4. Caleb
Caleb
S aturday morning, six AM. I’m standing outside Sadie’s shop with a truck full of supplies and coffee Aunt Maeve insisted I bring “for both of you” with meaningful looks.
The mountains around our valley catch the sunrise. Purple and gold like someone spilled paint across the sky.
I’ve been looking forward to this since Wednesday afternoon. One week of civilian life, and fixing a roof leak for a woman who still makes me feel seventeen is the most exciting thing on my calendar.
Pathetic? Probably.
The light in her apartment window tells me she’s already awake. When she comes downstairs, she’s wearing jeans that fit perfectly and a sweater the color of fall leaves. Honey-blonde hair pulled back in a practical ponytail that makes me want to wrap it around my fist.
But it’s her scent that nearly kills me.
Gone is the sharp distress from Wednesday morning. Now she’s all warmth and welcome with an undertone that makes every alpha instinct I have snap to attention. That sweet floral warmth. Inviting and fresh. With just enough heat underneath to let me know she’s happy to see me.
My cock stirs in my jeans just from breathing her in.
“Morning.” She steps aside to let me in. Worries her lower lip between her teeth. I want to replace her teeth with mine. “You sure about this? It’s going to be loud and messy. You could probably find better ways to spend your weekend.”
“Positive.” I set the thermos on her counter. Let my fingers brush hers when she reaches for it. The brief contact sends heat up my arm. Color rises in her cheeks like she felt it too. “These look really good, Sadie.”
I gesture at the arrangements ready for today’s Kerr wedding. Chrysanthemums and branches and tiny orange berries arranged like they were always meant to grow together. The same rustic style that saved the rehearsal dinner and turned into something even more beautiful.
“Really?” Genuine uncertainty in her voice. Like she still can’t believe the rehearsal dinner turned out as well as it did. “They’re not what I originally planned. I was trying to recreate what worked so well for Sarah’s rehearsal dinner, but now they just look like I’m copying myself.”
“They look like you found your signature style. They look like home.”
Her expression when I say that makes my chest tight.
“I should get these loaded for today’s deliveries,” she says, breaking the moment. “The bridal bouquet and personal flowers need to go to Sarah’s place in a few hours, and I have a funeral arrangement for Lawson’s that needs to go out this morning.”
“I’ll help.”
“Caleb, you’re already doing more than enough?—”
“Sadie.” I move closer. Near enough to breathe in her full scent. Near enough to see her hazel eyes widen when she catches my sandalwood and leather in return. “Let me help you.”
For a moment we just look at each other. Surrounded by fresh arrangements and the promise of a day that could go very well or very badly. I can see her struggling with it. The same way she used to struggle when we were kids and she wanted to ask for help but didn’t want to seem weak.
But there’s something else now. Something adult and aware in the air between us. Her breathing quickens. The rapid flutter of her pulse at her throat is visible.
The urge to step closer, back her against the counter and find out if she tastes as sweet as she smells, is almost overwhelming. To see if I can make her scent spike with want that matches what I’m feeling.
“Okay. Thank you.”
Loading the Saturday deliveries takes longer than expected. Partly because Sadie has very specific ideas about how the delicate bridal flowers should be secured. Partly because I keep getting distracted by working alongside her.
She handles each arrangement with loving attention. When she reaches across me to adjust a stem, her warmth brushes against my arm. Brief contact that makes blood rush south. From the way her cheeks flush, she’s aware of our closeness too.
“You’re really good at this.” My voice comes out rougher than intended as we’re securing the last centerpieces.
“It’s my job.”
“It’s more than that. This is a gift, Sadie. What you do with flowers—it’s art.”
She glances at me. Then back at the arrangements like she’s checking them for the fifteenth time. “My college boyfriend used to say I was just playing with flowers because I couldn’t handle a real job with real responsibility.”
Her casual tone—like it’s just a fact instead of something that obviously hurt her—makes me want to find this college boyfriend and explain a few things about recognizing talent.
