Page 6 of Bloom

What is my life?

“You're not Lux,” I blurt, immediately wincing the second the squeaky, high-pitched words leave my mouth.Obviously. The mountain of a man filling out my store as well as he fills out the white t-shirts he favors could never be mistaken as his boss.

Big arms crossed over a bigger chest, Hunter Whitlock crooks an unimpressed brow. Hazel eyes blink slowly and, not for the first time, I’m struck with how unfair it is that a man with such a bad attitude has such beautiful eyes. A light, caramel brown near the pupil that fades into a muddy sage, both irises encased in a ring of pine green.Sopretty yet so rife with something decidedly ugly as they flick down my body once before promptly looking away.

That signature moody expression of his intensifies a notch.

“Pickin’ up an order for Lux,” he explains in that deep, Southern drawl that the people of Haven Ridge do not get to hear enough. A voice like that should be used. Constantly. Saying all sorts of words, even if they’re mean.

Shrugging off the unwanted goosebumps pebbling my arms—bare freaking arms to match a bare freaking chest and a bare freaking midriff because I stripped off before coming down here, didn’t I?—I resist the urge to hide behind the counter. Instead, I head towards the storeroom, wrenching the door open and keeping it that way with my foot while I lean inside. “She couldn’t make it today?”

It’s a useless attempt at conversation. Every attempt with this man is, and there have been numerous since that first catastrophe over a month ago. I’m at the ranch almost as much as he is, so we cross paths a lot, yet we might as well be strangers—I only know his name because his employer definitely does not share the big guy’s affinity for silence.

Getting a conversation out of him is like getting blood from a stone. A sullen, scowling stone.

Being met with complete and utter disinterest isn’t new to me, but something about Hunter’s is extra frustrating. While he doesn’t exactly engage in riveting displays of friendship with everyone else on the ranch, he doesn’t dismiss them as quickly, as easily, as he does me. I think I’ve even seen him smile in Eliza’s direction once. And okay, sure, he works for the Jacksons, so it’s different. He’s obligated to at least stay in the vicinity when they’re speaking to him, for professionalism's sake. But he so blatantly dislikes me, and I can’t for the life of me figure out why. I don’t know what I did, or do, to inspire this freaking Grinch act. I don’t know why it bothers me so much.

Mostly—Imostlydon’t know why. I suspect it has something to do with the extremely fleeting crush I had on him when he first arrived, born of misplaced hope and severe affection deprivation, but that died pretty quickly.

For the most part.

I am just a girl, after all, and he is, for lack of a better description, the kind of attractive that renders a girl stupid.

Luckily, I manage to keep my wits about myself as I haul the enormous bouquet out of the storeroom under Hunter’s watchful gaze. Expression wary like he’s waiting for me to drop the thing, he lifts those wide shoulders in a casual shrug. “She had the baby.”

“What?” Damn nearing dropping the thing in shock, I hoist the bouquet onto the counter and wrestle my phone out from where it’s tucked in the waistband of my shorts. When, sure enough, I find a confirmatory text from Luna—if you told me a couple of months ago that the current girlfriend of my ex-boyfriend and I would be on texting terms, I would’ve laughed. Or cried. Or laughedandcried—I can’t contain a squeal. “Oh my God!”

Lux has a baby. Ababy. God, I hope she’s okay. I hope she’s prepared. I've been heckling her to start stocking up on diapers,formula, all that stuff, but she's been so busy with everything else that she hasn't had the time. Or at least that's what she claims. Honestly, I think she's been putting it off on purpose—having a house full of equipment to keep a tiny human alive suddenly makes it a lot more real that you're about to have a tiny human to keep alive. That kind of responsibility is terrifying, even for a superhuman like Lux.

It’s a good thing I've been stockpiling for weeks. There's a box under my bed filled to the brim with all the mundane supplies, and some other stuff I got slightly carried away with.

“Let me just—” I start towards the stairs with the intention of grabbing it, but I'm cut off by a rough cough.

Lips settling in an unimpressed straight line, Hunter jerks his head towards the door. “I'm in a rush.”

“Oh.” Right. Of course. He’s already spent a whole two minutes in my presence; time’s up. “Do you know if she's okay? And the baby?”

Another frustrating shrug.

“Do you know when she'll be home?”

A gruntanda shrug this time.Wow.

With a disappointed sigh, I slide the bouquet his way, ignoring the way those big hands make it look tiny as he hoists it up with zero strain.

Such a freaking shame.

3

He wonders if anyone buys that bright, fake smile.

Silence greetsme as I let myself into the modest ranch-style house that serves as the Jackson family home.

“Hello?” I call out even though I know no one’s here—I planned it that way. I just want to drop some things off before Lux gets home from the hospital, not intrude, and I knew if her sisters were home, everything would become way more awkward than I have the energy to deal with. Eliza would be… well, Eliza. Grace, one of the twins, would be sweet as she always is, but certainly wouldn’t beg me to stick around. And I’m ninety percent sure that Lottie, the other twin, would sooner chase me off the property with the shotgun Lux keeps locked up for predator-related emergencies than let me in the door.

But without them here, I’m free to haul my slightly excessive array of offerings inside and start putting things away, marveling over the silence. I can’t remember it ever being this quiet. In the years I was excommunicated from Serenity, I craved the noise that frequented this home, the life that lit upevery corner. I hated myself for ruining the one bright spot in my life. I hated Jackson a little for taking it from me. I just…hated.

As I take in the framed photos decorating the walls, the old stone fireplace engraved with five sets of initials, the comfortably worn furniture, I come to the same startling conclusion I had a few months ago when I crept up the porch steps with my heart in my throat, right on the precipice of a second chance—I’m pretty sure I love this place more than I ever did the boy who brought me here.

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