Truck Up (Mutter Brothers #4)

1. Flowers, frustration, and free-spirited angels.

Chapter 1

Flowers, frustration, and free-spirited angels.

Amelia

“ S ocial media is a waste of time,” my mom declares, her voice sharp with the familiar German directness that still echoes through our family despite the generations of distance from our ancestors.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes, the muscles in my face twitching. Her disapproving gaze feels like a laser beam burning a hole in my head, and I don’t need to give her more reasons to be unhappy with me.

Instead, I plaster on a smile and pretend I’m not bothered by her tone. “It’s not a waste, Mom. It’s the best way to reach new customers and grow the online store.”

“Meh.” She dismisses my words with a wave of her hand. Her frown deepens. “I don’t understand why we need an online store. It’s a complete waste of time, if you ask me. Who buys flowers online?” She gestures dramatically around the shop. “People need to experience the beauty in person. Look at what you’ve done here, Lia. You can’t capture this magic in a picture.”

I glance around our small flower shop—or rather my small flower shop now that my parents have officially handed it over to me—and smile. There’s no arguing with her. I pour as much energy into the in-person experience as I do the online one. Every display is meticulously arranged and Instagram-worthy.

Before I took over, the shop was a chaotic jumble. New shipments were haphazardly placed wherever space allowed. Not ugly, just … lacking. No flow, no intention. Mom always insisted it didn’t matter. That customers care about the arrangements, not the shop itself.

I vehemently disagree.

Appearances matter.

Now that I make all the decisions, everything is perfectly arranged with purpose and aesthetics in mind. The stock flowers along the walls are organized by color—not randomly stuffed wherever there’s space—to create a vibrant rainbow replacing the previous haphazard displays. It’s a hit with both in-person customers and online followers. People love rainbows.

I ditched the old metal shelves in favor of sleek white pedestals, showcasing the arrangements without overshadowing the flowers. They look clean and fresh and don’t detract from the real reason people come into my shop. The flowers.

“Johanne, have you even looked at her Instagram page?” Darlene, my only employee besides Mom, and surrogate grandmother, chimes in from behind the counter. “She has over a hundred thousand followers.”

Darlene is one of the coolest and most flexible people I know. She embraces change like the inevitable that it is and does it happily. I wish Mom and Dad were more like her. Then maybe running this business wouldn’t be such a challenge.

Don’t get me wrong. I love my parents. They’re good people. But they can be … trying.

“I don’t see how that helps. There aren’t even a hundred thousand people living in this county, let alone this town.” Mom scoffs. “Pointless, if you ask me.”

“That’s precisely why I’m focusing on expanding our online store,” I explain, carefully avoiding the word my . They may have relinquished ownership, but they still see it as their shop. “This county alone can’t sustain us. By promoting the online store via social media, it allows us to reach a wider audience.”

“Need I remind you that I ran this business for fifteen years with nothing but the support of this community? I didn’t need an online store to sustain my business. We thrived on local support.”

“Mom, you weren’t—” I pause, pinching the bridge of my nose before I say something I’ll later regret.

The truth is harsh. Mom wasn’t making a profit. At best, she broke even. Many months, she was in the red. The same was true for the logging company, which my brother, Jason, inherited.

We discovered our parents had been operating both businesses at a loss for years, relying on their personal savings to stay afloat. A few more years and our parents would’ve been bankrupt.

Now, Jason and I are scrambling to salvage the situation, to rebuild and secure our parents’ retirement while somehow making a living for ourselves.

They don’t see it that way. They fear we’re destroying what they built, not improving it. Every change is met with resistance.

We should have pursued careers outside the family businesses, like our older brothers, Linden, Aaron, and Tanner. But we clung to the dream of taking over. Now, we’re burdened with the responsibility of financially saving our parents while building our own lives.

It’s not the fairy tale we envisioned, but here we are. We won’t give up the fight. We love the work, we love our parents, and we’ll find a way to save them.

