled her at the thought. By this time next year, everything would have worked itself out for the best; she just knew it. She’d make sure of it.

  August didn’t stand a chance.

  Chapter Nine

  Monday afternoon, Mo headed to Porter’s Petals. She had a few things to check on for an upcoming wedding. She could have just emailed or called, but she also wanted to talk to Agatha about this selling and moving business. Surely, together the two of them could come up with a plan to convince August to stay and take over the shop.

  She had a plan to invite Agatha out to lunch, away from August’s prying ears, but the shop appeared empty as she entered. Nothing greeting her, except for the sweet smell of flowers.

  “August?” she called, glancing around the small shop. “Agatha?”

  When no one answered, she moved around the front counter and glanced into the back. There was no door separating the back from the front, just a narrow hallway she knew led to a small storage room. She made her way down the hallway, pausing as she heard Agatha’s voice talking to someone. Since no one was responding, Mo assumed the woman was on the phone.

  She was about to turn around and go back out front to give Agatha some privacy until she heard the old woman say something about surgery. Mo stopped dead in her tracks, heart jumping into her throat. Surgery? Agatha needed surgery? Why? For what? Why hadn’t Agatha told her?

  Quickly, she hurried to the edge of the supply room, flattening herself against the wall just outside the slightly ajar door.

  “Yes, my friend Patricia will be bringing me and driving me home,” Agatha’s voice drifted from the room. “Twelve hours before. I got it. Wait, does that include water, too?”

  There was a slight pause before Agatha continued. “All right. Thank you, doctor.”

  Mo blinked, surprised to find a few tears had welled up and leaked from her eyes. So silly. She wasn’t even sure anything was wrong with Agatha. Maybe another friend needed surgery, and Agatha and her friend Patricia were just coming along for support. Unlikely, but she could hold on to that false hope for as long as possible.

  “Come on in, child,” Agatha’s voice came from the supply room. “I heard you the second you stepped on that old creaky floorboard. Been meaning to get that fixed for months now.”

  Mo wiped her face with the back of her hand. Agatha might know she was eavesdropping, but she didn’t want to worry the poor woman with her tears. You weren’t supposed to worry sick people. Sucking in a fortifying breath, she shook her head. She didn’t know if Agatha was sick or not. Maybe she just needed a mole removed or something. Technically, that was referred to as surgery, right?

  Stepping into the tiny supply room, she smiled brightly at her friend and pseudo-grandmother. “Hi, Agatha. How’s it going?”

  One gray eyebrow arched. “How much did you hear?”

  Her smile slipped, tears glossing her vision again, but she blinked them away. “What? Hear?”

  Agatha laughed. “Child, you are a terrible liar, which is one of the things I love most about you.”

  “I love you, too, Aggie.” She sniffed.

  “Come here.”

  Agatha opened her arms wide, and Mo immediately ran into them, welcoming the woman’s strong embrace. See, she was fine. No one who was deathly sick could hug this fiercely.

  “I’m fine, Moira.”

  “But I heard you say something about surgery.” Her voice was muffled, since she still had her face buried against Agatha’s shoulder.

  “Oh, fiddlesticks. It’s nothing serious,” Agatha answered. “I’ve been having gallstones for a while now, and my diet change hasn’t worked to get rid of those nasty suckers, so my doctor said we’d just have to get rid of the whole gallbladder.”

  Mo pulled away, staring at the wrinkled face she’d come to love and need so much over the past few years. “Gallbladder surgery?”

  “It’s really a very simple and safe procedure.”
Agatha turned to grab a spool of green ribbon from one of the shelves. “I’m even having the laparoscopic surgery that is less invasive.”

  “But all surgery is risky.” She’d never had any type of surgery, but her oldest brother had to have his appendix out as a teen, and a small complication from the surgery had him stuck in the hospital for months, they almost lost him at one point.

  “Yes, but Dr. Long says I’m in excellent health otherwise, and the surgery should go off without a hitch. Now, a complication might arise…” Agatha hesitated. “But the hospital has my care directive should anything go wrong.”

