Page 57 of Bloom

When a corner of that mouth curls upwards, I forget why my skin feels so tight. As Hunter sits back slowly, palms dragging down my thighs before falling away, I forget my own name. And with every meaningless, mindless question he asks, I forget… well, everything.

Everything but him.

17

For the second time in his life, he dances at a wedding.

For the first time in his life, it feels right.

Half of Haven Ridgemulls around Serenity Ranch again—when the most popular girl from high school gets married, people tend to show up.

Oh, how I wish I wasn’t one of those people.

I never liked Marcy Hollow. She was the stereotypical epitome of a queen bee, one of those girls who was mean for the sake of being mean. More than once, she openly flirted with Jackson right in front of me, just like she openly flirted with every guy on every sports team, regardless of their relationship status, or hers. It’s kind of ironic that she’s marrying the boyfriend she had whilst she was doing all that flirting, but in her defense, he wasn’t a saint either.

Alas, the downside of being the only florist in town; my presence was inevitable, whether I scored an invite or not. But if I have to squeeze myself into a fancy dress and wear heels that are already causing blisters, at least I’m getting compensated.And, awful human for a client or otherwise, I still love my job, and I’m still a sucker for weddings, so I still put my whole heart into this one. The wide, open space the ranch uses for big events is a sea of beautiful, expensive flowers, the best the market had to offer. Nova and I spent days putting all the bouquets and centerpieces together, and we both got up at the crack of dawn this morning to set it all up.

It’s some of my best work. My hardest effort. And it’s all going towards someone I bitterly, pathetically resent because something about the mean girl getting her happy ending rubs me the wrong way. Maybe it’s because I—and everyone else—can see what was supposed to bemyhappy ending waltzing on the dance floor withhishappy ending.

If I spot one more pitying glance thrown my way, I’m going to lose it.

I'm fixing a centerpiece arrangement to distract myself from the numerous people pretending not to stare at me when someone taps my shoulder. The smile I automatically fix into place falters when I spin and get tugged into a tight hug by none other than the newlywed herself.

“Caroline,” Marcy croons, her tone so saccharine, sofake. “I can't thank you enough for your beautiful work.” Pulling back, she gives me a squeeze, her expression so condescending it makes my skin crawl. “Who knew you could pull off something like this?”

It's times like these that I wish I had Lux's quick wit. Or Luna's dry, snippy sense of humor. Or Hunter's apathy. Or even Lottie's tear-inducing ability to be mean as hell without a care in the world. Instead, all I'm capable of doing is grinning, bearing it, and thanking Marcy for her subtly veiled insult. Oh, and complimenting her too. “You look amazing.”

“I know,” the blushing bride so humbly replies, smoothing her perfectly manicured hands down the front of her dress. Alittle gaudy for my taste, with a whole lot of taffeta, a ballgown skirt, and a glitzy bodice, but I suppose it suits her—I suppose my dream dress would hardly be her cup of tea either.

Honestly, Lux and I had a bet going that she'd show up in her cheerleading uniform and make her groom wear his football jersey.

“I can't believe I'm married,” Marcy muses unprompted, holding her hand in front of her and gazing at her ring. Sorry—herrockof a diamond that’s so big I imagine lifting her hand is a workout. Again, not quite my taste—I can only imagine how much my dad would pawn it for—but hey, good for her. “You know, out of all the couples in our class, I really didn't think Mitch and I would be married first.”

That makes two of us—or fifty, if you take the rest of our class into account.

“I always thought it would be you and Jackson.”

I saw it coming a mile away, but hell if I don’t still flinch.

Like a shark scenting blood in the water, Marcy’s eyes light up. Bottom lip jutted out in an exaggerated pout, her head tilts to the side. “Does it kill you?”

Here we go.

“Watching them together,” she clarifies, low and pitying, rubbing my bicep in some weird, fake attempt at comfort. “Mitch and I broke up for, like, two seconds a couple of years ago and the thought of him kissing another woman made me sick to my stomach. I can't imagine how you must feel, especially considering…” She trails off, gesturing towards where Jackson and Luna are locked in a loving embrace. “Well, you know what I mean.”

Yeah. I think I do.

My smile gets even tighter.

Marcy stares at me expectantly, waiting for who even knows what kind of reply. I'm struggling to come up with anything, tornbetween fleeing the scene in tears or mustering all of my courage and cussing the little witch out—or maybe,maybe, I could do something really unexpected and slap her.

My hand lifts—maybe to do just that, maybe to knock her hand off my bicep so I can escape, who knows. Either way, its upwards trajectory is halted by a firm grasp. Calloused fingers lock around mine tightly as a body slots against my back and a hand lands on my waist.

“There you are,” a husky, accented voice murmurs against my temple.

Like I’m moving in slow motion, I turn my head to find a broad chest covered by a black button-up shirt. I crane my neck, gaze skimming a thick neck, a neatly trimmed beard, two dimpled cheeks before meeting glimmering hazel irises.

“I was looking for you.”

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