5. Adair
Adair
The day is dragging on. No customers, no deliveries. It’s me, a half-wiped counter, and way too much time to think.
I replay what happened with Parker on a loop. His mouth, his hands. The way he bent me over the table, the way he said still sweet. Sure, it was in the heat of the moment, but something about it was sincere.
Or, am I kidding myself? Maybe that’s all it was.
Part of me wonders if I really will hear from him again. Like my mom always said, why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free? What in the hell was I thinking, hooking up with him like that?
I shudder with embarrassment at the thought.
Almost as if on cue, the door swings open hard enough to startle me out of my head.
“Special delivery,” a voice calls out, muffled behind an absurdly large bouquet.
I blink. “What is this?”
He peeks his head around the corner, looking unfairly good with that crooked grin and a dozen roses in hand .
“Bribery,” he says, stepping forward. “Twelve long-stemmed apologies in case I came on too strong.”
“They’re beautiful,” I say, caught off guard despite myself. “But what exactly are you apologizing for?”
He holds my gaze, tone softening slightly. “For letting things get… intense. I didn’t mean to blur the line. I wanted the massage. I didn’t expect that, not that I regret it. I guess I wanted to make sure I got a proper yes.”
I smile. I can’t help it. There’s something reckless about him, but charming too. “A proper yes to…?”
“A real date,” he says.
"I pretend to think it over, burying my face in the flowers.
"A real date?"
“Uh-huh. The kind where I pick you up, we talk, and I don't disappear after."
He leans in and kisses me. Not a post-happy ending kiss, which was urgent and messy. This one’s deliberate, slow, and deep, like he’s trying.
By the time I open my eyes, I’m breathless.
“I want to know you. I think you feel it, too, or am I totally misreading things?”
That hits different. It’s not cocky. It’s not manipulative. It’s vulnerable .
I don’t answer right away, because I’m not even sure what this is. Lust? Memory? Some weird nostalgia trip wrapped in adrenaline and good lighting? A hot guy with a nice package and a great kiss?
“I don’t know what I’m feeling,” I admit sincerely, my voice unsteady. “But I know I like it. How’s that?”
He watches me, nervous energy buzzing under the surface. Not the cocky guy from the massage room. Not the smooth doctor from the ER. He's fidgeting, and he almost looks shy. Which is nothing like the impressions I've gotten so far from him.
“You seem like a no-bullshit kind of person,” he says, finally.
“That’s one way of putting it.”
He smiles but doesn’t back off. “I like that. I like you. And I’d like to get to know you better.”
“Uh, huh. Why does there feel like a ‘but’ there?”
“So that’s why I’m here, in person. I need to level with you. There’s something I have to tell you before this goes any further.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You’re secretly married? In witness protection? Planning to flee the country?”
I’ve got a dull ache in my stomach. I’m not sure what he’s about to say, but the disappointment is already welling up inside of me. Of course this was all too good to be true.
He huffs a soft laugh. “None of the above. But this is going to sound like a bad B-movie plot, so hear me out, okay?”
I fold my arms, curious now.
“My uncle passed away recently.”
“Okay?”
“He had this bizarre dying wish. He wanted me to be married, so he tied my inheritance to a marriage clause.”
I stare at him.
“So, why are you telling me this?” Surely he isn’t asking me to marry him.
He holds up his hands. “I know. It’s nuts. I wouldn’t blame you for telling me to kick rocks right now. I guess I wanted you to know up front, because I do like you, and if it came out after the fact, you might not trust my intentions.”
“Let me get this straight,” I say slowly, “First you tip me for the happy ending, and now you want to marry me? Do you have some kinky obsession with Richard Gere and Pretty Woman? We hardly know each other.”
“Funny. But, no. This isn’t role play. Also, to be fair,” he says, mouth twitching, “I tipped you for the massage. Oh, and I'm not asking you to marry me.”
I can’t help it, I snort. “You know how to make a girl feel special.”
He clears his throat and shifts the roses in his hand. I take them and pull out a vase from under the counter.
“You're something else, you know that?”
He grins. “So I’ve heard.”
I study him for a long time. He seems serious. And not about the will, or whatever game his uncle was playing from the grave, but about wanting to get to know. I think he means it when he says he wants to see me again.
"So you're just putting this out there for transparency?"
“Yes. Mostly."
I laugh, more out of nervousness than because this is funny. Although it is funny in a weird, awkward way. If it weren't my life.
"I get how weird this sounds," he says, tone shifting. "But honestly, I'm also hoping you might consider it. I know how that sounds, but hear me out. It wouldn't just be helping me out. There would be significant financial compensation for you. We could still date, see where things go naturally.”
I nod slowly. I appreciate his honesty and his earnestness.
He runs a hand through his hair.
"Look, I know we barely know each other, and this is completely insane. But if you were open to something unconventional, a business arrangement that benefits us both, I'm open to discussing it. No pressure, and I'm interested in getting to know you either way. "
My brows lift, and I give a dry little laugh. “Well, that’s the weirdest non-proposal I’ve ever gotten.”