“Your college boyfriend was an idiot.”
“Maybe. But he wasn’t entirely wrong about the practical stuff. I mean, look at my situation. There’s always something going wrong. Equipment breaking. Supply problems. Seasonal slowdowns. Roofs that decide to leak at the worst possible moment.”
“That could happen to anyone. Doesn’t mean you don’t know what you’re doing.”
As we finish loading the arrangements into her delivery van, she’s quiet. Hands gripped tight on the van doors.
“What if I’m not actually good enough?” Her voice gets smaller. “What if the rehearsal dinner only worked because I got lucky with the rustic style? What if I’m just pretending to know what I’m doing? And everyone’s going to figure it out eventually?”
The vulnerability reminds me of the little girl who used to follow Dean and me around. Desperate to prove she belonged. Terrified that we’d eventually figure out she wasn’t as brave as she pretended.
“Sadie.” I wait until she risks a glance at me. “You are good enough. You’ve always been good enough.”
Her blink—like she’s fighting back tears—makes me want to pull her against me and spend the rest of the morning proving exactly how good enough she is.
But I have work to do, and she needs to see that I trust her competence as much as I want to protect her.
“Now, let me get up there and start fixing that pipe.” I grab my ladder and toolbox from the truck. “I’ve got everything I need to get this properly repaired.”
For the next few hours, I work on accessing the damaged pipe in the shop’s ceiling while she organizes around the shop.
The leak was from a coupling that gave way in the plumbing that runs through the ceiling space above her front display area.
The damage is worse than I initially thought—water got into the ceiling supports and insulation—but nothing I can’t handle.
As I work on the ladder near the front entrance, I can hear her moving around the shop floor, the soft sound of her humming while she reorganizes her workspace.
When I take a break around noon, I notice someone walking past outside with measured steps.
Studying the building like he’s appraising it.
A man in an expensive tailored suit that looks completely out of place among the flannel shirts and work boots.
He’s tall with a lean, elegant way of moving.
Jet black hair perfectly styled. Sharp jawline that could cut glass.
Everything about him polished to a shine.
He seems to be taking notes on his phone. Looking at the architecture with focused attention. Business, not tourism. An outsider with a specific purpose.
He approaches where Sadie is watering the flower pots she keeps outside the shop entrance, introducing himself with the confident stride of someone used to getting what he wants.
I watch through the front window as they talk on the sidewalk. Can see her face light up with professional interest. The way she straightens and shifts into business mode.
I should be happy for her. New customers are good for business.
I am happy for her.
I’m also suspicious of this stranger’s perfect timing and expensive clothes that suggest he’s not from around here. Something about his confident approach and the way he studies the building tells me he’s interested in more than just flowers.
When he leaves twenty minutes later, he’s tucking a business card into his jacket pocket. Sadie’s business card.
When she comes back inside, I climb down from the ladder to check on her and maybe ask some casual questions.
“Good contact?” I try to keep my voice neutral. Probably fail completely.
“Maybe. His name’s Reid Harper. He’s an architect working on some development project.” She looks up at me. “Says he might need flowers for client spaces. Could be good for business.”
I think Reid Harper looks like the kind of man who’s used to getting what he wants. And right now he’s interested in more than just flowers. I think his timing is suspiciously convenient and his interest seemed pretty focused on the florist, not just the flowers.
“Seems professional.”
“Right. Business.” She seems genuinely excited about the possibility of bigger projects. “We should get back to work. How’s the roof coming?”
As we spend the rest of the day working—me on the roof, her organizing and preparing for the week ahead—I tell myself that I have no right to be territorial about Sadie Quinn. That I’m just here to fix her roof and help an old friend through a difficult situation.
But when the day is done and she touches my arm to thank me for the work—when she looks at me like I’m still the boy she used to follow around with absolute trust—I know I’m lying to myself.
I’m not just here to fix her roof.
I’m here to see if she might want something more than just getting her building repaired .