7. Sadie
Sadie
I spend way too long getting ready for dinner with Reid.
It’s not a date, I keep telling myself. Just a business dinner where his company pays and we discuss his weekly flower arrangements. Professional. Practical.
And free. Which is honestly the biggest relief of all.
I haven’t been to Millie’s in weeks, not since my insurance lapsed and the roof started leaking and every dollar became a choice between keeping the lights on or buying groceries.
Millie’s always fed me without question when times were tight—sliding extra rolls onto my plate, forgetting to charge for dessert, insisting I take home leftovers “that would just go bad anyway.” But I can’t keep taking advantage of her kindness, especially when half the town is struggling too.
So when Reid mentioned his company covering dinner, the relief hit me harder than it probably should have. A real meal that I don’t have to feel guilty about. One night where I can focus on business instead of mentally calculating whether I can afford both an entrée and rent this month.
But I still change clothes three times. Blue dress that makes my eyes look brighter, then the green one that hugs my curves, then back to the blue because the green might be too much. Finally I settle on simple black that’s somewhere in between.
My portfolio sits on my kitchen table, carefully organized with photos of my best work. Wedding arrangements, funeral pieces, the seasonal displays that made Mrs. Woodbury cry happy tears. I’ve included pricing sheets and testimonials, everything a serious business discussion would require.
Even if my hands shake a little when I pick it up. After the week I’ve had—the flood, the roof repairs, the stress of nearly ruining Sarah’s rehearsal dinner—a steady commercial contract would solve so many problems. No more choosing between groceries and the electric bill.
At exactly seven, there’s a soft knock at my side door. When I open it, Reid stands there looking like he stepped out of a magazine. Charcoal gray suit that fits perfectly, dark hair styled just right, those intense green eyes that make my pulse stutter.
The suit alone probably costs more than I make in a month. Everything about him screams expensive—from his leather shoes to the watch catching the streetlight. I’ve never had a business dinner with anyone who wore clothes like that.
But it’s his scent that affects me most. Leather and cedar and bergamot wrapping around me like an expensive promise. My omega instincts respond the same way they did to Levi’s cedar warmth and Caleb’s sandalwood richness. Interest blooming before I can think to stop it.
Which shouldn’t surprise me anymore. Apparently I’m developing a pattern of being attracted to helpful alphas. Or maybe it’s because I’ve been rationing my heat suppressants. My body’s probably more responsive than it should be.
When I breathe in again, trying to calm myself, I catch the subtle shift in his scent. Richer now, warmer. Like my reaction is affecting him too.
“Hi,” I say, managing to sound steadier than I feel. “You look really good.”
“So do you.” His gaze travels down my body with appreciation that makes warmth spread across my skin. “Beautiful.”
The way he says it, like he means it, creates a flutter of warmth in my chest. Different from Levi’s quiet compliments or Caleb’s protective looks but affecting me just as much.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Let me just grab my portfolio.”
I tuck the leather folder under my other arm and let him escort me across the street to Millie’s. The short walk feels longer with his scent surrounding me.
When we step through the door, the familiar bell chimes and conversations pause just long enough for everyone to take note. I catch Millie’s eyes behind the counter and see her eyebrows raise with interest.
“Well look who’s having herself a fancy dinner,” she calls out with that warm teasing tone I’ve come to love about this town. “Don’t you clean up nice, Sadie Quinn.”
My face heats. “It’s a business meeting, Millie.”
“Mm-hmm.” Millie winks at Reid. “Business meetings sure have gotten fancier since my day. Y’all sit anywhere you like. I’ll be right over.”
Reid guides me to a booth by the window. As we settle in, I notice how different this feels from the comfortable domesticity when Levi and Caleb were with me Saturday night. This has an edge of formality, of careful politeness that comes with not knowing someone well yet.
But when he slides into the booth across from me, our knees almost brush under the table.
The brief near-contact sends a jolt of awareness through me.
In the enclosed space, I’m more aware of his scent, and I think he notices mine too—the way his attention sharpens slightly when my honeysuckle and vanilla mixes with his bergamot and leather.
