The Virgin Society Collection

27. The Mother of All Complications

27

THE MOTHER OF ALL COMPLICATIONS

Milo

Where the hell is Trudy’s measuring cup? I yank open a drawer, hunting for it in my kitchen. It should be here with the utensils.

But it’s not.

I jerk open another one, irritated I can’t find it. Ah, there it is. “She gets this much food in the morning,” I say, waggling the three-quarter measuring cup at my brother.

Bryan snorts. “You think I’m going to feed this queen mere dog food? No way. I’ll be cooking steak for Trudy.”

I shoot him a don’t-you-dare look. “It’ll make her tummy hurt.”

He snort-laughs. “Did you really just say tummy ?”

“Are you mocking me for how I talk about the love of my life?” I ask as I grab a small Tupperware container of organic dog food.

My big brother crosses his big arms over his big chest. “I am,” he says, with a satisfied grin. “Listen to yourself.”

“She’s a devoted dog. She doesn’t double cross me,” I say, a little less flustered, but not by much. Why the hell am I so antsy this morning? Just because I’m leaving town for a bike ride?

“But can she stay up late? What’s her curfew?”

I roll my eyes, but I’m too rattled to take the bait. I rush into the living room to grab a stuffed monkey from the basket, then jam the toy into a backpack for Trudy. Maybe she’s also why I’m jittery. This is the first time I’m leaving her since I’ve had her back. What if Callie reappears and tries to steal her? But that’s silly. Callie couldn’t wrestle the dog away from my brother, or me. And we signed the custody paperwork.

Besides, I’ll probably never see Callie again.

I do my best to shake off the stress as I stride over to Bryan, who’s leaning against the kitchen wall. “Seriously, I’m glad she’s staying with you. This whole bike ride is last minute, so I appreciate you watching her.”

My brother slugs my arm. “Anytime. Though not for much longer,” he says, a little wistfully.

I pout. “Don’t remind me you’re leaving for Los Angeles. I can’t handle too much change,” I say, then I drop Trudy’s food into the backpack and grab my own bag, and we head out of my place.

With Trudy leading the way, we walk down Grove Street. Even though Veronica likely left her home already, I can’t help but look at her balcony. My heart tugs, almost painfully, but like it’s pointing at the answer.

Oh, hell.

That’s it. That convo with Veronica did me in. I can’t believe I’ve been so caught up in her that I barely thought about how all these feelings for her might affect my business.

I wasn’t paying attention at all to the shop.

I’ve been so distracted by the amazing sex and the awesome conversation and the incredible woman that I haven’t even thought once about the consequences at Bikes and Blooms.

Will we ruin the vibe at the store with Zara and Ian and James and Iris and customers if we keep canoodling for the next few weeks?

It’s a risk.

But I’ll also miss Veronica while I’m gone the next two days. That realization makes me jittery too. I stare at her deck longer than I should.

“Is that your friend’s place?” Bryan asks, catching on.

No point denying it. “Yeah. That’s Veronica’s home,” I admit, snapping my gaze back to my brother.

“Ah, Miss Yoga Pants,” he says.

I laugh, remembering that name I gave her once upon a time. “Kind of funny one of my nicknames for her was Miss Yoga Pants and hers for me was Mister Sexy Pants.”

“Oh man, do you hear that dopey grin sound in your voice?” he asks with a chuckle. “You sound ass over elbow, like it was all meant to be.”

I jerk my gaze to him, hackles raised. “I do?”

“Yeah, you do.”

My pulse skyrockets, too high, too fast. Last night, I sensed my feelings for her were shooting to the sky. If my brother can spot them this easily, I could be in too deep before I’m ready.

Am I ready?

I don’t even know. But when I think with my heart instead of my head, I make bad decisions. I ignore my radar. Hell, my compass is probably irreparably broken.

“Fuck,” I mutter as we walk past a loud bus, its exhaust spewing stinky air at my face. “What am I supposed to do?”

“What do you want to do?” Bryan asks in his low-key style. I got all the strung-too-tight genes.

Shoving a hand through my hair, I try to sort through the mess in my head. “I want to ask her out for real. I’m kind of crazy for her. But I don’t trust anyone, and dating is toxic, and we work together, and I’ve only just gotten out of that five grand hole. And . . . fuck .”

He sets a reassuring hand on my shoulder as we walk. “You’re hyperventilating, Milo.” He’s a gentle giant, and I’m a wound-up jack-in-the-box.

Deep breath.

“What do I do?” I ask, but my stupid voice is pitching up, up, up.

“Slow down. Breathe,” he says.

I take another big gulp of hot, sticky summer air, chased by bus fumes.

Not helping, New York.

I glance at my pup, trotting gamely ahead of me without a care in the world.

I can’t swing through life carefree, like I’ve done for the last week with Veronica. I’m not a dog. I’m a man with a fledgling business, and employees, and a reputation I’m rebuilding.

When we reach Seventh Avenue, I hug Trudy then hand Bryan the leash. “Thanks again.”

He yanks me in for an embrace. “Try to unwind when you’re on your ride. Maybe you just need a few days to clear your head.”

It’s probably good advice, but when I get to work, Zara tells me the bike blogger called and wants his new wheels two days early.

As in . . . today.

I put on my glasses and get to work.

A few hours later, I’m this close to finishing the custom build for Rio, the bike blogger. He’s coming in an hour. Once he tests the bike, I should be able to take off.

As I’m threading the chain in the back of the shop, my phone trills with Iris’s ringtone.

Weird. She rarely calls. She’s a classic texter. With the chain locked in, I wipe my hand on a rag in time to answer. “Hey mama, what’s cooking?”

As I step into the doorway of the shop, checking out the bikes and the blooms, Iris sighs heavily. “Milo, I’m sorry to do this but yesterday was so hard for me.”

My brow knits. “What do you mean?”

“I missed Danny too much,” she says, her voice trembling. “I don’t think I’m ready to come back to work.”

I grab the wall of the shop to steady myself. “You . . . don’t want to return?” I ask, as Veronica swings her gaze to me from the counter where she’s working.

“I wanted to give you as much notice as possible,” Iris continues. “But I don’t think I can come back full-time. I only want to work on Saturdays.”

Iris has been so passionate about the shop since I started it. I never thought she’d drop to part-time. Now I’ll have to hunt for a replacement

Again .

Ohhh. Duh.

The answer to Veronica’s temporary work need is staring at me.

The answer to mine is staring at me too.

“I totally understand, Iris,” I say, then after we finish the details and I hang up, Veronica shoots me a sympathetic look. “She isn’t ready to come back?”

I nod weakly, still reeling a bit from the surprise. “I should have seen this coming. But I didn’t. That seems to be the theme for today,” I admit with a shrug. I glance toward the door, then at the chalkboard sign beyond, then back to the woman I adore. I already mixed business with pleasure into a giant soup of feelings and fear. At this point, what kind of schmuck would I be not to offer her the gig? “You’re the best thing to ever happen to the blooms in Bikes and Blooms. Do you want to stay until . . . you figure out your next move?”

“I would but?—”

The door swings open and the mother of all complications walks in.