Chapter 17
Virginity on a Silver Platter
? Man I Need - Olivia Dean
Callie
The scent of fresh flowers and greenery instantly surrounds me as I step inside Wild Oak Flower Co. The quaint shop is brightly lit, with picture windows that open out onto a view of Main Street.
“Welcome.” An older woman with a short grey bob and a pair of ratty overalls greets me from behind a long counter as she cuts into a stem. “Can I help you find anything?”
I scan the colorful displays of pre-made bouquets before my eyes travel to the big buckets of stems sorted by color. There’s a large wall of seed packets and a card-making station opposite a row of ribbons and other adornments.
“I'm hoping you have black-and-white anemones. Is it weird to buy flowers for a guy? I'm kind of new at this.”
“Flowers are for everyone, dear. They carry their own secret language.” She trails over to the wall of stems and plucks out the one I’m looking for. “Do you want to know the meaning behind these?”
She doesn’t wait for my answer as she pulls more stems from the bucket.
“They mean different things to different cultures, of course, but anemones are often used to symbolize anticipation and change. This white variety in particular is sometimes used to convey innocence and purity.”
Great—so I’m literally handing him my virginity wrapped up in a pretty floral package. I shudder. Maybe this was a bad idea.
As if sensing my indecision, she says, “Why don’t you tell me about your budget and what you want this to say, and we’ll go from there.”
“I don’t really have a budget in mind, maybe one hundred dollars? It was kind of a joke, but it evolved into a ‘thank you for taking care of me’ gift, I guess. He said those were his favorite.”
“We can add some sweet peas and roses to convey your gratitude while still using the anemones to round out the bouquet.” She flits about the room, gathering a variety of stems and fillers. My bank account is screaming at me, but at least I don’t have to worry about rent or gas this month.
By the time she’s done, I’m holding the most gorgeous bouquet I’ve ever seen, wrapped in brown paper with a delicate lace ribbon and twine holding it all together. The anemones stand out against a vibrant mix of flowers I couldn’t begin to name.
As I’m turning to leave the shop, I notice a for sale sign in the window. “You’re closing?”
“Retiring. Moving to Florida to be closer to my grandkids. Are you interested?”
“I have a black thumb, I’m afraid.”
She laughs. “I hope your special someone likes his flowers.”
“Thank you. I’m sure he will.”
I meet Olivia back at Rosie’s diner as planned and sit at the island as she restocks her grandma’s dessert case.
She glances at the bouquet and beams. “Those are gorgeous.”
“Right? I almost want to keep them for myself.”
“Technically, they are going home with you. So at least you’ll get to see them every day.”
It’s not really my home, but I don’t have it in me to argue semantics. I bring the bouquet to my nose and inhale.
Rosie comes through the swinging doors with a tray in hand. She sets a plate in front of me with a glass of lemonade and leans across the counter. My brow furrows.
“Liv told me you were coming,” she says, anticipating my question before I even have to ask. “Your usual. Extra pickles.”
“You remembered?”
“I always remember my favorite customer’s orders. Just because you ain’t living up the road anymore don’t mean I’m gonna forget ya.”
My heart squeezes. “Thanks, Rosie.”
“Of course. Now tell me how you ended up living at the ranch with that Hayes boy. Don’t tell me you got yourself knocked up, too.”
I almost choke on a pickle spear and glance at Olivia.
“Tale as old as time,” I say teasingly. “Nothing quite as exciting as that. My rent was increasing, and Jax offered me a room.”
It’s the same lie I told Mo. I can’t exactly admit that I was living in my car because I’m too stubborn to ask for help.
“If I’d known, I would’ve offered you the apartment upstairs, but my granddaughter, Sarah, just moved in.”
I cover my mouth to speak around a bite. “It’s not a bad view to wake up to.”
“I bet. Those Hayes boys sure are handsome.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Olivia snorts.
“Sure, it ain’t,” Rosie says, winking. “And I’m the Queen of England. Enjoy your lunch. I’ve gotta get back to work.”
Without another word, Rosie disappears into the kitchen.
Olivia takes her place across from me and snatches a french fry off my plate. “Have you thought about how you’re going to give them to him?”
“Not really. I figured I’d just go up to his office and set them on his desk.”
“Well, that’s boring. Where’s the dramatic flair? The romance? The grand gesture?”
“It’s not like that.”
“It’s exactly like that, and you know it.” She steals another fry. “Did you guys talk about the incident?”
As much as I wish I could forget what she’s affectionately referring to as the incident, it’s been haunting me ever since.
I've replayed it in my mind every night.
Even when I was barely conscious and fighting off a nasty case of the flu, the sound of Jaxon calling my name was never far from my mind.
“Nope. I’m pretending it never happened.”
“Is that what you’re telling yourself? Look me in the eye and tell me you haven’t thought about it late at night when you’re all alone. Just you and your vibrator.”
