7. Chapter 7
Chapter 7
Delilah
I t might be the fumes of the antiparasitic talking, but I’d say Cedric has discovered a secret green thumb.
He has helped me in all my tasks, which was perhaps the most surprising thing. I would have assumed a businessman like him would hardly get his hands dirty, but he’s watered the plants without losing any fingers and moved a ton of boxes for me–I can’t very well tell him I’m stronger than him–all while asking genuine questions about the job. He did leave a few minutes ago, saying he had something to take care of, which might not have been true. I’m usually not inclined to see the worst in people, but I suppose his kindness in helping me could have been a tactic to keep me from asking potentially indiscreet questions about his work or even his life .
I have noticed him looking at me from the corner of my eye for a second too long to be casual, while hyper aware of his fingers touching mine across the watering can.
But even if he did like me? It’s physical. Chemistry, if you will. And as long as he doesn’t know the attraction is reciprocated, I’ll be perfectly fine. As long as he doesn’t get too close, there is no reason to be paranoid.
I’m helping Mrs. Howser, the sweetest old lady in Fern Port, pick out some flowers for her husband’s grave; when the shop’s bell jingles, I glance over at Cedric, who is coming in carrying a cup and a tall tumbler. Then my attention shifts to his pointedly blazer-less arms, the sleeves of his powder blue shirt rolled up to the elbows. I turn away hastily before he can read anything in my eyes, though I’m pretty sure I failed.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Howser, you were saying?”
“He loved the white ones,” the old lady repeats, her pale green eyes roaming over the different kinds of roses we have in the shop.
“How about five white roses then?” I ask, pointedly avoiding Cedric’s gaze as he moves around the shop. I hope he stays quiet until I’m done assisting her.
“Oh deary, I’m afraid I only have enough for three with me,” she says, perusing the contents of her faded leather purse. “I can come back another ti–”
“Mrs. Howser,” I start, gently accompanying her back to the counter. I count the crumpled bills in her palm. “What luck! This is exactly what I need,” I wink, closing her fingers around the money in her palm.
“But–”
“Be right back!” I say as I quickly get the roses ready, trying my hardest to ignore Cedric’s eyes on me .
“Here we go,” I add, carrying the small bouquet to the table, wrapping it with our matching rose-scented tissue paper.
“I can’t let you gift me the flowers, darling, it’s not right,” she says, gray eyebrows low.
“There are far bigger injustices out there, ma’am,” I tell her, placing the composition in her frail hands. “This is nothing.”
Her expression is crumpled as she holds the flowers tight against her chest. “Bless your good heart, Delilah.”
I smile as I cross the shop to hold the door open for her. I stop short after a few steps when I realize Cedric is already there, head inclined politely toward Mrs. Howser.
“Oh, thank you, sir,” she says, and I smother a laugh when Cedric frowns at the epithet.
“That was mighty noble of you,” he says as soon as the old lady is out of the shop.
I shrug, busying my hands with some paperwork.
“I didn’t do it to get a pat on the back,” I say. It shouldn’t, but the thought he might think that bothers me a lot.
“I know,” he replies. How? He doesn’t know me . “Are you going to let it go cold?”
I look up at him as he leans on the counter, a prominent vein on his arm momentarily distracting me.
“What?”
He cocks his head toward the tumbler to my left. When he’d come in I hadn’t even noticed it’s…pink?
Oh.
“This is for me?”
“Matcha latte with cold foam. The tumbler–well, I thought you might like it,” he says, a small frown forming between his eyebrows.
I… don’t know what to say. This is the business he left to take care of? Getting me a carafe of my favorite drink ?
“Thank you,” I say, though the simple gesture is rattling me more than what is reasonable. He’s been helping me all morning. He shouldn’t be getting me gifts.
He watches me as I remove the lid and take a sip, the latte absolutely divine.
“It’s delicious,” I smile.
He makes a thoughtful sound in his throat. “Stay still.”
As if god herself ordered it, I freeze. “Is there a bug on–”
His curled palm reaches for me across the counter, effectively shutting me up. His thumb presses lightly into the corner of my mouth, and when he removes it, all too soon, I notice a bead of what must be the latte’s foam on it.
“All good,” he says, voice low as he regards the pad of his finger, before unceremoniously gathering the liquid on his lips.
I turn around quickly, nearly knocking my hip into the counter, hoping he doesn’t notice the alarming speed at which my cheeks reddened at his gesture.
It’s nothing , Lila. You can’t get flustered out of nothing.
“I need to, uh, take a look at these,” I say, groping for the scattered documents, though I’m not even sure what some of them are–for all I know, they might be Myrta’s shopping list.
Fake it until you make it, or something like that.
“Shall I–”
“Nope! I’m good. I’m coolio. I’ll see you later!” I jog to the backroom, my back plastered to the wall.
Chemistry, was it?