Page 28 of Bloom

“And who missed me?”

I roll my eyes at Aldo as he saunters into Bloom behind his daughter. “I see you every week.”

Smacking a kiss on each of my cheeks, he pats one gently. “Lucky girl.”

I bat his hand away with a snort. Keeping one eye on Chiara as she bounces towards the floral arrangements decorating the wall, I return to my spot behind the counter so I can tuck theorder book beneath it. I’ll finish sorting through it later; the organizational side of the job isn’t exactly my forte, and with Aldo and Chiara’s presence messing with my concentration, I know I’ll mess something up. “What’re you guys doing here?”

“We can’t visit our favorite little florist?”

I squint at Aldo’s wide-eyed innocence warily.

He sighs, dropping the act in favor of a slick smirk. “My cousin is in town. The one I told you about. Handsome, a—”

“A good boy whose mother raised him well and who happens to be single?” I finish for him dryly. “I remember.”

A mischievous glint twinkles in his eyes. “I showed him a picture of you.”

“Aldo!”

“He thinks you're very pretty.”

My knee-jerk instinct to instantly shoot him down ebbs ever so slightly.Dog, meet bone. “Really?”

“Would I lie to you?”

“To get me to go out with your cousin?” I deadpan. “Absolutely. I don’t want to go out with a stranger, Aldo.”

“Stranger.” He scoffs. “He's my cousin.”

I huff at his logic.

“Zia,” Chiara calls for my attention, shaking the handful of lilies clutched between her fingers. “Can I have these?”

Trying not to wince at the crushed stems, I nod. “Course you can. Want some ribbon?”

“Orange, please.”

Crouching behind the counter, I rummage amongst the shelves in search of Chiara’s request, grateful for the break it gives me from her father. Not that he actually gives me a break; that would be far too easy.

“Just let me give you his number,” he begs, undeterred by my disinterest, nor the signature ringing toll of the bell abovethe front door announcing someone else’s arrival. “End the dry spell,bella.”

A retort—or rather, some flustered spluttering—at the ready, I snag the bright orange spool I’m looking for and get to my feet, only to drop the ribbon and wish I could hit the floor along with it.

“Hunter.” I choke on his name, mentally calculating how long ago I heard the bell above the door chime, and how much he might’ve heard. “Hello.”

I brace for his response, whatever that may be. Things have been…weirdsince our hike. Not weird in the awkward sense—although I definitely catch myself cringing whenever I remember our littlemisunderstanding—but because he’s been pleasant towards me, and I don’t know what to do with that. Turns out, him tolerating my presence is far more rattling than him outwardly disliking it.

It's not like he's showering me with unrelenting friendship or anything. But he's been different. He greets me properly instead of grunting. He thanks me instead of grunting. He takes the help I offer without grunting, and he even offers help in return—a couple of days ago, when I insisted on doing night check during dinner because I was trying to avoid Jackson, Hunter joined me. Granted, I suspect it was because he didn’t think I knew what I was doing, but still. He was there. Not completely silent or outwardly resenting my presence.

God, my standards are so low.

So damn low that when he tips his head in greeting and murmurs, “Mornin’,” something warm blossoms in my chest.

Not even attempting to play it cool, Aldo whips to face the door. Whateverchecking outof Hunter I might’ve done is nothing compared to the slow, appreciative drag of my friend’s eyes down the length of the giant cowboy. “Lina, who’s your friend?”

Fighting a wince, I make the introductions quickly.

“Ah.” Aldo hums. “The ranch man.”

---