My eyes bug out of my head. “Shh. You know these walls have ears.”
“It’s the vents,” Olivia says. “And Grammy won’t tell anyone. Right, Grammy?”
“My lips are sealed,” Rosie calls through the swinging doors. “Get it where you can, Callie.”
Olivia reaches for the last fry, but I pull my plate away. “Just for that, I’m cutting you off.”
I’ve always been driven by self-preservation, so I’ve been avoiding him since he left my bed the other day.
Part of me wants to tell him I miss him, but I’m not sure how to reconcile these new feelings for Jaxon with the ones I have for another man.
It’s complicated, so I’m choosing to ignore all of it in hopes that it’ll sort itself out.
The similarities between what I did with Jaxon and what I pay for with my cowboy aren’t lost on me, but if I think about it too deeply, I’ll spiral.
Jaxon
Anticipation thrums in my veins, hot and desperate, when I hear the distant sound of the front door opening and closing.
I haven’t seen much of Callie since our cuddle session earlier in the week, and I’m itching for another fix.
Atticus stretches out of his box beneath my desk and saunters out of the room. I follow close behind.
All the air whooshes from my lungs when I spot her.
She has her nose buried in a large bouquet of flowers, and there’s a soft smile plastered on her face.
They’re not just any flowers—they’re my flowers.
Black-and-white anemones mixed with a variety of other ones.
Who the fuck bought her flowers? Was it that dipshit, Clint?
When I reach the bottom of the stairs, it’s a struggle not to snatch them from her hands. Can I get away with feeding Clint to the pigs?
Callie distracts me from the thought.
“Hey.” She bites down on her bottom lip and holds out the bouquet. “These are for you.”
“For me?”
“Yeah. You said nobody’s ever given you flowers before, and…”
She doesn’t get to finish before I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her into my chest. It takes her a moment to relax, but when she does, she practically melts into me.
“Thank you,” I murmur against the shell of her ear. An unexpected wave of emotion swells inside of me.
She bought me flowers.
Nobody’s ever accused me of being emotional, but fuck if this isn’t getting to me.
Atticus paws at her legs, demanding attention. I silently curse him for interrupting our moment as she abandons me to scratch him behind his ears.
I make a mental note to check which flowers are toxic to cats and keep them away from Atticus just to be safe. He won’t like being locked out of my room, but I couldn’t live with myself if Callie’s thoughtful gift inadvertently hurt Atticus in any way.
“This is way better than a jar of pickles.”
She laughs and the sound goes straight to my dick. “I think we’ll have to agree to disagree on that one.”
My mind automatically conjures the ridiculous image of Callie walking down the aisle with a bouquet of pickles and a smile overtakes my face. “You’re somethin’ else, Callie Cooper.”
“Do you have anything we can put them in? I didn’t think to get a vase.”
“I’m sure there’s a jar around here somewhere.”
I chart a path to the kitchen and search through the cabinets while Callie takes a seat at the island. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to the sight of her in my space. It’s jarring, like a walking daydream.
I find a large mason jar and fill it with water while Callie unwraps the bouquet. There’s a packet of plant food tucked between the stems. She reads the instructions, then sprinkles it into the water.
“I think we might need to cut them down,” she says.
I reach into my junk drawer and pull out a pair of scissors.
She measures, cuts each stem to size, and arranges them perfectly in the jar.
I’m enraptured by the way she nibbles on her bottom lip while she works, and the subtle crinkle of her nose when she doesn’t like the placement.
She’s adorable, and I can’t seem to look away.
She fluffs them one last time and tilts her head to the side. “Perfect.”
Yeah. She is.
“Do you have dinner plans tomorrow?” I ask.
She grimaces. “I have that double date with Mo.”
And Clint—the fucker.
“More pickles for me then. I was gonna go to Catalano’s.”
Her shoulders slump, and she pouts. I want to bite into that perfect bottom lip. “Maybe we could have dinner before I leave.”
I take two measured steps into her space and cage her against the counter. Her breath hitches. “I’m not gonna be your opening act, Callie baby.”
Especially not for some dipshit like Clint Loverboy Campbell.
“Didn’t your parents ever teach you to share?” she whispers.
A vision of Callie being passed between me and some other guy flitters across my mind. My hands fist and unfurl.
“They tried. It didn’t stick.” The words are gruff as I struggle to contain my jealousy.
I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let this double date with Clint stop me from making Callie Cooper mine in every way.
Should I tell her? Would it change anything if she knew?
“Callie—”
Her phone rings.
“I’m sorry. I have to take this.” She excuses herself and disappears from view while I silently curse my poor timing.
I pick up my flowers and bring them to the bedroom, setting them on my nightstand next to the worn copy of the book Callie was reading last week. I left off where the duke in the story was about to confess his feelings. I sink onto the side of the bed and finger one of the blooms.
Soon.