A New Leaf (Hemlock #1)

Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Charlie

Any other self-respecting human who finds another human attractive would typically have a polite conversation. Possibly even flirt. But me? That gene got lost in my DNA somewhere, somehow.

Gumby is a very classically handsome man. It wouldn’t surprise me if he had been pulled straight from an old Hollywood film and dropped directly into this decade. He’s the kind of handsome that is unabashedly my type, from his tortoise-shell glasses and boyish smile, to his black sweater vest and long, denim-clad legs.

I’m in big trouble.

He stands at least a foot above my five foot seven frame, and his medium brown hair looks soft with waves that border on curls. Unkempt but polished. It’s exceptionally good hair with a couple of curlier pieces flopping over his forehead in the most perfectly imperfect way. My fingers itch to reach out and push them away from his face. The stranger also has a strong, sharp jawline paired with panty-dropping dimples. Either I’m ovulating, or all my systems are short-circuiting because I feel the sweat start to bead around my hairline. This man has that hot, nerdy, “intellect in the streets and freak in the sheets” vibe emanating from him.

I need to check myself before I start looking like a rabid animal that’s foaming at the mouth.

Softly clearing my throat, I hitch my thumb over my shoulder. “I forgot something back there.” My feet spin around so fast that my hair fans around my face as I scurry to the backroom.

I need a quick moment to collect myself.

It’s been a while since I found anyone even remotely attractive. Between the grieving process, taking over the store, dealing with my siblings and their lives, my life, and Vera, I had assumed my libido was another unsolved mystery waiting for its own documentary on Netflix. Much to my surprise, the mystery of the missing libido has seemingly been solved by a certain long-limbed man and his special edition dog.

Logically, I need to come out of the backroom at some point. Illogically, I’m hoping if I hide in here long enough, maybe he’ll leave. I could try to talk to him, but I hate small talk. The last time I made small talk was on a date. I ended up talking about the top five most prolific serial killers in the United States and why they were all amateurs.

To no surprise at all, the guy didn’t want a second date.

Blowing out a breath, I close my eyes and lean my head back on the wall. Maybe I can clean up here and stall for some time. Surely he’ll get weirded out by being alone in an unfamiliar store with two dogs. Plus, I don’t hear anything out front. Hopefully he left.

Carefully, I peer around the door . . . nope, he’s still here. I jolt back inside behind the door, dropping my face into my hands and cringe at my ridiculously immature behavior.

“I just saw you, you know.” Amusement evident in his tone. “No offense, but that wasn’t very subtle.”

I groan, knocking my head back on the wall behind me a few times.

So embarrassing.

I’m wondering what the probability is that lightning will strike me down.

Probably not great since I’m indoors.

Attempting to be more subtle, I look out to the front again. He’s sweeping up the store, and I feel horrible. I should be out there, but I can’t bring myself to face him. What the actual fuck is wrong with me? It’s not like I haven’t ever been touched by a man.

Then again, I haven’t been touched by one who looks like a hot professor. Why is this guy having such an effect on me? I’m putting the blame on my exhaustion and crazy long day. I’ve been so discombobulated since my parents died that I may have forgotten how to act around new people. While I see new people come into the store, I’m usually in my work mindset and have no time to pay attention to faces or names.

Wait. I don’t even know his name.

I peek out once more; he’s still there but this time our eyes lock and it feels like we’re both frozen in the moment.

My heart flutters at the playful glint in his eyes.

That deep voice that could narrate all my dirty historical novels calls out to me while our gazes are still on one another. “I promise I’m not dangerous. If it’ll make you feel better, I can call my sister and mom for references? They can vouch for my behavior. Here, I’ll pull up their contact info and set my phone on the counter. You can call them.” He laughs again—one of those deep, hearty laughs that makes my stomach feel like I’m on a rollercoaster.

The sound of his phone unlocking fills the store as he sets it on the counter.

Holy shit. He wasn’t joking.

I’d be lying if I said that didn’t make me feel a bit better.

Maybe this is when I should mention, “ It’s not you, it’s me. I’m like an unsocialized dog who forgets how to act around humans. By the way, I’m Charlie! ” Being caught off guard is when I’m at my weakest, and this man completely threw me off balance by simply existing.

