Chapter 26
James
Iheld a flower in each hand and tried to eyeball how much would need to be trimmed in order to fit them in the vase.
To my right, Marc was breezing through his third arrangement and periodically glancing at me out of the corner of his eye.
I dropped them into the clear hourglass-like vase to try judging them that way again.
Nope. Not any better a second time. The playful daisies—also not Marc’s flower name—towered above the rim, but I’d already cut several flowers too short, and I’d be damned if I was going to do it again.
“You’re overthinking it.” Marc finished his vase with a crisp bow and walked it over to the flower fridge to join the others we’d made so far.
Mine were easy to pick out, not just for their simplicity—Marc could only salvage so much—but my bows were perhaps a little more over the top than their corresponding arrangements.
“Easy for you to say,” I grumbled, returning my attention to the daisies, which I was positive would laugh at me if they could. “Flowers actually like you.”
He laughed, his gaze sliding from me back to the fridge as he wiped his hands down his apron. Of course, pure saint that I was, I pictured him doing exactly that with only the apron. “The flowers like you just fine,” he replied, dragging my mind out of the gutter.
Not that it ever got all that far from the gutter where Marc was concerned.
Jesus, when he put his mouth on me yesterday…
It was a wonder I didn’t blow right then.
And I swore to God, if that miracle ever happened again, I didn’t give a single fuck about being polite or whatever bullshit was going through my head; I wasn’t missing a second.
Margaret May could find some other handsome florist to chase. Dibs.
I froze in the process of adding some greenery for height comparison.
Except I didn’t really have dibs, not only because that shouldn’t actually be a thing—I wasn’t five—but because it implied that I was anything more than an experiment, a secret.
If I hadn’t been entirely sure where we stood before, how fast Marc dove under the counter pretty much sealed it.
“Hey, I didn’t mean it as a criticism,” Marc said, concern braided into his voice as he ran his hand along my arm.
I took the ugly reality of our situation and stomped it into a box.
My heart was already collateral. There was no sense in not enjoying the time we still had, even if it was only pretend.
“It’s okay. I didn’t expect to be a savant or anything.
Though I expected my measuring skills to be a little more on point.
” I held the vase up to view the daisies and added greenery.
It wasn’t bad. Okay, it was bad. “I don’t get it. How are they still too short?”
He chuckled and nudged me aside. “I’ll give you a hint. Some of them aren’t.”
I crossed my arms. “Is this like your hint about your flower name? Because also not helpful.”
“It was totally helpful. And yes. See,” he pulled the flowers free of the vase and held them so we could see the blooms and the stems, “the ones on the outside ring are perfect. But as you go further in, you have to account for the inevitable squish and cut them longer so they stand above the others.”
“Inevitable squish. Is that a technical term?” I teased.
“Absolutely, and it will be on the final,” he deadpanned. I laughed, and his smile poked through before he returned to the hopeless task of rescuing my disaster of an arrangement.
I cozied up behind him, nuzzling into the side of his neck, before propping my chin on his shoulder with a miserable sigh. “I’m sorry I’m so bad at this. I really wanted to help.”
“You’re not bad at this, Hone—JD. I just have a lot more practice, that’s all.
” He finished fixing the flowers as much as they were ever going to be fixed, which involved using a significantly shorter vase, and stepped back from the counter, forcing me to let him go.
“If, uh, if anything, I should be apologizing to you. This isn’t exactly what you signed up for.
” He gestured broadly, encompassing the general chaos of cut stems, ribbon trimmings, and fallen petals.
I’d have searched his face for a clue about where his head was at, but he was too busy looking away from me.
Did it have to do with the Southern endearment that had almost slipped?
I might not have noticed his twitch before he caught himself if I hadn’t been holding him.
Even though it was a common enough thing to say here, he probably didn’t want me to get the wrong idea. Still, I wished he’d look at me.
“It’s, um, okay if you don’t want to do any more of these.
I don’t mind, really.” He wrapped an arm around his middle and brushed the hair out of his eyes with his free hand.
“Like I said, you signed up for manual labor, not, you know, playing with flowers.” Even though I couldn’t see his face, his ears were pink enough to betray the blush likely darkening his cheeks.
Oh, baby boy. I’d play with flowers all day long if it meant I got to be near you.
