6. Reid
Reid
I ’ve been staying at the Honeyridge Inn for two weeks now.
Two weeks of driving an hour each way for meetings that could’ve been handled remotely.
Riley’s assistant Susie made a booking error when she searched for accommodations - found “Honeyridge Inn” in the Pine Valley area results without realizing it’s actually thirty miles away in a different town entirely.
I should’ve had her correct it immediately.
Instead I’ve been making this drive twice daily. Morning coffee walks through town that always seem to end up on Main Street. Evening drives back to the inn where I tell myself I’m being ridiculous.
Yesterday changed everything though. I finally worked up the nerve to approach her when I saw her watering the flower pots outside her shop.
My phone buzzes. Riley.
“Reid. Status update. The Gizdon Group wants preliminary reports.”
“Need another month.”
“A month? Reid, this was supposed to be two weeks.”
I’m parked outside her shop again, but it’s Sunday so the place is closed. Sign in the window confirms it. Closed Sundays.
I should drive back to the inn. Work on actual reports for the Gizdon Group.
“Project’s more complex.” Not lying exactly. “Community dynamics require deeper assessment.”
What I need is to figure out why this woman makes me forget I have meetings to attend. Why her scent makes everything else seem unimportant.
“I can relocate you to Pine Valley proper?—”
“No.” Too sharp. “Inn here works fine. Good thinking environment.”
After I hang up, I sit in my rental car and try to make sense of what’s happening to me.
I don’t extend business trips. I don’t lie to clients about project timelines. I don’t make decisions based on personal interests.
Except apparently I do now.
Yesterday I approached her while she was watering the flower pots outside her shop. I’d intended to just walk by like every other morning. Professional distance. Logical.
Instead I somehow ended up asking about weekly flower arrangements for business meetings that don’t exist. Something about seeing her in that sundress, the way she smiled when I complimented her work, made me start talking about “client consultations” like that was a real thing. But it wasn’t just impulse.
I’d been thinking about something I witnessed a few days earlier at the hardware store. An elderly man wandering the aisles looking lost, muttering about needing something nice for his wife but couldn’t find his wallet anywhere.
I watched Sadie approach him gently, ask what his wife’s favorite color was.
“Purple,” he’d said, looking embarrassed.
She told him to wait outside. Ten minutes later, I saw her hand him a small bouquet of purple flowers through the window.
Lavender and purple roses tied with a simple ribbon.
His face lit up like she’d given him the world.
Standing there yesterday, breathing in her scent and remembering that kindness, suddenly I was making up business meetings. Her smile when I mentioned regular orders sealed my fate.
Now Tuesday I’ll pick up flowers I don’t need. For meetings I don’t have. And I’ll put them in my hotel room and pretend they serve some important purpose.
Worth it though, if it means I get to see that smile once a week.
I sit here like an idiot hoping to catch a glimpse of her when she’s not even working.
And then I do.
She comes around the corner from the side street, walking toward Main Street with a small bag in her hand. Sunday errands maybe. Yellow sundress that moves when she does, hair falling loose around her shoulders. Casual. Relaxed.
Even more beautiful than when she’s working.
My body responds immediately, blood rushing south, my cock already thickening.
Through the street I watch her walking toward the main drag. Maybe heading to the general store or coffee shop. She glances around casually and her eyes land on my car.
Our eyes meet and her scent hits me even from this distance. That honeysuckle sweetness that bypasses every rational thought I have.
She waves. Small gesture but her expression goes soft. Pleased.
That look. Like she’s genuinely happy to see me.
I’m out of the car before I think about it.
“Reid.” She stops walking, shifts the small bag to her other hand. That breathless quality appears in her voice that makes my chest tighten. “What brings you to town today?”
“Just enjoying the morning.” I step closer. Close enough to catch her full scent and my cock thickens immediately. “Thought maybe we could talk about expanding those arrangements. Over dinner maybe?”
Her cheeks flush pink, but then something shifts in her expression. Uncertainty creeps in.
“Like a date?” Her voice gets smaller, and her scent changes — that sweet honeysuckle turning sharp with worry.
The change hits my alpha instincts immediately. Need to reassure her, make her feel safe.
“A business dinner,” I say quickly, keeping my voice gentle. “My company covers meals when I’m building relationships with potential partners. Expense account.”
Her eyes widen. The worry scent fades as relief takes over, mixed with excitement.
“Your company pays?”
The way she asks tells me money matters more than I realized.
“Standard practice.”
“Then...” She tucks hair behind her ear. Nervous gesture that makes me want to do it for her. “I’d really like that. When?”