Deciding to put on my big girl overalls, I take a calming breath and head out to the front of the store, but stop at the sight before me. Both dogs are lying next to each other under a table. Vera and Frank look like two furry donuts touching one another, sleeping peacefully.

Gumby is so intently focused on cleaning up every speck of dirt on the ground that you’d think he was entering a clean floor competition. I’m debating whether to tell him that this is a plant store, and dirt on the ground is par for the course, but I admire how meticulous and serious he’s taking his task.

Finally, my feet decide to forge ahead, and I sheepishly walk out to him, giving him a small wave. “Hi. I, uh . . . I’m sorry about that. You just startled me,” I say, anxiously wiping my sweaty hands on my apron and flashing him a tight-lipped smile.

He abruptly stops what he’s doing, looks at me over the rims of his glasses, and arches a single brow.

Fuck that’s hot.

With the dustpan firmly gripped in his hand, he stands up to his full height and cocks his head. “Huh. You don’t say?” A wide, amused smile takes over his face, and I feel my cheeks start to heat. “You know, I’ve never had that kind of reaction before to people seeing me.”

He places the dustpan down and sets his hands on his narrow hips. It looks like he has more to say as he rolls his lips with a contemplative look. “Well, except for that one Halloween party back in 2008. But I was also dressed up as a Ninja Turtle . . . and very illegally drunk—they had every right to be scared.” He shakes off the memory and resumes cleaning, carefully sweeping up the spilled dirt and placing the plants back in their respective pots. Then, he places those plants all together on one table. “I’m putting these all here together because I’m buying them.” The look on his face is stern in a way that tells me that if I said no to his offer, he’d end up throwing his credit card at me and running away.

Instinctively, my head shakes. “That’s not necessary. Seriously, I’ll repot them tomorrow and they’ll be ready for whoever wants them.”

His head whips so fast toward me that I jolt. “And make even more work for you? Because of a clumsy dog and his owner? No, absolutely not. My wallet is on the counter, and the credit card is inside.” He nods toward his brown leather wallet near the cash register. “Go ahead and ring them up. I don’t care about the cost.”

To say I’m startled is an understatement. I’ve only known this man for less than thirty minutes, and he’s concerned about my workload?

People are strange. But I won’t argue with him.

Standing there, I stare at him, still utterly confused. I slowly nod and walk over to his plant hoard on the table. My eyes catch on a cardboard box nearby to set them in, and I head to the counter to cash him out. As a store owner, who am I to fight with a customer who wants to buy thirteen plants?

Once I scan all of them, I say, “All right, the total is going to be . . . $263.76. You said credit, right?” I sneak a glance at him to find he’s petting Vera and cooing sweet nothings in her ear. Of course Vera loves him. I can practically see hearts bulging out of her large brown eyes.

I narrow my eyes at her and I swear she smirks at me.

Traitor.

“I’m sorry, I missed what you said,” he says, standing up. I’m temporarily mesmerized by him taking off his glasses and cleaning them on his sweater. Slowly, Gumby makes his way to the counter as he surveys the store. With a wide, curious gaze, he takes it all in.

“The total is $263.76 for your plant casualties. You said credit?” I ask, rolling my lips. Seeing that I’m not making a move for his wallet, he reaches for it on the counter and pulls out his credit card. I try not to stare at his face for too long but notice that his eyes are a deep blue with little brown specks—like a rocky ocean shore. Clearing my throat, I snatch his card, swipe it and hand it back to him with a curt nod. Part of me wants to talk to him longer because I’m a little interested in this guy.

But as fast as that initial thought comes into my mind, I shove it right back out into the universe. I’ve never seen him around here. Maybe he’s passing by for the night, or in town visiting family.

With the store looking almost as good as new, thanks to Gumby, I can officially head home. I pull my apron over my head and hang it on the hook before heading into the backroom to grab my bag and keys.

Then, the realization that Gumby is still here hits me, and I feel like an asshole for ignoring him. I place my hand on my forehead, embarrassed at my forgetfulness. So I head back out to the front, ready to tell him that he doesn’t have to hang around. When he sees me, though, he starts laughing.

Is he laughing at me?

Okay, now I’m a bit irritated, or maybe I’m just sensitive.

Probably both.

Most likely both.

