Page 18 of Knot in Bloom
I’m not extending my stay for work reasons. I’m staying because Sadie Quinn affects me in ways I don’t understand. Can’t control.
Her natural beauty that doesn’t require fixing. The way she creates art from flowers like she’s conducting silent music. How her body responds to mine before her mind catches up.
She’s going to figure out eventually that I don’t actually need weekly flower arrangements. That I made up business meetings because I wanted an excuse to see her.
But tonight I’m taking her to dinner. And somehow that feels more important than any real business meeting I’ve ever had.
My phone buzzes. Text from Riley. “Reports due Friday.”
I type back. “Working on it.”
What I don’t type. Found something more interesting than quarterly projections.
The afternoon drags. I try to focus on actual work. Site plans for the Gizdon Group. Notes about community integration. But I keep thinking about tonight. How she’ll look when she’s not surrounded by work. Whether she’ll let me walk her home after.
What her apartment smells like. Whether she’ll invite me up.
Whether she’ll still smile at me like that when she realizes I’ve been making things up.
By six-thirty I’m pacing my hotel room. The space looks generic compared to her vibrant shop.
Tuesday I’ll fill it with flowers I don’t need. By next week it’ll probably look like a garden center exploded.
Worth it though. Worth every ridiculous arrangement if it means I get to see that smile.
At seven exactly, I knock on the side door that leads to her apartment above the shop.
She opens it wearing a simple green dress that hugs her curves and brings out her eyes. Hair down in soft waves that make my fingers itch to touch. She’s wearing lipstick - natural color that makes me want to taste it.
“Hi.” Slightly breathless. Her scent is stronger now, warmed by skin and whatever she’s applied. Makes blood rush south immediately. “Ready.”
“You look incredible.”
Color blooms across her cheeks and down her throat. “Thank you. You look good too.”
I’m wearing charcoal gray. Perfectly tailored. Expensive. But the way she looks at me makes it feel like I chose it just for her.
As we walk the short distance across the street to the diner, I fight the urge to put my hand on her back. When she stumbles slightly on the uneven pavement, I steady her with a hand at her elbow. Her scent wraps around me from the brief contact. I have to concentrate on not pulling her closer.
“So,” she says as we settle into a booth by the window. That nervous energy that makes me want to reassure her somehow. “Tell me about these business meetings. What kind of clients need weekly flowers?”
Right. My elaborate fiction that I haven’t thought through at all.
“Consultations with potential partners. Creative presentations work better with natural elements.” Not technically lying. “Your arrangements would set the perfect tone.”
“That’s so thoughtful. Most people don’t realize how much environment affects business relationships.”
Her genuine admiration makes guilt twist in my chest. I should tell her the truth. Should explain that I don’t actually have client meetings that need flowers. That I just wanted an excuse to see her.
But not tonight. Tonight I want to take her to dinner. See if she laughs at my jokes. If she’ll let me order wine. If she’ll look at me like that again when I walk her to her door.
The truth can wait.
At least until I figure out how to explain that I’ve been making things up because she affects me in ways I don’t understand. That I don’t need flowers for business.
I just need excuses to see her.
And I’m not ready to give that up. Not when I’m finally figuring out what I want.