I’m not sure how Jason is handling it with Dad, but I’ve mostly learned to ignore Mom’s objections—with a smile, of course—and plow forward. As the owner, she can’t stop me.

But she sure as hell can voice her disapproval.

The online store and social media presence are just the beginning. I also rebranded the shop, changing the name from Koch’s Flowers and Gifts to Velvet & Vine.

She almost had a coronary over that one. No one wants to shop at Koch’s Flowers and Gifts. But Velvet & Vine? It has a certain allure. Especially now that we offer delivery.

“Oh, Johanna.” Darlene waves her off with a tsk . “You need to adapt. Times are changing.”

“I don’t like how the kids are doing things these days. It’s so impersonal.”

“I think it’s fun.” Darlene shrugs. “Remember that cake recipe I made last week? The one with the caramel drizzle?”

Mom furrows her brow, her lips pursed in confusion. “It was chocolate, wasn’t it?”

“That’s the one. Found that on the Gram.” Darlene turns to me and winks. “Isn’t that what you kids are calling it? The Gram?”

I chuckle. “Not exactly, but close enough.”

I learned a long time ago to never argue with or correct Darlene. She’ll never stop talking and the debate could drag out for weeks if not months. It can be fun sometimes and exhausting at others.

“Well, at any rate, I messaged the chef who posted it to let her know how much I enjoyed it. She responded. It was lovely. Not impersonal at all. Just … different.”

“I still don’t like it,” Mom grumbles.

“Regardless of how you feel, it’s working.” Darlene’s smile widens as she gathers some yellow roses for an arrangement she’s working on. “Profits are up forty percent this month. Four months of consistent growth.”

Mom gasps, her eyes darting between me and Darlene. “I don’t believe it. How is that even possible?”

“All those online orders.” Darlene explains. “That FedEx shipping option was brilliant. We’re shipping arrangements all over the state. Even sent some to Kentucky last week.”

Mom stares in disbelief.

Me? I stifle a smile.

I haven’t shared the financial details with her since taking over. She made it clear she didn’t want any part of that anymore. She just wants to earn a paycheck like any other employee without the hassle of running the business. I wish her opinions were similarly detached.

“And it’s all thanks to the Gram,” Darlene sing-songs as she passes Mom. “Your daughter is a marketing genius.”

“Thanks, Darlene,” I whisper.

Mom opens her mouth to speak, but the bell above the door chimes, announcing a customer. Her face instantly brightens. Mom always puts on a show for customers. I wish she would get this excited over the online orders. Sometimes we could use her help getting those ready, but she refuses.

I frown when I see who it is. Vicki Lynn Baylor, mean girl extraordinaire .

Vicki Lynn beams at my mom, who immediately starts acting like royalty just walked into the shop. Vicki Lynn may think she’s royalty, but she’s nothing more than a spoiled brat from a wealthy family, married to the son of another wealthy family.

Most people in this county are poor and struggle to make ends meet. Some can barely do that. Yet, they’re happy. Unlike Vicki Lynn. I think her unhappiness is why she’s so mean to everyone. It distracts them from seeing who she really is.

Money doesn’t buy happiness. I’m sure there are probably kind, wealthy people in this world, but they don’t live around here. My family has money, and I can safely say my brothers are assholes. My parents can be assholes too. I love them, but …well, they’re still assholes.

Correction. My family had money.

And it’s now partly my job to recoup those losses, to prevent the town from learning about our financial struggles.

Oh, the horror and embarrassment if our financial woes were the source of town gossip.

Those were Mom’s exact words when Jason and I first discovered the extent of their financial mismanagement.

“I need roses. Lots and lots of white roses,” Vicki Lynn demands, wrinkling her nose at the rainbow wall of flowers. Then she turns and looks at me with a scowl on her face, as if something stinks. “There is entirely too much color in here. Don’t you know neutral colors are more elegant?”

