Page 36 of Bloom

Extremely aware of the heat emanating from his palm, I roll my bottom lip between my teeth. “I accept help when I need it.”

The noise he makes is unconvinced, but he doesn’t press further. He smooths his hand down the back of my hair—I swear he tugs on the ends—before retreating so he can rummage through the cabinets to find the the well-used First Aid kit. Before I can protest, he sets it on the table and drops onto the chair nearest me.

“I’ll be quick,” he promises, and I find myself silently begging him to keep his word for reasons that have nothing to do with the uncomfortable sting of a pair of small tweezers yanking tiny shards of glass from my skin. No, I’m way more concerned with the sudden dryness of my throat, the disarming fluttering in my lower belly, the warm rush of long dormant arousal.

I panic, I’m ashamed to admit. I panic about being attracted to a man. I panic that he can tell. I panic because he’s pulling freaking glass out of my hands and I’m noticing the veins in his forearms when he reaches for antiseptic. The firm set of his jaw as he concentrates. Another gentle swipe of his thumb as he makes sure he got everything.

Honestly, this might be a new low for me.

A long,longtwenty minutes later, my palms are clean, disinfected, and covered with BandAids, and I exhale deeply when Hunter gets to his feet. “Thank—”

The words are stolen from my mouth, the breath from my lungs soon to follow, when Hunter drops to a crouch in front of me. “Gotta check these too.”

Did I hit my head? Somehow asleep at my dad’s? Am I actually still napping on the sofa, and this whole evening has been nothing more than a fever dream? Or is Hunter actually, genuinely,on his kneesbefore me, picking gravel out of mine?

I was red to begin with, but I somehow get even redder. I try not to squirm, and every time fingers graze my skin, I have to try a little harder. When I’m struck with the utterly unhinged urge to touch the soft-looking head of hair looming only inches away, I close my eyes. Squeeze them tightly shut. Only for them to fly open a few seconds later, copying the front door.

Lux comes to an abrupt halt in the doorway. Dark eyes hone in on me, then dip to her unconcerned ranch hand. Slowly, she closes the door behind her. Locks it. Cocks her head and croons, “Whatcha doing here, Hunter?”

“Horses were spooked,” he says without looking up, his actions unfaltering, as smooth as the lie. “Figured there might be somethin’ lurkin’ around, so I thought I’d keep an eye out.”

Lux hums a long, drawn-out noise. “And you think it might be in Line’s crotch?”

“Lux.” I stand hurriedly, intending on putting some space between me and Hunter, but he inhibits that plan. He doesn’t let me move, cupping the back of my thigh to hold me in place, until he smooths another couple of bandages over my knees.

Only then does he get to his feet. And before Lux can ask what happened, before I have to come up with a lie, he does it for me.

“Someone took a game of ‘Tag’ a little too seriously,” Hunter lies through his freaking teeth with ease, setting a hand on my head again, an odd move I’m not sure what to make of. Kind of like he’s ruffling my hair, but not quite so patronizing. Not patting either. Something else. Something, dare I say, dare I eventhink, affectionate. Then, he says goodnight, and he leaves.

And before Lux can open her mouth, I say goodnight and I leave too.

I groan as I finally give up on trying to organize next month’s orders, slamming the order book shut and burying my head in my hands. I couldn’t concentrate if my life depended on it. My brain is a cacophony of thoughts competing to be the loudest, and none of them are productive. They’re about as conducive to a working environment as… well, as a pair of busted palms are to a girl who spends her days meticulously arranging delicate flowers.

Whining a defeated noise, I slip the book back beneath the counter and drop to the ground, the tiles cold against my bare legs, the wall hard against my back. I knew I should’ve taken a rare day off instead of forcing myself out of bed; I knew the second I woke up that I’d be useless. I’m not sure I got even a single hour of sleep last night, what with all the tossing and turning I was doing.

Just like now, my brain wouldn’t shut off. Just like now, I was replaying last night, fretting over it endlessly. Just like now, I wondered how much longer I can keep doing this—how long until it all comes out.

It’s not the first time I’ve been summoned for designated driver duty, but last night felt—feels—different. Itisdifferent. Before last night, my dad’s drinking didn’t exist within the confines of Haven Ridge, or at least not outside of our home. He would drink there, or he would drink with his buddies a couple of towns over where nobody really knows him, nobody knowsme.

Tommy knows me. Whoever else was in Bishop’s last night knows me too, and they know my dad, and my gut says if he carries on like this, everything will come out.

I don’t want that. God, how much I don’t want that. Maybe it makes me part of the problem, maybe I’m nothing more than an enabler facilitating my dad’s nasty habits, but I would far prefer being the despondent ex, or even that girl from high school whose name you struggle to remember, than the daughter of the town drunk.

When the bell above Bloom’s front door chimes, I briefly consider staying hidden behind the counter. I’m still contemplating it when I hear the tail end of a snapped sentence, and the familiar voice makes me stiffen.

“—unreasonable, Alexandra.”

“I’mbeing unreasonable?” Lux parrots with a laugh, filling in the blanks. “Fuck you, Mark.”

Mark Monroe huffs, and I picture the smarmy, condescending irritation painting his unfortunately handsome face. “It’s not like I want the kid.”

“No.” If I was a gambler, I’d put fifty on Lux being red-faced and tight-fisted, just barely restraining the urge to knock her ex upside the head. “You just wanna be right. I repeat—fuck you.”

“You can believe whatever you wanna believe,” she adds before her ex can get a word in. “But if you think I’m ever letting you have any kind of a claim to my son after what you did—”

“For fuck’s sake, Ally, I broke up with you. That’s it. You’re not some battered woman.”

Third time’s the charm. “Fuck. You.”

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