Chapter 16 #2
I make a mental note to bring in a stash of old towels in case something like this happens again, while simultaneously praying something like this never happens again.
Though in a flower shop, where things can get messy, it’s probably a good idea in general to have old towels on hand.
One of the many things I’m learning as I go.
“Hey, it’s Sean,” a recorded voice says in my ear. “Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you.”
At the sound of the beep, I say, “Hi, Sean, it’s Elsie. I’m so sorry to bother you, but I just got to the shop and there’s a bunch of water coming from underneath the door between our two places. It’s, um, kind of a lot. I’ll try calling back in a bit. Okay, bye.”
I hang up and toss my phone town onto the tabletop, groaning. “This is not good.”
“The fact that there’s water leaking,” Noah asks wryly, “or that you now have to call Declan?”
He sounds a little too amused for my liking. I glare at him, which only makes him laugh. He grabs my phone and holds it out to me, raising his eyebrows as if to say, you know you have to.
I know he’s right, but the thought of calling Declan has my palms sweating.
We haven’t really talked since opening day, the night we all went out for dinner and drinks.
We’ve said hi in passing a couple times since then, like earlier this week when he was eating lunch on the old wrought iron bench in the backyard and I went out to check on my orchids.
I would have timed it differently had I known he was out there.
I nearly jumped out of my skin at his “Hi, Elsie” in that deep, gravely tone of his.
“Call him,” Noah prods.
“Fine.” I scroll through my contacts list, looking for the number I have yet to use.
Declan has been in a group chat with Sean and I since we first signed our leases and had to coordinate construction, but he hasn’t chimed in much, and usually only when Sean asks him a direct question.
I can’t help wondering if he’s not a big texter in general, or if he just doesn’t want to talk to –
“Hello?”
The way my heart stutters at the sound of his voice is, quite frankly, embarrassing.
My body is a traitor when it comes to him, my pulse racing and palms sweating every time we make eye contact or say hello.
My nervous system doesn’t know the difference between being near Declan and being chased by an angry bear, apparently.
“Hello?” he says again. His voice is rougher than usual, like he’d just woken up. I have a brief flash of Declan waking up shirtless with bedhead and my mind goes blank.
“Declan, h-hi,” I stutter. “I, uh…” I look to Noah for help and find him doubled over, laughing quietly. I smack his arm and he stands upright, wiping tears from his eyes.
“The water,” he reminds me through a wheeze. “Tell him about the water.”
“Right, the water,” I say to Declan. “I got to the shop a little while ago and there’s water leaking from underneath the door between our shops. I think there might be some kind of plumbing issue over on your side.”
“Fuck,” he grumbles. “Give me a sec, I’ll be right down.”
“Right down?”
“I live in the apartment upstairs,” he reminds me, because my brain has turned to Jell-o and doesn’t contain a single coherent thought at the moment.
“Oh yeah.”
He laughs, a low, rumbling sound in my ear that has my stomach dropping all the way to my toes.
“See you in a few, Elsie.” He ends the call and my body deflates, like pulling the plug on one of those waving, inflatable tube men you see outside of car dealerships. I slump onto the nearest stool and drop my head into my arms, groaning.
“That could have gone worse,” Noah assures me, but I can hear the laugh he’s trying to hold back.
“Why does he turn me into such a brainless idiot?” I whine.
“I have a college degree. I know how to file my own taxes. I can fold a fitted sheet, and this one time, I parallel parked so well that a stranger standing on the sidewalk started clapping for me. But talking to Declan? Forming thoughts and using words and trying not to sound like someone whose skull is full of soup? Impossible.”
“He is distractingly good looking,” Noah sympathizes. His hand settles on my upper back and makes small, circular motions, soothing me even as a small chuckle slips out of him.
“I heard that,” I grumble.
“Am I interrupting?” a low, familiar voice rumbles. I hop off my stool, surprised to find Declan at the back of the shop. I keep the back door unlocked, since the yard is enclosed by brick walls and the only ones who can get to it are Sean and Declan. They’d never actually used it before, though.
“Declan. Hi.” Much to my dismay, I have not, in fact, become a wordsmith in the three minutes since we last spoke. My brain? Still soup.
Noah was right – he’s distractingly good looking.
It’s not just the lean muscles, or the tattoos.
It’s the strong hands that make my heart strutter when they make contact with my skin.
The eyes that seem to see straight through me, to all the bits and pieces I keep tucked in close.
The crooked smirk that makes me want to lash out, to dig my nails into his skin, but kiss him at the same time.
I’ve never had a height preference before, but Declan is just so big. My traitorous mind can’t help wondering what it’d be like to be manhandled by someone of his size.
Okay, not someone of his size – him, specifically. When it’s late at night, and I picture hands sliding across my skin and fingers sinking inside of me, they’re always covered in tattoos.
I’m so used to his usual dark clothing that the faded jeans and white T-shirt with the cutoff sleeves catch me off guard.
So does the look on his face. He ignores my greeting, his eyes zeroed in on Noah’s hand where it rests on my back.
If looks could kill… well, things wouldn’t be looking good for my best employee.
“Declan?” I try again.
His jaw works to the side once, twice, before his eyes flit up to meet mine. Noah, finally picking up on the tension radiating off our next-door neighbor, drops his hand back to his side and takes a step away from me.