I offer a polite smile. “Personal preference. We sell a lot of white arrangements, but purples, yellows, and reds are also popular.”

“Hmm.” She shrugs and turns back to my mom, who is all too happy to help her. “I need seven large arrangements for my anniversary on Saturday. White roses with dark green accents. Can you handle that?”

“Of course.” Mom assures her. “When you say large, how many dozen per arrangement?”

My phone buzzes on the counter. My cheeks warm when I see the name Chaos pop up on the screen.

Chaos

I need to be inside you.

Oh god. I glance around the shop to make sure no one is watching. Mom is engrossed with Vicki Lynn and Darlene is focused on her arrangement.

I press my hands to my cheeks. I feel flushed and hot and like a swarm of bees is buzzing around in my belly. It’s almost nauseating.

Amelia

I’m working, sir.

Chaos

Soon you’ll be screaming my name.

Amelia

I can’t leave the shop.

Chaos

We’ll see.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm the flutter in my belly.

I close my eyes, pressing my hand to my stomach. This man … he has an effect on me that I can’t quite explain. A dangerous, intoxicating effect.

The last thing I need right now is for Mom or Vicki Lynn to pick up on the change in my state. Mom will relentlessly hound me until I tell her why my face is bright red and my stomach is queasy. Vicki Lynn will make up something about me just so she can spread rumors. The truth never matters to her.

My stomach turns over and my mouth waters like I might throw up. I swallow hard and stand a little straighter. I hope I’m not getting sick.

After a few seconds, the feeling passes and I shake it off. My nerves always overcome my body when I get messages from him.

“Honey, are you alright?” Mom asks, approaching the register.

Shit . I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just moved too quickly and made myself dizzy.”

“You work too hard. This online expansion is taking its toll.”

“I’m managing.” I look up at Vicki Lynn and smile. As I open my mouth to speak, the loud rumble of a motorcycle draws everyone’s attention outside.

Excitement and anxiety wash over me. He’s here. I’ll see him, smell him, and feel the familiar pull of his presence.

He’s the only man I’ve ever truly wanted.

And the one man I’m not supposed to be with.

“What’s he doing here?” Mom scowls as Christian Mutter takes off his helmet and attaches it to the front of his bike.

He runs his fingers through his messy locks before pushing to his feet and swinging his long, muscular leg over the bike. He’s wearing my favorite faded jeans that fit snugly to his body, showcasing his tight, round ass in a way that makes my mouth water.

A frown creases his brow as he scans the street, as if he expects danger is nearby. A lingering habit he can’t seem to shake—a constant vigilance that worries me. He hasn’t had an easy life, but not everyone is out to hurt him.

He surveys the area for several beats before his gaze finally settles on the shop entrance.

I suck in a breath, my hand instinctively pressing against my chest. He’s wearing sunglasses, obscuring his eyes, but I know he’s staring directly at me through the glass. I don’t have to see his intense gaze. I can feel it all the way to my bones.

I quickly avert my eyes, pretending to focus on the list of online orders. Thankfully, everyone’s attention is riveted on Christian. I relax slightly, though my body has a will of its own when Christian Mutter is around. His mere presence ignites every nerve ending, awakening a fierce, primal need within me. When he touches me, I go off like a rocket.

Doing my best to maintain my composure, I return my attention to the orders. We have seven from last night that need to be shipped out first thing tomorrow morning. It will take me most of the afternoon to prepare them.

Staying busy is crucial when Christian and I share public spaces. Our relationship is a tightly guarded secret. My brothers would undoubtedly kill him if they found out. Well, they would try, but I doubt any of them could actually harm him. Christian is far stronger and more cunning than any of them.

But I yearn for the day when we can be open about our relationship. I long to hug him, to kiss him freely, without the fear of prying eyes. If only this senseless feud between the Mutters and the Kochs would end.

Perhaps one day my dreams will come true.

