by Finn, Emilia
He’s not mocking me anymore. He knows how I feel about romance; I’ve been planning weddings since I was four and swore I’d find a prince charming that could live up to the bar Daddy set. I’ve been playing with flower arrangements my whole life in preparation for my wedding bouquet. I’ve been involved in hundreds of weddings since I went into business for myself. I’ve witnessed others get their slice of the love pie, but every man that has come along and tried to charm me has turned out to be a frog.
I’m twenty-five years old, but I swear, I feel like a forty-year-old spinster in Pride and Prejudice.
“I mean…” I sigh. “He broke my heart a little bit. I’m not crying or anything, but I charged six times the ticket price for his flowers, and I’m tempted to look him up in the phone book so I can drop in to meet his lovely wife.”
“No meddling.” He squeezes my shoulder, then pulls back. With a grunt that makes him sound old, despite only being two years older than me, he lifts himself up to perch his butt on my table. “You’re not the patron saint in charge of helping every woman exact revenge on her man. You just need to concentrate on your own life and the pretty flowers you’re strangling right now.”
I look down to the bunch I’m white-knuckling, and jump back. “Ah, frick!” I lift my hands as though in surrender… and apology. “He made me so mad, Nix.”
“Wanna come over for dinner tonight?” He folds a little lower as the bell above the front door rings again. “My place, seven o’clock, we can eat something nice and watch a movie.”
I slap his thigh when my regular customer practically struts into my store with a satisfied smile. This is the kind of guy I’d like to model mine off of. Not the massive muscles or the tattoos all over his body. Not the wicked smirk and his almost-always bleeding knuckles. But the way he uses such gentlemanly manners every time he’s in here, the way he speaks of his beautiful wife, and the way he pays double and triple the ticket price, only to justify it by asking me to pick the best of the bunch.
All of my flowers are amazing, but Bobby Kincaid doesn’t want any spots or blemishes. He doesn’t want a nicked stem, or anything that looks even remotely like a wilt. He wants the best of the best, and for them to last the whole week until he picks up the next lot.
“Mr. Kincaid. I’m just finishing your order now.”
He stops at the top of the row with a dark baseball cap pulled on low and his hands dug deep into his jeans pockets. “I have all the time in the world, Miss Rosa. My girl is busy until four, so I have time to sneak in and out and pretend those same lilies have been on our table since the dawn of time.”
I smile and finish up with quick movements. I wrap the bunch, box them, and when our eyes meet again, I take two more and lay them in the box beside the main bunch. “For your daughters.”
“Gotta make sure my girls know how to be treated.” He flashes a handsome smile that outshines anything Mr. GQ could pull off. Placing cash on my counter and flashing a grin at Nix, Bobby Kincaid takes his gifts and walks away with a whistle. “Till next week.”
I hate that my heart races as he walks through my door and the bell announces his exit. I’m not crushing on Mr. Kincaid. I don’t lust after married men, or hope to lure them away from the women they love. But I crush on their love. I lust for the connection they have.
“Momma and Daddy shared with that guy.”
Nix shakes his head beside me. “You have a sickness, Abby. Seriously. Why can’t you just watch a chick flick like all the other normal single chicks? Why do you want to live your life for someone else?”
I push my cash register closed and turn to him with a frown. “I don’t want to live my life for someone else. I want to live it with someone else. But it can’t just be any old schmuck. He has to act like that.” I point toward the door. “Could you imagine having a guy smile like that every day because he loves you?”
“Well… no. Because I’m not into dudes.”
I smack his arm and push him away from my counter. “Go away. This side is staff only.”
“Dinner tonight!” He laughs as I shove him away. He has a full hundred pounds on me, and a foot in height, so he’s obviously letting me push, but still, I move him halfway across my store before he grabs my hands and stops me. His aftershave fills my lungs as he stares down into my eyes and chuckles. “Come to dinner tonight. I wanna see you some more. I miss your face.”
I pretend to pout. “What are you cooking?”
“Tacos?” He flashes a wide grin. “Or maybe we could order Chinese takeout. You choose.”
