Page 78 of Hoax and Kisses
“I can’t promise that.” She drags the folding table from the bed and hauls it over to our spot. “I’ve never sold flowers,” she calls back, “but if you do it, how hard can it be?”
“Actually,” I argue lightly, “it’s—you know what? Let’s see how easy it is, then. Are you up for some friendly competition?”
She quirks a brow, studying me with a mix of amusement and suspicion. “Depends. Are you a sore loser?”
I grin at her. “I wouldn’t know. Can’t say I’ve ever experienced the feeling before.”
Her lips twitch. “Guess you’re about to learn something, then.”
How could I expect anything less from a woman who’s at the top of her game? She hasn’t gotten where she is by tiptoeing around work and following orders. I’m a laid-back kind of guy, but I’ll play along. Just to see how far she’ll take it.
“Careful,” I warn. “I have a soft spot for cocky women.”
She crosses her arms and gives me a look. “What are the rules?”
“The person who sells the most flowers has bragging rights for life.”
Head tilted, she asks, “Quantity or dollars spent?”
Oh, she’s getting technical. I love it. “Quantity. I need to know if you’re a better salesperson than I am.”
Without hesitation, she thrusts her hand out. “Deal.”
I take her hand and give it a firm shake. Though when it’s time to let go, I don’t. Instead, I drag my thumb over her skin, then twist gently and graze her palm, savoring her warmth.
“You’re distracting me.” She swallows audibly, her delicate throat working.
“Am I?” I ask, voice low.
She slips out of my hold, her gaze flitting to the ground. “Shouldn’t we set up your stand before the market opens?”
“Look at you, willing to do the dirty work all of a sudden. Who are you and what have you done with Zoey Delacroix?”
She chuckles. “I know, right? And it’s not even nine a.m. Ew.”
I laugh and her smile widens, more genuine than the last one she gave me. I like that I can pull it out of her.
We get to work, unloading the van and carrying the crates of flowers and vases to the table. Zoey moves quickly, her focus sharp. We fall into an easy rhythm, one that feels more familiar than it should, and thirty minutes later, we’re all set.
Standing beside me, Zoey shoots me a sly grin. “Ready to lose?”
“It’s good you’re used to dirt now, city girl, ’cause you’re about to eat some.”
She’s way better at this than I thought she’d be.
So far, I’m still in the lead, but she’s not that behind. And I’ve been working my ass off all morning.
The market is buzzing now, and Zoey’s surrounded by customers, chatting away like she’s done this all her life. She’s anatural, hooking people with her charm and sharp wit and that easy energy that tells you there’s nowhere else she’d rather be.
“Not bad.” I move behind her and grab a few roses for the elderly woman waiting on my side of the stand.
“Thanks,” Zoey replies quickly, her attention set on wrapping a bouquet for a customer of her own. “Hey, where did the sun go? It’s getting chilly.”
I lean forward, glancing at the sky. It’s not supposed to rain, but the heavy clouds moving in don’t bode well at all.
“Do you want me to run to the van and get my jacket for you?”
She ties the bouquet and hands it to the customer in front of her. “And give you an excuse to say you let me win? Not a chance.”