The bell above the door chimes softly as Mom declares, “You’re not welcome here. Please leave.”

“Mom!” I gasp, mortified and simultaneously grateful for her blunt words. Grateful because her harsh tone makes it easier to mask my emotions for this man. Mortified because, regardless of the deep-seated feud between our families, we don’t treat customers with such disdain.

My great-great-grandfather—or perhaps it was three generations back, I can’t recall—lost our family farm to the Mutters in a game of poker. A foolish gamble, and he lost. Since then, my family has been consumed by a desire for vengeance against the Mutters.

As if it’s the Mutters’ fault that my ancestor had been so reckless. If he had been foolish enough to risk everything on a single hand of poker—no matter how skilled a player he was supposed to be—he had reaped what he had sown.

That was my perspective, at least.

But the rest of my family? They’re determined to make the Mutters suffer for a transgression that occurred generations before they were even born.

Which is why my clandestine affair with Christian is so dangerous. If my family discovers the truth, they will disown me.

A shadow falls over me as a sheet of paper lands on top of my order sheets. My face flushes. If Mom looks too closely, she’ll see the betraying blush.

I glance up at Christian, my breath catching in my throat. His frown and sharp jawline make him appear angry, but I know better. If he removes his sunglasses, everyone will witness the heat and desire smoldering in his deep brown eyes.

Because I feel that intense gaze to my core. I clench my thighs and focus on the paper he tossed in front of me. It simply reads tulips are her favorite . Nothing else.

“What’s this?” I ask, hoping my voice doesn’t betray me. I fake a cough just in case.

“Flowers,” he says gruffly. “For Grams’s birthday.”

Grams is his grandmother, and the woman responsible for raising him and his six brothers. His dad didn’t handle the death of his first wife well, and wasn’t present as a father. He had several girlfriends after that and fathered his seven kids with four different women. None of them equipped to be a good mother.

So Grams stepped in and did what no one else would do for them.

I look back up at him. “You want an arrangement of tulips for Grams?”

“Several. For her party.”

He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the counter, his body dangerously close to mine. I yearn to reach out and touch him, to run my fingers through his short beard and claim his lips. If we were alone, I wouldn’t hesitate.

I clear my throat again and press my hand to my stomach. That familiar queasiness washes over me again.

“That’s next Wednesday, right?”

He nods, but remains silent.

“We are not making arrangements for that woman,” Mom declares, her voice laced with such venom that everyone winces—except Christian. He simply stares at me. I feel it.

“Mom!” I drop my face and rub my hand over my forehead. Her behavior is both embarrassing and predictable. When I look up at her, she’s glaring at Christian with murderous intent. “Please attend to Vicki Lynn’s request, and I’ll handle Christian.”

“You’re not selling him flowers. He’ll cheat you out of the money.” She insists.

“Don’t be ridiculous. He will not.”

Before I can argue further, Christian tosses a credit card onto the counter. “Whatever it costs. Charge me,” he says in a low, gravelly voice that sends shivers down my spine.

It takes every ounce of self-control I possess to resist the urge to moan or gasp sharply. My mom cannot witness the profound effect this man has on me.

Or Vicki Lynn, for that matter. If she even remotely suspects the affair between Christian and me, the entire county will know by sundown.

I focus on the paper he tossed in front of me and take mental note of my stock and imagine the vibrant colors of the arrangement. They will be bright and lively, just like Grams.

“How many arrangements do you want?” I ask, proud that my voice remains steady.

Christian shrugs. “How many do you think we need to decorate the community center?”

I stare into his eyes, though I can’t see them. His jaw tightens, and my face warms. “The party will be in the main room, correct?”

He gives me a single nod.

I quickly estimate the number of tables, and it’s a considerable amount. Far too many for a birthday party, but Grams is beloved by all. Even die-hard Koch supporters.

“That’s a lot of tables for seating. And I imagine there will be a lot of guests.”