  Care directive? Like a living will? A DNR? Mo knew how a “simple procedure” could turn into anything but. How could Agatha be so blasé about this?

  “Agatha, are you sure—”

  “Oh, you, shush.” A wrinkled hand came out to pat Mo’s cheek. “Dr. Long is one of the best surgeons in Denver. I’m not worried at all.”

  She might not be, but Mo was. And she’d bet someone else was, too. “What does August think about all this?”

  “August doesn’t know.” Agatha pointed a finger at her. “And he’s not going to, either.”

  Her jaw dropped open. “Agatha!”

  “My health is my business, young lady.”

  “But he’s your grandson.”

  “Yes, he is, and as such, it’s my job to take care of him. Not the other way around. I don’t want the boy worrying his fool head off over a simple surgery that won’t even keep me in the hospital for a day. And recovery is only a few weeks at most.”

  But family was supposed to be there for you. Especially in times of sickness.

  “How are you going to explain taking a few weeks off work while you recover?” Surely Agatha didn’t intend to keep this whole thing a secret forever?

  “I’m going to let him know after I get out of surgery and am settled back home. No sense in worrying the boy unnecessarily.”

  She might not know August that well, but she’d bet he’d be worried no matter what. She certainly was.

  “Now,” Agatha said, shaking the spool of green ribbon at her, “I am only telling you this because you overheard. I expect you to keep my confidence and not mention anything about my health or this surgery to my grandson. He’d only use it as another excuse to sell the shop.”

  Her heart sank, stomach twisting in knots. She hated keeping secrets. Her third brother’s thirtieth surprise birthday party had nearly been ruined because Mo almost let the cat out of the bag. The walls closed in on her, or maybe that was just a hint of claustrophobia from being in this tiny supply room. How could Agatha ask her to keep a secret this big? And from her roommate? The person she saw every day.

  “When’s the surgery?”

  “In six weeks.”

  A month and a half. She’d never last.

  “Please, Moira.” Agatha grasped her hands, gaze pleading. “I swear to you this isn’t anything serious, and I don’t want August to worry. That boy has had enough in his life to deal with. He doesn’t need to fret over his gran when I’ll be perfectly fine.”

  “Okay.” She sighed. “I promise not to tell him.”

  It was Agatha’s body, her medical issue. Mo had no right to go blabbing it to August if the older woman didn’t want him to know. But she absolutely hated this. Hated having to hold something back, even if it wasn’t life threatening. It still felt…wrong.

  “Thank you, dear.”

  Agatha gathered Mo into her arms. The spool pressed against her back, but she didn’t care. All that mattered was Agatha trusted her to keep her word, and Mo intended to do her best not to disappoint.

  “Hey,” a deep voice sounded from the hallway. “What are you doing here?”

  Mo pulled away from Agatha to see August standing in the doorway, a suspicious gleam in his eyes.

  Uh oh. Busted.

  …

  August stared at the sight before him. Gran in the supply room wasn’t an odd sight, but Mo being there, hugging his grandmother, was. What was she up to? Whatever it was, he didn’t trust it. Or her. They’d fallen into an easy rhythm at home since the Botanic Gardens visit this past weekend, but he knew Mo was on the “keep the shop” train, and any private conversation she was having with his grandmother couldn’t be good.

  “August, dear.” His grandmother released Mo. “Did the delivery go all right?”

  “Went off without a hitch,” he said while keeping his focus on Mo. “And I grabbed you some lunch from Mod Market on my way back. It’s out front.”

  “My favorite. Thank you, Auggie.”

  “Hey,” Mo complained. “How come she gets to call you a cute nickname, but I don’t?”

  “Because she’s my grandmother.”

  “You have a nickname for him?” Grandma turned to Mo. “Do tell.”

  “Don’t you dare,” he warned.

  Mo, however, did not heed his warning. The cheeky woman just gave him a smartass grin and leaned close to his grandmother to whisper in her ear.

  “Grumpy Gus Gus.”

  “Oh, that’s my Auggie to a T.” Grandma laughed.

  He failed to see what was so funny. And when the hell did she add the “grumpy” part? He wasn’t grumpy. He was stoic.