“Tonight? Seven?” Too eager probably, but her scent is scrambling my usual composure.
“Perfect.” Her smile is radiant and I forget why I was supposed to be playing this cool. “Should we discuss the arrangements too? What you need for Tuesday?”
Right. My fictional business meetings.
I design complex buildings for a living. Architectural planning that requires months of careful consideration and precise execution.
But standing here breathing in her scent, I can’t remember what story I told her yesterday.
What am I supposed to need flowers for again?
“I’d like to understand your process. How you decide what works together.”
Smooth. Except I have no idea what I just committed to.
“I can show you my portfolio. Business meetings need sophisticated pieces that won’t distract from important conversations.” Her enthusiasm makes my chest feel tight. “Clean lines. Subtle colors.”
I nod like this makes perfect sense instead of being complete fantasy.
“Sounds exactly right. I’ll meet you out front at seven?”
“I could just walk over myself. It’s right across the street?—”
“Sadie.” I step closer without meaning to. Close enough that she has to tilt her head back to look at me. Close enough that my scent wraps around her and I can see her pupils dilate. “Let me walk you over.”
Comes out softer than I meant it to. More request than demand.
Her breath catches. Her scent spikes with something that smells like arousal mixed with surprise.
“Okay. Yes.”
When I get back to my car, my hands are shaking. Like some teenager instead of a grown man who handles million-dollar projects without breaking a sweat.
But driving away, everything feels different.
I’m not extending my stay for work reasons. I’m staying because Sadie Quinn affects me in ways I don’t understand. Can’t control.
Her natural beauty that doesn’t require fixing. The way she creates art from flowers like she’s conducting silent music. How her body responds to mine before her mind catches up.
She’s going to figure out eventually that I don’t actually need weekly flower arrangements. That I made up business meetings because I wanted an excuse to see her.
But tonight I’m taking her to dinner. And somehow that feels more important than any real business meeting I’ve ever had.
My phone buzzes. Text from Riley. “Reports due Friday.”
I type back. “Working on it.”
What I don’t type. Found something more interesting than quarterly projections.
The afternoon drags. I try to focus on actual work. Site plans for the Gizdon Group. Notes about community integration. But I keep thinking about tonight. How she’ll look when she’s not surrounded by work. Whether she’ll let me walk her home after.
What her apartment smells like. Whether she’ll invite me up.
Whether she’ll still smile at me like that when she realizes I’ve been making things up.
By six-thirty I’m pacing my hotel room. The space looks generic compared to her vibrant shop.
Tuesday I’ll fill it with flowers I don’t need. By next week it’ll probably look like a garden center exploded.
Worth it though. Worth every ridiculous arrangement if it means I get to see that smile.
At seven exactly, I knock on the side door that leads to her apartment above the shop.
She opens it wearing a simple green dress that hugs her curves and brings out her eyes. Hair down in soft waves that make my fingers itch to touch. She’s wearing lipstick - natural color that makes me want to taste it.
“Hi.” Slightly breathless. Her scent is stronger now, warmed by skin and whatever she’s applied. Makes blood rush south immediately. “Ready.”
“You look incredible.”
Color blooms across her cheeks and down her throat. “Thank you. You look good too.”
I’m wearing charcoal gray. Perfectly tailored. Expensive. But the way she looks at me makes it feel like I chose it just for her.
As we walk the short distance across the street to the diner, I fight the urge to put my hand on her back. When she stumbles slightly on the uneven pavement, I steady her with a hand at her elbow. Her scent wraps around me from the brief contact. I have to concentrate on not pulling her closer.
“So,” she says as we settle into a booth by the window. That nervous energy that makes me want to reassure her somehow. “Tell me about these business meetings. What kind of clients need weekly flowers?”
Right. My elaborate fiction that I haven’t thought through at all.
“Consultations with potential partners. Creative presentations work better with natural elements.” Not technically lying. “Your arrangements would set the perfect tone.”
“That’s so thoughtful. Most people don’t realize how much environment affects business relationships.”
Her genuine admiration makes guilt twist in my chest. I should tell her the truth. Should explain that I don’t actually have client meetings that need flowers. That I just wanted an excuse to see her.
But not tonight. Tonight I want to take her to dinner. See if she laughs at my jokes. If she’ll let me order wine. If she’ll look at me like that again when I walk her to her door.
The truth can wait.
At least until I figure out how to explain that I’ve been making things up because she affects me in ways I don’t understand. That I don’t need flowers for business.
I just need excuses to see her.
And I’m not ready to give that up. Not when I’m finally figuring out what I want.
What I want is sitting across from me in this booth, smelling like everything I didn’t know I was looking for.