Page 7 of Uxpectedly Ever After

“It’s still impressive.” I catch her gaze over the table. “You’re impressive.”

Her blush intensifies, but she slaps a brick wall over it fast. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Compliment your baking?”

“Don’t…” She waves a hand between us. “This. We’re not friends, Banks. You’re crashing here for three months, then you’re gone.”

I nod, swallowing another bite. “I’m aware. Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate you and what you’re doing for me.”

She makes a dismissive noise and finally starts in on her own sandwich. I watch her eat—small bites, brow creased like she’s working through something. She's wound so tight I'm surprised she doesn't snap in half.

“So,” I say, filling the silence, “what’s up with all the plants?”

Her eyes light up for a split second before she schools her face back to neutral. “They make me happy.” She shrugs. “And for fun, they’re all named after cocktails.”

“Of course they are.” I grin. “Which one’s your favorite?”

“Mint Julep. Julie for short.” She nods toward a plant on the windowsill. “He’s a mint plant and he’s been with me three years. He’s survived a move and a spider mite infestation.”

I have no idea what spider mites are, but they sound disgusting. “Nice.” I want to keep her talking but I’m floundering for something to ask.

She fiddles with her glass of water. “I like them because they’re simple. As long as you pay attention to what they need, they thrive.”

“And what does Mint Julep need?” I’m pretty sure I’ve never given a damn about plants before. But Clover could be talking about paint drying and I’d still want to listen.

“Morning sun, plenty of water, room to spread his roots. And someone to talk to. Studies show plants respond to voices.”

“You talk to them?” I can’t hide my smirk.

She immediately bristles. “It helps them grow.”

“I believe you,” I say, raising my hands in mock surrender. “It’s cute.”

She stiffens. “I’m not cute.”

“No?” I arch an eyebrow. “What’s the preferred adjective? Badass? Intimidating? So obsessively organized it borders on clinically insane?”

She narrows her eyes. “You’ve been here forty-five minutes and you’re already violating rule number six.”

I squint at the sheet next to me on the table. “Pretty sure there is no rule six.”

“That’s ‘Don’t be an asshole.’ It’s implied.”

I bark out a laugh, unable to help myself. Even half-dead on my feet, messing with Clover James is the best time I’ve had in weeks. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“And you’re deliberately trying to piss me off.”

“Maybe.” I polish off the last bite of my sandwich and lean back. “Or maybe I just like seeing that flush on your skin. And your eyes turn this shade of blue when you’re mad. They’re the exact color as the middle of a flame burning extra hot.”

She blinks, mouth parting in what might be shock. “Are you… are you flirting?”

“Would it break one of those precious rules if I was?”

“Yes.” She leaps to her feet, grabbing my empty plate. Her shoulders are stiff, but I catch the faintest tremor of something—nerves? “That’s rule number seven. No flirting.”

“Oh, so that one’s official.” I grin. “Not just implied?”

“Yes, it’s going on the official list.” She spins toward the sink, and part of me wishes she’d take that frustration out on me instead of the dishes. “Specifically for cocky firefighters who think they’re charming when they’re actually just obnoxious.Now please go shower, you stink. Towels are under the sink. Don’t hog all the hot water.”

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