  “Gran, why don’t you go eat your lunch?” He stared at Mo. “I have something I need to discuss with Moira.”

  “Of course, dear. I have a little work to do up there anyway.”

  She moved past him, patting him on the arm as she headed to the front with a large spool of green ribbon.

  Once his grandmother had made her way down the hallway and into the front of the store, he stepped into the supply room and closed the door behind him. Big mistake. He’d forgotten how small this room was. Tiny for one person, miniscule for two. He stood inches from Mo. So close he could see the flecks of gold in her light brown eyes, feel the heat coming off her body, and he swore he could smell the sunshine radiating from her.

  “What are you doing here, Moira?”

  She sighed. “Back to ‘Moira,’ are we? What happened to Mo?”

  “Are you scheming with Gran?” he asked, ignoring her question.

  Her jaw dropped, arms crossing over her chest as she scowled at him. “Rude. I never scheme.”

  He let out a sharp bark of laughter. The woman’s middle name should be scheme.

  “For your information, I was simply stopping by to discuss some final touches on the flower order for an upcoming wedding. You know, working? The thing most people do during the day.”

  Oh yeah, she’d been working. Working his grandmother into some grand plan to help win him over and keep the shop. He placed his hand on the shelf above her head and leaned down, way down, since the woman stood a foot shorter than him.

  “Stop putting ideas in my grandmother’s head.”

  “What ideas?”

  “I know you two were talking about ways to convince me to stay here and take over the shop.”

  Her scowl relaxed into a smile. With a small huff of laughter, she shook her head. “Full of yourself much, August? We weren’t talking about you.”

  “Really? Then what were you talking about, because it sure didn’t look like wedding flower planning from what I saw.”

  Her smile fell, eyes dropping to the floor, but not before he spied a bit of guilt in them. Ha! He knew she’d been up to something.

  “It’s none of your business what we were talking about,” she muttered.

  “She’s my grandmother. She is my business.”

  Her head snapped up, fire burning in those golden eyes of hers. “She’s also her own person and doesn’t have to share every little thing with you.”

  He sucked in a sharp breath, feeling like he got punched in the gut. No, Gran didn’t have to tell him everything. He was well aware that even though people we
re family didn’t mean you got the privilege of knowing about their lives or being involved in their decisions. Hell, his parents proved that time and again over the years. But Gran had always been different. She’d always treated him as if his opinion mattered. He mattered.

  Pushing away the hurt, he glared at Mo. “Don’t get in the middle of this.”

  She lifted on her toes, putting her nose inches from his. So close he could see the faint smattering of freckles on her cheeks.

  “Don’t tell me what to do.”

  Her chin tilted up, lips curling in a defiant smile, and his gaze got caught. He could hear the rapid sound of her breathing, see a bit of bright white teeth behind those full, pink lips. The woman was driving him out of his mind and turning him the hell on. He knew it was a bad idea. Monumentally bad, but he couldn’t stop himself from dipping his head down, leaning even closer until their mouths were a hairbreadth apart. Until the warmth of her breath caressed his lips, calling to him like a siren called sailors to their doom.

  The anger left her face as her eyes widened then lit with the same burning heat he felt low in his gut. Oh yeah. She felt it, too. This strange connection they had. The driving need he felt whenever he was around her. Which unfortunately was a lot, considering they lived together. And that there was the precise reason they couldn’t do this. It would only end in a giant mess, and August hated messes. Physical or emotional.

  “August?”

  His name. Coming from her lips. Whispered and needy. Hell, a man could only be so strong.

  Lifting his hand, he cupped the back of her neck. Her eyelids drooped, eyes closing as she tilted her chin up. This was it. Too late to back out now. His own eyes started to close as he brought her mouth to his. In less than a second, he was going to know if Moira Rossi tasted as sugary as her sunshiny attitude. He was going to—

  The door flew open. “August, can you pass me the—oops!”

  Mo pulled out of his embrace lightning fast. So quickly she smacked right into the shelves, causing a few spools of ribbon to come crashing down on her head.

  “Good gracious, Moira,” Gran said. “Are you all right?”