He smiles. “Just laying my cards on the table.”
I pick up the vase and move toward the sink, mostly so I don’t have to look directly at him while my brain short-circuits.
The truth is, I could use the money. Bets isn't going to give me anymore unless I can show her that what I'm doing is working. Even if she would, I don't want to ask her for more. But I can't make it work without more cash.
The bills are stacking up. My last two supplier payments came off a credit card I wasn’t supposed to use again. I’ve been dodging texts from my old manager about coming back.
And those boxes in the storage room aren't part of a seasonal restock. They're a last-ditch wholesale deal I couldn’t afford to pass up. Except now they’re sitting there like a very expensive monument to my poor decision-making.
I’m not desperate yet, at least. But I can see it from here. And I know the end is inevitable unless I inject more money into the business to do it right.
I fill the vase with water and glance over at him.
“Purely for the sake of curiosity,” I say, carefully. “What would something like that even look like? In theory.”
His expression doesn’t shift. No smugness. No smirk. Just steady, like he’s been waiting for me to ask.
“I don’t know yet,” he admits. “It would need to be worth it for you, so we could discuss terms that make it work. Every word would have to be clearly spelled out, of course. Shooting from the hip, maybe something with a monthly payout and then a lump sum at the end—once the estate finalizes. ”
I nod slowly, letting him keep talking. I’m not agreeing, listening.
“I wouldn’t want you to be put in a position where you felt stuck,” he adds. “If anything, I’d want it to be a lifeline, not a leash.”
Something in my chest tightens.
A lifeline. That’s exactly what it would be.
I straighten up, forcing my face into something unreadable.
"It's not something I'd say yes to lightly."
"Understandable."
I let out a breath. "God, this is embarrassing, but I realized yesterday I don't know your first name. Miami was... well, my memory was focused on more sensory details. And yesterday, I felt too awkward to ask."
He laughs, and there's something almost relieved in it. "Parker," he says. "Parker Matthews."
"Parker," I repeat, testing how it sounds. It fits him.
"I wouldn't want you to say yes lightly," he says, his tone shifting back to serious.
"If I were to consider it," I say, "hypothetically…"
He meets my eyes. "Then we'd talk it through. Everything on the table. Your terms, not mine."
"I need time to wrap my head around this," I say finally. "It's a lot to process."
“That goes without saying. Take all the time you need.”
He pulls out his phone. "Can I get your number? For the date part, not the other thing."
I give him my number, and he texts me immediately, so I have his.
"So," he says, tucking his phone away with that crooked smile. "Dinner Friday? A date, not a business meeting. We don't have to talk about any of this, unless you want to."
"I'd like that."
After he leaves, I stand there staring at the roses, wondering how every time I see this man, something completely unexpected happens.
The next evening, as I dig for my keys outside my condo, I replay the conversation with Sally Theme, my attorney.
I decided to reach out to see if this is even something someone could do. I've never even heard of something like this, much less considered what the logistics would look like. Parker said he's open to discussing, so if we do, I want to be at least somewhat educated.
She didn’t tell me I was crazy when I told her. She asked if we could agree on terms, saying that was the most important element to making it work. Basically, the sky's the limit on that.
For me, it would come down to how much, when, and for how long.
In so many words, she told me it would be an easy mutual agreement contract to draft if we could nail down the specifics.
I’m halfway through the door when I hear footsteps on the path behind me.
“Hey,” a voice says, one that's becoming more and more familiar lately. "Fancy seeing you here."
I turn to see Parker walking up the path to my building, a boxed-up coffee maker in one hand and that same crooked grin on his face.
“What are you doing here? ”
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end. Suddenly, this guy is everywhere.
“I'm still moving into my new place. Looks like we are neighbors.”
“You live here?” I blink at him. “You’re the one who bought Kelly Mangini's condo?”
“Yes. That's right, Kelly. That's who I bought it from," he says, clearly amused. “I closed on it last week, and I've been in and out, hauling boxes between shifts.”
I stare, then laugh, because, of course, he's my next-door neighbor. “I see what’s happening here. The universe is trying another tactic to push us together?”
I laugh, but my stomach flips. Of all the places in this town for him to buy, of course, it's the one next to mine. And last week? How am I only now seeing him?
This keeps getting weirder by the day.
He walks to the condo beside mine, sets the box down on the porch, and shakes his head. “Maybe. I have to admit, this is starting to feel like a setup.”
“Convenient timing, for sure,” I say, giving him a look.
He chuckles. “Are we still on for dinner Friday?”
I hesitate, then glance down. “Yes, I'm looking forward to it. I did talk to my attorney this morning about, you know, the other thing. We could chat about it now if you have time. That way we can leave the business stuff out of the date.”
His brows lift, a flicker of surprise crossing his face.
My feet ache, and all I want is a glass of wine.
“Do you want to come in?” I ask. “I don’t have much to offer, but I’ve got wine.”
His mouth curves. “Wine sounds perfect.”