“This place has character,” Reid says, taking in the vintage signs and mismatched chairs with genuine appreciation.
“Millie’s been running it for thirty years. Best pie in three counties.” I smooth my dress nervously. “She basically mothers the entire town.”
“I can see that.” His smile reveals something warmer beneath the polished exterior. “Tell me about your work, Sadie. How did you get into floral design?”
I start talking about my business, about the challenges and rewards of small-town life.
He listens in a way that feels genuine—asking follow-up questions that show he’s actually paying attention.
When I mention the difficulties with seasonal suppliers, he nods like he understands business challenges.
When I talk about creating arrangements that match people’s emotions, his eyes warm with something that looks like fascination.
“Here you go, darling,” Millie appears with water glasses and menus. “What can I start you folks with to drink?”
“Wine might be nice,” Reid suggests, glancing at me. “If that works for your business dinner?”
“That sounds fine.” I notice Millie’s knowing look but ignore it.
“I’ve got a nice red that goes perfect with the pot roast special.” She looks between us with barely contained amusement. “Though judging by the way this young man’s been walking past our flower shop every morning this week, I don’t think he’s just here for the food.”
“Every morning?” I glance at Reid, who has the grace to look slightly embarrassed.
“Maybe I’ve walked past your shop a few times,” he admits. “Admiring the window displays.”
“Every morning with his coffee,” Millie adds helpfully. “Real dedicated to those flowers.”
The heat in my cheeks intensifies. He’s been watching my shop for a week. Thinking about me before we even met.
“She’s observant,” Reid says after Millie leaves with our orders.
“She’s a menace,” I reply, but I’m smiling. “The whole town is like this. Everyone knows everyone else’s business before they know it themselves.”
“Is that what you like about it? The community?”
I consider the question while opening my portfolio.
“I grew up here, actually. My parents moved to Florida when they retired, but I couldn’t imagine leaving.
This place... these people are like family.
I wanted to build something that mattered to them.
In a big city, flowers are just decorative.
Here, they’re part of people’s most important moments. ”
I spread out photos of recent arrangements, watching his face as he studies them. His expression grows more focused, more interested, with each image. When he leans forward to examine a photo more closely, something in his scent shifts—becomes richer, more intent.
“These are incredible, Sadie.” He picks up a photo of the Kerr rehearsal dinner centerpieces—the rustic arrangements that saved the day.
His fingers brush mine as he takes the photo, and the brief contact sends heat racing up my arm.
“The way you’ve combined textures and colors. .. it’s like visual poetry.”
I don’t pull my hand away immediately. Neither does he. For a moment we’re both very still, the photo forgotten between us, his thumb accidentally tracing across my knuckles.
The compliment sends a pleasant shiver down my spine. “That’s exactly how it feels sometimes.”
We talk more about the logistics of his weekly arrangements, about timing and delivery schedules.
Professional details that should be straightforward, but I find myself getting distracted by small things.
The way his hands move when he gestures.
Long fingers, manicured nails that speak of a different world than mine.
How he listens with complete attention when I explain my process.
The subtle shift in his scent when he leans forward to look at my portfolio photos.
When I reach across the table to show him a pricing sheet, my bracelet catches on the edge of my portfolio.
As I try to untangle it, Reid moves to help.
His fingers work at the delicate chain while I hold very still, hyperaware of his proximity.
He smells even better this close, and I can hear his breathing change slightly when my wrist pulse flutters against his thumb.
“There,” he says quietly, freeing the bracelet. But his fingers linger a moment longer than necessary, thumb tracing over the spot where my pulse beats rapid and obvious. “Got it.”
I wonder if he can sense my body’s response to him in the small booth. From the way his pupils have dilated, I think he can.
It’s the same focused interest I’ve come to appreciate in Levi and Caleb, but different somehow. More formal. Like he’s cataloging everything I say for future reference. But there’s warmth underneath the politeness, genuine curiosity about my work and my life here.
“You mentioned growing up here,” he says. “Was it always your plan to stay and build your business in Honeyridge?”