“Should be.” His voice is low, almost a whisper.

“How about we reserve the larger arrangements for the serving tables and entrance and use smaller, single flower vases on the dining tables? That will keep the cost reasonable while still maintaining an elegant appearance.”

“I don’t care about the cost,” he says, sounding almost offended.

“If we’re going to serve him, might as well take everything we can get,” Mom interjects, her tone dismissive.

I shoot my mom a withering glare. “Do you mind? I’ve got this.”

She huffs and scurries over to Vicki Lynn, who’s picking out the roses for her arrangements.

With Mom out of earshot, Christian leans down on his elbows, bringing his face close to mine. “Do whatever you think is best. I trust you.”

Then he tosses another piece of paper onto the counter. This one is a small, torn strip, as if he wrote the note on the edge of a larger sheet and tore it off. When I read the words, my heart plummets. I can’t breathe, and every inch of my body ignites like a firecracker on the Fourth of July.

I need to taste you, to fuck you, to be inside of you. Preferably right now.

I stare at the note for far too long before finally moving my hand and swiping it off the counter.

“I’ve got a lot of work to do,” I whisper.

“Take a break.” His gravelly voice hits me square between the legs. “We can be quick.”

I snort. “Yeah right. There’s never anything quick about you.”

His lips curve into a slight smile, a fleeting expression that no one else would notice because Christian Mutter rarely smiles. Except for me.

“But it’ll be pleasurable,” he whispers.

“Let me get this order together for you.” The words tumble out in a rush, a little too loudly. When I glance around, only Darlene is watching me. She has a knowing smile on her face, as if she’s privy to the secret between Christian and me.

I swallow back a groan and quickly calculate the cost of Christian's order, swiping his card. The sooner I get him out of here, the better.

If Darlene suspects anything between Christian and me, I can at least trust her to keep it to herself. Unlike most people in this county, she can keep a secret.

When I hand Christian his card, along with a receipt, he deliberately brushes his fingers against my wrist and down my hand. A shiver, intense and involuntary, courses through my entire body. I shake it off, pretending it’s a sudden chill, and pray that no one is watching me.

“Meet me at our place,” he says as he slides his card back into his wallet. He’s so calm, so collected, that it makes me even more nervous. I don’t know how he does that.

“I can’t,” I say. “I’ve got a lot of work.”

“Meet. Me.” His voice is low and demanding. “I need you.”

Before I can respond, a car door slams shut outside the shop, drawing both our eyes to the entrance. Christian stiffens, and I groan. Linden and Tanner, along with Linden’s best friend Badger, are here. Which means Mom called my brothers for reinforcements.

“Give me thirty minutes,” I say before they enter the shop.

“Fifteen.” Christian grumbles.

“Thirty.” I insist.

His nostrils flare, and he lets out a deep sigh. Then he turns and heads for the door without another glance in my direction. He’s not happy, and it has nothing to do with me pushing him off for thirty minutes.

Darlene slides up next to me and takes the online order sheet from my hands. “Why don’t you go get some lunch? You’ve been working nonstop since seven this morning. I’ll get started on these.”

“What?” I frown, confused.

“Go,” she urges me gently. “You look famished.”

She winks with a knowing smirk as she disappears into the back room with the list of orders, leaving me with no choice but to comply.

Christian’s words echo in my mind. Meet me at our place . I need to get this work done, but the thought of seeing him, of feeling him inside me, is intoxicating.

I glance at the clock on the wall. I can make it work. I can finish a few tasks ... then I can indulge in the forbidden pleasure of Christian Mutter.

A thrill, both exhilarating and terrifying, courses through me. This is dangerous, reckless, and utterly, completely wrong.

But also, oh, so right.

As soon as I get rid of my brothers, I’m out of here. A giddy smile plays on my lips. I’m about to spend my lunch break doing something far more sinful and far more satisfying than eating.