CHAPTER TWO – LILY
The next morning, I drag myself out of Logan-scented dreams and stumble into the shower, wishing I had time to replay some of the steamier scenes in my head.
But I have to settle for a quick wash with the shower gel he bought me for Christmas before I hop out and change into a pair of newish jeans and a polo shirt with the Rosie’s Blooms logo on the pocket.
I secure my damp curls under a bandana with watering cans printed on it, and once I’ve slathered on sunscreen and Chapstick, I’m ready to greet the day.
When I get down to the kitchen, I’m surprised to find Leo already sitting at the breakfast table, a bowl of cereal and fresh berries in front of him.
Ever since Logan told him that Rosie’s homemade granola was the reason he got so pumped, Leo has insisted on eating it every morning.
I don’t have the heart to tell him that Logan’s impressive frame has more to do with good genes and a ruthless workout routine than his diet, especially since it beats the pop tart Leo used to grab on the way to school.
“Hey, bud,” I greet him as I’m drawn to the coffee machine like a bee to the first flower of spring. “Did you feed the chickens?”
“Uh-huh.” He simultaneously nods at the egg basket on the counter and shovels an overloaded spoon into his mouth. I have to resist the urge to hand him a napkin, since Leo insists he’s well past what he calls his baby fussing days. “I’m nine now.”
While I wait for my coffee, I grab a muffin from the leftovers Kaysie boxed up after our breakfast yesterday. “And does that mean you’re better or worse at collecting eggs than the average eight-year-old?”
He rolls his bright green eyes at me. “It means I’m old enough to go to Camp Eagle for summer training. You said I could go when I turned nine, remember?”
I pause mid-chew and wonder how I’m going to swallow around the sudden lump in my throat. “I said we’d talk about it, Leo. Nine is the minimum age at the camp. And I’m not sure being around a bunch of older boys is going to be as much fun as you think it is.”
“I’m not going for fun,” he scowls, spitting out the word like it’s a sour berry. “Besides, I’m big for my age. You always complain that I’m growing faster than a duckweed.”
I reach over to ruffle his dark curls. “A sunflower, maybe.”
A very pretty sunflower, with green eyes and hair so soft and dark it’s like he’s some changeling prince I stole from the faerie realm.
My very human nine-year-old leans into my caress for a moment, then ducks away with another scowl. “Besides, Logan had a look at their website, and he thinks it would be a good pathway to ROTC.”
Somehow, I’ve managed to swallow, but the muffin settles in my stomach like a stone. When exactly did Logan have time to endorse my son’s desire to run off and play soldier? “Does he now?”
Leo glances my way and starts to bristle at whatever he reads on my face. “He gets a say, right? I mean, he’s a Marine. He knows a lot more about the military stuff than you do.”
I know my share. Like how hard it is to be in love with a career soldier, who barely makes it back from one tour before he’s being deployed on another.
I also know about sleepless nights where worry eats your stomach lining, news bulletins that can make you break out into a cold sweat, and how your sense of pride and duty can be at constant war with your own selfish needs and desires.
“Yes, we should talk to Logan about the camp. But together, okay?”
Even though Logan’s name is on Leo’s birth certificate, last year we both sat him down and told him the truth.
His biological father was a man I met on vacation, but Logan will always be there for him in any way he needs.
I was worried it was too much to lay on him so young, but Leo just stared Logan dead in the eye and asked if he was going to be better than the other guy – the vacation dad.
Since I’d never told Logan the full details of my first heat, it was hard for him to make a comparison, but he just clapped Leo on the shoulder and promised to do his best, every single day.
First and forever.
“Besides,” I say as I finish my breakfast and carry the dishes over to the sink, “I thought you wanted to go on that camping trip with Logan this summer.”
Leo inspects his spoon for a moment before dropping it in his mostly empty bowl. “He’ll probably have to cancel. He’ll get a call saying they need him for another mission. That’s what soldiers do.”
I study his bowed head. “But he’s discharged now. We told you he’s home with us for good.”
Leo swivels in his chair to blink at me, hope and distrust warring on his face. “Really? And he’s not gonna change his mind?”
His skepticism hurts my heart, but I can’t really blame him.