“Laughing to yourself like that could be a sign of a psychiatric issue, you know. I’d get that checked out,” I huff, crossing my arms over my chest, glaring at him.

Spinning on my heel, ready to stomp off, his deep voice stops me.

“Your sweatshirt. I’m laughing at your sweatshirt. It says ‘Plant Mama,’ and I was wondering if having”—he counts the plants in the box—“thirteen plants makes me a ‘Plant Daddy’?”

My head whips in his direction just as his fucking eyebrow quirks like he said something clever.

Which he did.

Frozen, I stare and blink a few times, still processing what he said. I’m semi-annoyed at Marnie for getting me this ridiculous sweatshirt. I make a quick mental note to fire her . . . again. Even more, I’m very annoyed at myself for not doing laundry since this was all I had to wear.

I’m not entirely sure how to react, so I try to coax him out of the store. “Okay, well, this has been fun. You’re very clever with that little one-liner,” I say, clasping my hands in front of my chest. “Thank you for retrieving your dog, cleaning up my store, and adding to my 401k with your large purchase. It’s truly been a pleasure. Here, let me walk you out.” I wave my hand, motioning for him to follow me to the front door.

His body doesn’t move as he cocks his head to one side. “I’m not letting you walk out of here alone, especially at night. My mom raised me better than that, so grab your things, Plant Mama. I want to head home as much as you do.”

Exasperated, I rub my hands down my face. I don’t know if I should laugh, be annoyed, or be aroused. I’ll need to discuss these feelings with my therapist during my next session.

A headache is forming behind my eyes due to feeling worn out from today’s never-ending events. “Okay, that’s a very kind offer—very gentlemanly of you—but my mom taught me not to walk with strangers. So it seems like we are at a bit of an impasse here.” I shrug. “I guess you’ll just have to leave now.”

I need this man to leave my store because my bed is calling to me. Even though I appreciate the eye candy, he’s becoming an impossibly attractive thorn in my side.

My brain is so flustered with this man that I almost forgot about my dog. I move my head in all directions of the store, looking for her. Carefully, I walk around the dimly lit store, feeling a set of deep blue eyes on me as I search for Vera. Lo-and-behold, Vera and Frank are cuddled under another table, looking as cute as can be.

“Damn. That’s really cute,” his deep voice mutters close enough behind me that his breath brushes the wisps of my hair in the back. It causes me to jolt and yelp in surprise.

“Sorry, I thought you heard me walking behind you,” he says apologetically.

At this point, I’m so exhausted that I want to go home and have my scheduled 8 p.m. cry session.

I decide not to fight it and walk out with him.

Apparently, I never listened to my parents’ “stranger danger” talks.

Although a tall, lanky stranger who owns a blind dog can’t be much of a threat, right? Plus, he wears glasses. If push came to shove, I could knock off his glasses and make a break for my car. He wouldn’t be able to see, making it the perfect escape plan.

Confident with my hypothetical scheme, I smile and grab my keys off the hook by the office door.

“Do I want to know what you were smiling about just now?” he questions with another charismatic eyebrow quirk.

I clear my throat. “Nope. Let’s head out the back. I park behind the building.” I walk ahead of him, but his footfalls stop.

“Whoa, hold up. Are you taking me into a dark alley, Plant Mama? Should I be concerned?”

Oh my god.

I abruptly stop, roll my shoulders back, and turn to march up to him, pointing my finger into his lean chest. “If you call me ‘Plant Mama’ one more time, I’ll knock off your glasses and steal your dog.”

Gumby tries to hold back a smile now; the wheels are turning in his head for a comeback.

“Before we leave, I have two questions,” he inquires.

Here we go.

I fold my arms over my chest and wait for him to continue. Irritation must be radiating off of me because he rolls his lips again, this time trying not to smile.

“One, have you ever . . . I’m not sure what the correct term is, but made a new plant out of an existing plant?”

I have no idea where this is going, and frankly, I’m terrified. “You mean propagate? If so, then yes, I have. A few times.”

He nods, and I see his cheek twitch. “Perfect. My second question is, what’s your name? Because if your plant babies had babies, then you’re technically a ‘Plant Granny,’ and I’m not sure which name you’d prefer to be called?”

I’m going to kill him.