“Tacos.” I sound like such a child, but he already won me over when he mentioned food. “But I want soft shells.”
“You’re so high-maintenance. Tacos, soft shells, mild spices because you’re a big baby.”
“Sticks and stones, Nixon. Now go away. My next client just pulled up out front, so you need to get before you scare her off.”
He turns and peers through the window that takes up my entire shopfront. Hanging plants provide a barrier, and more arrangements on shelving cover the bottom, but through the foliage, I see Jess Lenaghan – soon-to-be Bishop – slowly leveraging herself out of a tall SUV.
Nixon watches her for a moment, then he turns back to me with a lifted brow. “You’re lucky I don’t want to get you in trouble. Get your phone out, kiddo. Put it on loud, and stop ignoring my calls.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“I’ll come back down here every single time you ignore me.” Since he still has a hold of my wrists, he pulls me closer and drops a kiss on my cheek. “Be good. Be at the house at seven. Bring dessert.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine. See you tonight. I wanna watch a chick flick, though. My choice, since you want me to be a normal girl.”
“Mmm.” Nix turns when the bell above my door jingles, but his laughter comes to a dead silence when a man steps in behind Jess and closes the door. The man towers over her. He’s even taller than Nix, and not many people are.
My heart races again, but it’s not like how when Mr. Kincaid comes in.
Kincaid is a fighter; that’s his job, his sport, his passion. It implies that he’s dangerous and knows how to hurt people if he chose to. But this guy is dangerous in a different way. His face is scarred so bad that I experience a wave of overdue concern for his eye, though of course he’s healed up and his eye is fine. The scars covering his whole cheek and brow are jagged, cutting a deep rivet out of what should be the squishy part of his cheek, up to the bottom of his eye, then continues above and tears his brow so no hair grows over it.
The man is so ridiculously broad, he has to turn a little to the side to move through the door, and now as he stands behind Jess, he’s head and shoulders taller than her. His chest alone is broader than her whole body, and that doesn’t include his thick arms, so tattooed I’m not sure I see any bare skin at all.
There’s a shame-filled part of me that’s tempted to ask Jess if this is a burglary, and if she’s being held against her will, because the petite platinum blonde standing right beside this… well… this thug seems so out of place.
I’m a horrible, judgmental human being, but I still step back and allow Nixon to shield me a little. I still cast a glance toward the back of the store as though I have a couple policemen back there that might help.
Spoiler: I don’t.
And for the first time in my life, I wish I’d listened to my brother when he insisted I carry a weapon in my purse and use it first, ask questions later.
3
Spence
“Hey, Abby.” Jess waddles further into the flower shop toward a tiny red-haired florist and the man she stands beside.
Our eyes meet, his and mine, as he tilts his head and looks me over with a suspicious gaze. My senses go on full alert when his hand slowly moves to his right hip. He’s broad chested, square jawed, six-four, and two-ten. And though he doesn’t pull a piece, he has one. Which is interesting…
But more than that, he looks familiar, and a
nyone that is familiar to me is more than likely bad news.
I’ve met a lot of people in my time, but apart from Jessie and her sister, I’m not sure any of them could be considered good. I’ve been trained all my life to profile, so I’ve already tucked away this guy’s olive complexion, his light green eyes, and what I’m certain is a concealed handgun on his hip. He wears a light coat over a black shirt, and blue jeans that are ironed out well enough they must’ve come off the rack just this morning.
His eyes are bright, his complexion clear, and he has a bulge on his left ankle that indicates a blade.
But his eyes… they fuckin’ stare.
I don’t step out of his way when he tries to move through the doorway. When he sees me step into his path, his head snaps back with surprise.
“You look familiar,” I say. I’m tempted to call him ‘soldier,’ though he looks a little too… clean for that. He’s a little too preppy to be military. “Do I know you?”
Preppy moves back and folds his arms over his chest. His biceps bulge, and his jaw ticks and niggles something at the back of my brain.