Growing up, Logan was gone more often than he was here, even though he spent a chunk of his leave with us both.
“Yep,” I reply, plastering a cheerful smile on my face.
“He’s even bought the gym in town. That’s where he’s going to work now, so you’ll see him every day. ”
I’m not sure that’s entirely true, since taking over a business is a time-consuming process, but Leo’s face lights up like a firecracker. “Seriously? Do you think he’ll let me join? Randy’s brother learned how to box there, and he’s gonna be an MMA fighter in Vegas.”
I shudder at the thought. “How about we start with the camping trip?”
He nods enthusiastically, tipping up his bowl to drain the last of his milk.
He almost skips over to the sink, but I grab his arm, threading my fingers through his curls.
“If Logan’s home now, it also means I’ll be spending more time with him.
” I ponder my next words, watching the tiny crease form between his silky brows.
“Would it be okay with you if we maybe bonded some day?”
Leo shuffles his feet, his breath puffing out. “Like a real family?”
“I think we’re already one, in lots of ways, don’t you?” He nods and I smile. “But you’re right. This would make it more official.”
He considers that for a moment. “And then Logan would be my proper dad? Like, I could call him that, whenever I wanted?”
I have to stop myself from rubbing my aching chest. “Yes, if that’s what you want. You know he loves you so much, right?”
Leo sucks on the edge of his lip as he thinks.
“Okay. Yeah, that would be good. But he better stick.” I raise my brows at his warning tone, and he huffs.
“I already have one loser dad; I don’t need another.
” I open my mouth to protest, but he leans up to kiss my cheek.
“And if he leaves and makes you cry again, I’m parking his truck at the bottom of Willow Lake. ”
I gulp at his terrifying scowl, but he’s already bounding away, his baseball tossed about his head as he clatters out the door.
The first few weeks of summer are always a busy time on the farm, especially without Rosie around lending a hand.
I’m glad she’s finally getting her epic road trip, but it would be nice to be able to pee without one ear cocked for the next customer.
Marion is my permanent farm manager, and I have a pair of seasonal workers who cover the fields, but even with all hands on deck, it’s a lot of early mornings and long, tiring days.
The last thing Rosie said to me before she left was to hire another couple of casuals to share the load, but I’ve seen what a lean year can do to our finances.
Plus, my faerie princeling is growing so fast, he’ll need a whole new wardrobe by the time he goes back to school in the fall.
We open at nine for group bookings and ten for foot traffic, many of whom have driven a long way for the full pick-and-taste experience.
Along with filling their buckets with a bounty of blooms, we also offer a range of berries, jams, cordials, teas, and edible flowers.
With enough warning, cheese platters can be arranged, and visitors are welcome to bring a picnic to enjoy on the grassy lawn or at one of the wooden tables set out on the riverbank.
Every Saturday afternoon, a couple of food trucks stop by, along with an acoustic band of college students who play until sundown.
In the last week of the month, we are the final stop on the June Bloom Tour, where locals and visitors are encouraged to eat, drink, and dance their way through a number of neighboring farms, markets, and wineries.
It’s the biggest day of the year for us, and I’m usually vibrating with exhaustion by the time I collapse into bed.
But that’s still a few weeks off and dwelling on it now will only dial my panic up from middling to manic.
I’m in the process of arranging a sample of edible flowers on the store’s counter when a customer pushes the door open, bringing in a wave of warm, peppermint-laced air. “Hi. Are you open?”
I glance up and realize the ‘Closed Until Sunup’ sign still hasn’t been turned around. “Shoot. Yes, we’re definitely open. I’m Lily. Welcome to Rosie’s Blooms.”
“Lily and Rosie?” A slow smile spreads over his face as he steps further into the store, and I freeze, feeling like a sunflower caught in its first solar eclipse.
The beta is gorgeous, with thick brown curls, a pointed chin, and the kind of wide, generous mouth that is equal parts sinful and flirty. “Is that just a marketing ploy or…?”
“Rosie says we all have a flower spirit inside us.” I point to a framed picture on the wall. Rosie is hanging out the window of her rented RV, while her beau, Doc Munster, beams up at her from outside. “She named herself Rosie, because she never forgave her mom for calling her Petunia.”