2. Levi
Levi
I ’ve been bringing Sadie coffee twice a week for six weeks. She still thinks it’s coincidental that I walk past her shop on my way to work.
It’s not really on my way. I have to walk past my own bookstore to get to The Honey Crumb first, then double back with coffee and whatever excuse I’ve crafted that morning. The route makes no logical sense, but Sadie hasn’t called me on it yet.
Either she hasn’t noticed, or she’s being polite about my completely transparent excuse to see her twice a week.
Either way, I’m not stopping. These ten-minute conversations are the best part of my week, the only time her scent doesn’t carry that underlying stress that makes my alpha instincts want to solve all her problems at once.
Today I’m carrying two cups and a blueberry muffin from Maeve’s. Sadie never eats breakfast but stares at other people’s food like she’s forgotten meals exist. Like she’s so busy taking care of everyone else that basic self-care becomes an afterthought.
The October air is sharp enough to see my breath, crisp in that way that makes everything feel more alive.
The peaks around our valley are painted gold and red, autumn showing off before winter takes over.
Morning light catches the frost on storefront windows, turning Main Street into something from a poetry book.
This is the time of day I love most. Before the world gets complicated. When it’s just me and the mountains and the anticipation of seeing Sadie’s face light up when I hand her real coffee.
I turn onto Main Street and freeze.
Water pours out of her shop. Not a little water from an overflowing sink. A lot of water, like someone forgot to turn off a fire hose inside her beautiful flower sanctuary.
The coffee hits the sidewalk before I realize I’ve dropped it. Hot liquid splashes across my boots, but I’m already moving toward disaster.
“Sadie?”
She’s standing in what used to be her pristine sales floor, wearing an oversized sleep shirt that says something about blooming where you’re planted. Her honey-blonde hair escapes from a messy bun, damp at the ends. Mascara tracks down her fair, freckled cheeks like she’s been crying for hours.
She looks small. Lost. Devastated in the middle of her flooded sanctuary.
Her scent hits me all wrong immediately. That sweet floral warmth I’ve memorized over six weeks of coffee visits is twisted with sharp panic. Honeysuckle turning bitter, vanilla curdling with stress. But underneath there’s something else that makes my chest tight with the need to help.
Every protective instinct I have snaps to attention.
My cock stirs in my jeans just from her proximity, which is completely inappropriate given the circumstances but impossible to ignore. Even in crisis, even surrounded by disaster, she affects me in ways that bypass rational thought.
“Levi.” Her voice cracks. “I’m closed. The sign says?—”
“What happened?”
The question comes out more intense than I intended. Seeing her like this, vulnerable and overwhelmed, makes me want to fix everything that’s ever gone wrong in her life. Makes me want to wrap her in my arms until that distress scent fades and she smells like honey and safety again.
“Roof leak. Overnight.” She gestures helplessly at the destruction, water dripping from her fingertips.”Everything for the Kerr rehearsal dinner is ruined. Everything Sarah’s been planning for months.”
She says it like this disaster is somehow her fault. Like she personally summoned water from the sky to destroy her life’s work. The self-blame in her voice makes something protective and possessive unfurl in my chest.
“Insurance?”
She laughs bitterly, and the sound cuts through me.
“Not covered. I let my insurance lapse last month because I couldn’t afford the premium increase.
They’ll find some clause to not pay me anyway.
” She kicks at a floating marigold.”And even if they did cover it, that doesn’t help me explain to Sarah why her rehearsal dinner centerpiece is doing water ballet. ”
I roll up my sleeves without thinking. Step into the ankle-deep water, my shoes soaking through immediately. Cold seeps through leather and socks, but I don’t care. “What can we save?”
“Levi, you don’t?—”
“I want to.” I hold her gaze, watch her pupils dilate slightly when I step closer. She’s close enough now that I can see the rapid flutter of her pulse at her throat, close enough that her scent wraps around me despite the chaos. “What do you need?”
For a second she looks fragile, like she might crumble entirely if someone touches her wrong. Then her spine straightens with that quiet determination I’ve seen her use on difficult customers and impossible arrangements.
I catch myself staring at the graceful line of her neck, the way her sleep shirt clings damply to her body.
“The surviving chrysanthemums. Some potted arrangements in the back room on higher ground.Maybe some branches from outside if we can make the wedding rehearsal dinner look intentionally rustic instead of desperately improvised.”
“That sounds perfect for an October wedding.”
“It sounds desperate.”
“It sounds like Sadie Quinn making something beautiful out of a challenge. Which is what you do.”
She stares at me like she can’t believe I said that. Like no one’s ever told her that her ability to create beauty from chaos is remarkable.
“You don’t understand. This was supposed to be Sarah’s perfect night. She chose me specifically because she wanted something special instead of ordering from the big florists in Pine Valley.”Her voice gets smaller.”And instead I’m showing up with whatever didn’t drown.”
I can see her spiraling, imagining disaster scenarios and disappointed customers. The way her mind works, always assuming the worst while hoping for the best.
“So we make her the most gorgeous whatever didn’t drown , wedding rehearsal dinner centerpieces anyone’s ever seen.”
“We?”
I start assessing the surviving chrysanthemums, testing their weight and damage. The water’s cold enough to make my feet go numb, but her face—like she can’t quite believe someone wants to help her without being asked—is worth any discomfort.
“I don’t open the bookstore until noon today.That’s six hours to save what we can and create something even more beautiful than what she originally planned.”
