Page 38 of Knot in Bloom
“It doesn’t sound crazy.” I set down my pen, turn to face him fully. “It sounds like the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
We look at each other across my small shop, and the air feels thick with possibility.
My pulse jumps when his gaze drops to my mouth, then snaps back up with deliberate control. The restraint in that simple gesture makes my core clench with want.
“I should probably order dinner,” I say, because the alternative is climbing on top of him right here.
“Chinese from Pine Valley?”
“How did you know I was thinking Chinese?”
“Because you’ve been staring at that takeout menu for the past ten minutes.”
Red creeps up my neck. “I was not staring at the menu.”
“Then what were you staring at?”
The honest answer is your hands, your mouth, the way your shirt stretches across your chest. But I can’t exactly say that without sounding desperate.
“Nothing important.”
“Uh-huh.” His grin suggests he knows exactly what I was staring at. “Want me to call in the order?”
By eight o’clock, we’re eating lo mein and sweet and sour chicken straight from the containers, sitting on my shop floor surrounded by festival plans. The shop feels intimate with the lights dimmed and the rest of the world shut out.
“This is the best dinner date I’ve ever been on,” I say, stealing a piece of his chicken.
“Even though it’s technically a working dinner in a flower shop?”
“Especially because of that.” I settle back against the counter, studying his face in the soft light. “I never have to pretend to be anything other than myself with you.”
“Why would you ever pretend to be anything else?”
The question catches me off guard. “I don’t know. Habit, I guess.”
“Sadie.” He sets down his container, turns to face me fully. “You don’t need to be easier. You’re perfect exactly as you are.”
The way he says it, like it’s obvious truth instead of flattery, makes my throat tight with emotion.
“Even when I’m covered in flower debris and eating Chinese food on the floor?”
“Especially then.” He reaches over, traces a drop of sweet and sour sauce from the corner of my mouth with his thumb. The simple touch makes my pulse skip. “This is you. Real and beautiful and completely yourself.”
The moment stretches between us, loaded with possibility. His thumb lingers against my skin, and I can see the exact moment his gaze drops to my mouth.
We finish eating in silence that feels charged. Every time he reaches for his water, I notice the flex of muscle in his forearm. When I stretch to gather scattered papers, his eyes track the movement.
The empty containers sit forgotten as we start cleaning up our planning materials, but the work feels different now. Morefocused. Like we’re both aware that once everything is put away, we’ll have to address the tension that’s been building all day.
“We should probably clean this up,” I say, though my voice lacks conviction.
“Probably.” But he doesn’t move to start packing anything away.
Instead, he watches me stack ribbon samples with the same intensity he’s been directing at our festival plans all day.
“Sadie.”
“Yeah?”