“Can’t say I know your face, Hulk.” He pastes on a fake grin. “And it’s not a forgettable face. Did it suck when you lost that fight to a bear?”
When I say nothing, he chuckles and lifts his chin. “Step aside, please.”
I narrow my eyes and cast a glance toward Jess as she waits beside the watchful florist. “You good?”
Jess tilts her head when she feels the tension in the room. What was an excited smile on the drive over here while she harped on about how I must help her since everyone else is busy, has now turned to suspicion and a twitching hand, like she plans to step between us and stake her claim.
I’m not her man, but I’m still hers all the same.
“What’s going on?” She rubs the side of her swollen belly, steps around the guy, and stops so her arm rests against mine. Nine months pregnant, practically married to someone else, half my size, and she’s still willing to go to war for me. All because her man considers me a brother. “Do we have a problem, Spencer?”
“Spencer?” The dude watches me. It’s almost as though he’s trying to figure me out too. “I don’t know a Spencer. What’s your first name?”
“Spencer is my first name.”
His eyes flicker over my face and down to my hand. “Surname, then?”
“That’s none of our business.” The florist finally unfreezes and rushes forward to push the guy around us. “Nixon was on his way out.”
I run the name Nixon through my brain, but still, nothing pops.
I turn and pull Jessie behind me when the chick swings the door open. Long strawberry blonde hair sways from a half up, half down ‘do. She doesn’t look old enough to have graduated high school yet, let alone push large men around, but she stares the dude off and shuts him down when he whisper-growls ‘Call me’ and ‘Dinner tonight!’
Slamming the door, she turns back to us with a big grin and pats her hands together. “Whew. Guys are weird. Jessie! Come on in. I have something exciting to show you.”
“Who was that guy?” Jess grabs the woman’s narrow wrist and pulls her to a stop when she tries to rush away. “Is everything okay with that?”
“That?” Abby points toward the door and laughs. My eyes are stuck on the six trillion freckles that mark her pale skin. My gaze moves to the cute headband that keeps her hair off her face, and the white shirt she has buttoned all the way up to her damn chin. There’s no way in hell this chick would ever don a pair of Daisy Dukes, and that’s a filthy shame, because I’d pay good money to see it. “That was just Nixon, and he’s a stubborn mule. He wouldn’t leave until I agreed to dinner.”
“But…” Jessie steps closer to the woman. “Do you want to go to dinner with him? I mean, don’t get me wrong, sometimes bossy men are adorable. Mine might be the bossiest of them all, and I secretly love him for it, but sometimes it’s not cute. Sometimes it’s called abuse. If you don’t want to go to dinner with that man, I’ll deliver the bad news to him myself. I’ll take Spence, and maybe Jay and Kane too, and we’ll remind him what would happen if he comes back in here again without a written invitation.”
Abby’s smile dims, then her eyes pop wide when she realizes what Jess is saying. “Oh my gosh, no! You have completely the wrong idea!” She throws her head back a little and laughs. “Nixon isn’t a problem for me! He’s not like…” Her eyes flicker to me. “He’s not an abusive guy or anything.”
“Said every girl with an abusive boyfriend,” I rumble.
“No. Seriously.” Abby pauses when vibration echoes from her desk. She looks over her shoulder, then back to us and tries to pretend her controlling man isn’t checking in. “I’m not… I don’t need… No.”
“I think we need to leave now.” I grab Jess’ arm and try to pull her back. I need a computer, I need to find out who Nixon is. But I need to do all that without Jess giving birth from stress. “We’ll come back later. I’ve gotta talk to Soph.”
“No!” Abby jumps forward and grabs Jess’ other arm. “I prepared a bouquet for Jess. I spent half the night making it. Don’t make that in vain!”
“Who was that man that was just in here?” Abby’s eyes widen when I speak directly to her. “Name, age, rank.”
“Rank…?” She looks to Jess, then back to me. “How do you… Um… Nix is a lieutenant.”
“Lieutenant what?” I reach to my back pocket for my phone. “Under whose command? Where is he based, and when the fuck is he shipped out again?”