“I can’t ask you to?—”
“You’re not asking. I’m offering.”
She’s quiet for a moment, wrestling with accepting help. I can practically see the internal debate playing across her face.
Finally, she nods. “Okay. Thank you.”
We spend the next hour and a half working side by side in cold water. Moving salvageable plants to dry surfaces, mopping up standing water with every towel she owns. And I learn things about Sadie Quinn that I want to memorize.
She talks to flowers while she works. Apologizing to damaged ones like old friends, encouraging survivors with gentle coaxing that makes my chest warm with something protective and possessive.
“Come on, sweet girl, you’ve still got some life in you,” she murmurs to a drooping flower, stroking the petals with gentleness.
She knows exactly which stems are still viable just by touch.
The same way she seems to know exactly what everyone in town needs before they ask for it.
Mrs. Woodbury’s standing order every Tuesday.
Pastor Williams’ simple funeral arrangements.
The way she talked Tommy Clanton through choosing roses for his proposal last month.
I also learn that being this close to her for an extended period is testing my self-control in ways I hadn’t anticipated.
Every time she moves past me, I pick up more of her scent. Under the distress, there’s something warm developing. Interested. Like her body is responding to my proximity the same way mine responds to hers.
She hums unconscious little melodies while working, probably matching whatever music plays in her head.
Her hands are small and capable, handling delicate petals like spun glass.
I find myself watching the graceful way her fingers move, wondering what they’d feel like tracing over skin instead of flower stems.
When she stretches to reach something on a high shelf, her shirt rides up just enough to reveal a strip of soft skin at her waist. Pale and smooth, with a small freckle just above her hip bone.
Blood rushes straight to my cock at the thought of tasting that skin. I have to think about inventory management and quarterly reports until I’m calm enough to function around her without embarrassing myself.
I’m so focused on not staring that I almost miss the moment when I catch her watching me. I’m lifting a heavy planter to higher ground, sleeves rolled up, water dripping from my forearms, when I glance up and find her eyes tracking the movement of my muscles.
She flushes when she realizes I’ve caught her looking. Her scent spikes with something warm and interested before she quickly looks away, suddenly very focused on sorting stems.
“Sorry,” she mumbles. “I was just… you’re getting soaked helping me and I…”
“Don’t apologize,” I say quietly. “I like knowing you’re looking.”
“You know,” she says during a quiet moment, both of us crouched near the back counter sorting through damaged arrangements, “I never asked why you walk by here twice a week with a extra coffee for me.”
Caught.
I focus very carefully on the chrysanthemum in my hands. “Coincidence.”
“Mm.” She doesn’t sound convinced. “It’s just that your bookstore is in the opposite direction from The Honey Crumb.”
Heat creeps up my neck. She’s noticed. Of course she’s noticed. Sadie notices everything.
“Maybe I like the longer route.”
“Maybe.” She’s quiet for a moment, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from her body. Then, so softly I almost miss it. “I like it when you stop by.”
The admission hangs between us, vulnerable and honest. When I look up, she’s watching me with something in her expression that makes my chest tight with possibility.
“I like stopping by,” I admit. “More than I probably should.”
Her scent warms at that, honeysuckle blooming sweeter, vanilla turning rich and inviting. The change is subtle but unmistakable, and my alpha instincts respond immediately, recognizing interest, attraction, the beginning of something that could become so much more.
“Why more than you should?”
Because I’ve been half in love with you since the first time you recommended a book to Mrs. Elmsdale.
Because watching you arrange flowers is like watching someone compose music with petals and stems. Because you smell like home and safety and everything, I’ve ever wanted but never thought I deserved.
“Because.” I say instead, my voice rougher than intended, “you’re dealing with enough without your coffee delivery guy developing feelings.”
She goes very still. “Feelings?”
“The kind that make me want to bring you coffee every day instead of twice a week. The kind that make me notice things like how you never eat breakfast and always smell faintly of vanilla.”
Her breath catches. “Levi.”
“The kind that make me want to take care of you.”
The words spill out more intense than I planned, more revealing than is probably wise. But seeing her in crisis, watching her try to handle disaster alone, has stripped away my carefully maintained boundaries.
“You want to take care of me,” she says, like the concept is foreign.
“I want to take care of you,” I confirm. “Among other things.”
“What other things?”
The question is barely a whisper, but it carries weight that makes the air between us thick with possibility.
I step closer, close enough that she has to tilt her head back to meet my eyes. Close enough that her scent wraps around me like an invitation. “Things that probably shouldn’t be discussed in a flooded flower shop.”
“Maybe not.” Her voice is breathless. “But maybe later?”
“Later,” I agree, my voice rough with promise.
When we’ve saved what we can, I help her move the rescued arrangements to her apartment upstairs. The space smells like her—honeysuckle and vanilla and something uniquely Sadie that makes my alpha instincts want to scent-mark every surface.
“I’ll be back in a few hours,” I promise, reluctantly stepping toward her door. “We’ll figure out how to make Sarah’s rehearsal dinner arrangements even better than what you originally planned.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“I want to,” I interrupt gently. “I want to help you. I want to be part of whatever you’re building here.”
She nods, her cheeks flushed pink in a way that makes me want to discover what other parts of her body turn that same pretty color when she’s affected.
If Sadie thinks she’s handling this crisis alone, she’s about to find out how stubborn a bookseller can be. And how determined an alpha becomes when he’s found something worth protecting.