“Um… here.” Abby’s voice shakes as I release Jess and prepare to call Soph. “And never.”
“Army? Navy? Air?”
“Army?” She repeats dumbly, then shakes herself and meets my gaze with a smile. “Army! Oh my gosh, no, my brother isn’t military. He’s a firefighter.”
“Your brother?” Jess’ breath explodes out on an exhale. “Oh my shit. He’s her brother.” But her relief is only momentary as she pauses and narrows her eyes once again. “Biologically, right? You came from the same womb, and all that?”
“Of course! Whose womb do you think we came from?”
“I don’t know!” She gently pries her wrist from Abby’s hold and steps back. “Okay, he’s her brother.” She turns to me. “Step down. He’s her overprotective big brother, and you set off his alarms. You’re a giant, and you were giving him the stink eye because Kane made you promise to push everyone away.” She turns back to the florist after rolling her eyes at me. “Whew! Abby, please show me the flowers.”
“Your brother asked you out to dinner? Nope. Something stinks.” I don’t move a single inch when Jess waves us off and wanders away.
Abby wants to follow her, but I hold the waifish girl captive and cast a fresh eye over her body.
She’s… fucking bland. Shapeless. She wears jeans that are too big so it looks like she’s a 1950’s housewife… who shit herself. Her blouse – because it’s totally a blouse, and not a shirt like the rest of us wear – is buttoned from top to bottom and has an embroidered flower on the breast pocket. Her belt wraps around her tiny waist and folds back again, because there’s too much leather and not enough hip. She wears black Nikes to finish out her Susie-homemaker look, and a gold, rose-shaped pendant around her neck, and though it’s not a rosary, her church girl looks make me think of one.
She’s a walking cliché, a minister’s daughter, no doubt, and understandably terrified of the inked and scarred thug who graces her pretty store.
But her lips… well, they’re not churchy or innocent.
If she’s Abby, as Jess continues to call her, then she’s the legal owner of this establishment, which means she can’t possibly be sixteen like her looks imply. I was trained to profile, and I consider myself decent at it, but I can’t get a feel for this chick.
Except for the church thing.
“My brother asks me out to dinner all the time,” she sniffs. “We’re close, and we like to make su
re the other eats well. Why is that an issue for you?”
“Because that story is pretty standard for girls who are too afraid to narc on their man. He’s twice your size and has a bad attitude.”
“And you’re even bigger than that,” she snaps. Haughtily. Her words are haughty and stuck up, and I’m not sure I’ve ever used that word as a descriptor in my life. “You’re the one with the bad attitude. I don’t even know you, but you think you can come in here and demand answers.”
“Spencer.” Jess waves from across two long rows of flower arrangements. “Say sorry to Abby, then come over here and look at my pretty flowers.”
“Uh, no.” I glance back to Abby. “I’m not here for flowers. I’m here as personal protection and to keep you away from abused girls who keep inviting abusive exes into their life.”
“Spencer!” Jess spins. “What the eff is wrong with you!?”
“He is not my boyfriend,” Abby snaps. “He’s not abusive. And you, sir, are no longer allowed in my store. Leave, before I call the police.”
“The police?” I step closer and look down at her. Her eyes are level with my pecs, her body tiny enough I could literally lift her over my head with one arm. “You mean Alex Turner – the guy I was hanging out with last night over a game of cards?” I won’t tell her that game was Go Fish, and not something a little more masculine. “I’ve earned trust with the PD, little girl. You still call them ‘the police,’ which means they aren’t your friends, and you have questionable decision-making skills with boyfriends.”
“Oh my gosh, he’s not my freakin’ boyfriend! I’m not in an abusive relationship. And even if I was, you’re a horrible human for making out that I choose to be hurt. You’re…” She struggles to find the insult she wants best, only to finally settle and slam her hands to her hips. “You’re not a nice person at all!”
If I had pulled this shit on Jess, she would have thrown a grenade at my head. Literally. Without the pin. But all this churchy girl has is that I’m a meanie.