I stepped into his bubble and placed a knuckle under his chin, gently encouraging his head upward until he met my gaze with those stunning eyes of his, though I could have done without the self-doubt making them murky. “I like the flowers.”
An emotion I didn’t dare presume to name shimmered in his eyes. “The flowers like you, too.” His words were simple, but there was something raw about them, something that called to my innate need to protect this man at all costs.
I rubbed my thumb under his lower lip, and when his lips parted, it was all the invitation I needed to close the distance.
One of these days, I’d figure out why even predominantly chaste kisses with Marc seemed to rob me of my senses, not to mention my situational awareness.
Because yet again we were kissing in the shop front with all its glass windows, and neither of us clocked someone about to walk in.
No sooner had the bell chimed above the door than a voice announced, “The cavalry has arrived! You may now cheer.”
Marc broke the kiss to beam at his great aunt, but he didn’t lurch away or scramble to explain or dismiss what she definitely saw.
Instead, he turned that radiant grin on me, gave me a wink, then stepped away to go hug his aunt, leaving me feeling like I was doing reconnaissance with a concussion and half a map in the middle of a sandstorm.
What the hell? It couldn’t be because he knew it was his Aunt Petunia, because neither of us had seen her.
Though I suppose he could have been expecting her.
But that didn’t guarantee it would have been her.
So what made today’s reaction so different from yesterday’s?
“Who did these, dear?” Aunt Petunia asked, as if she didn’t already know.
Marc flashed me an appraising smile. “JD’s been trying his hand at arrangements.”
“No need to sugarcoat it.” I let out a self-deprecating laugh as I walked around the counter to join them. “Your great-nephew played a big role in making them presentable.” Marc elbowed me in the side and shot me a frown.
“Oh no, I wasn’t referring to the flowers. I’d recognize Marc’s handiwork anywhere. And those marvellous bows are not his handiwork.”
“Aunt Petunia!” Marc spluttered, clearly offended. “What’s wrong with my bows?”
“Nothing, dear.” She patted him on the cheek with her wrinkled hand and gave him a placating smile.
“They’re passable.” Marc’s jaw dropped, and I must be getting pretty damn good at identifying Southern slights, because while she might not have said it out loud, there was a definite undercurrent of “Bless your heart.”
I tried to stifle a snicker, but it didn’t stop Marc from turning a glare on me. “Don’t you dare take her side.”
“Take whose side? I’m not on anyone’s side,” I argued, still unsuccessfully keeping my humor at bay. I even held up my hands in surrender, not that it did me any good.
Aunt Petunia looked between us and rubbed her hands together with what I can only describe as malicious glee. “Ooh I knew coming here today was a good idea. Absolutely worth owing Martha a favor.”
Marc broke his glare to look at his aunt in befuddlement. “Why would you owe Martha a favor?”
“Who the devil do you think I got to bring me here on such short notice? You know how I feel about driving, Marc.” She rolled her eyes and pushed her sleeves up, which was when I finally realized she, too, was wearing an apron.
Where mine and Marc’s were relatively plain, hers was elaborately embroidered with her namesake and the former name of the shop.
“Now that we’ve got that sorted, here’s what we’re going to do.
Marc and I will build the arrangements, and you, JD, will put the final touches on with your immaculate bows. ”
“There’s nothing wrong with my bows,” Marc grumbled under his breath.
“Of course not, dear,” Aunt Petunia said, patting him on the arm without looking at him.
I nearly choked in my effort to keep another bout of laughter to myself, and Marc’s withering look daring me to laugh again was not helping.
She got us set up in stations, and despite Marc’s slightly wounded pride, it was easy to see how much he appreciated getting to work beside his aunt again.
We’d barely begun our fun assembly line when she gasped, startling Marc and me.
“What’s wrong?” Marc and I asked together.
“I nearly forgot. I thought this could be a nice addition to the bows.” She reached into her apron and pulled out a spool of ribbon with the unmistakable Army camouflage pattern.
It was such a simple thing. Nothing really.
Yet I suddenly found myself a little choked up.
She could have gotten it to honor Marc’s service or literally anyone’s, but the soft, knowing smile she gave me while I pretended not to be affected by the gesture told me she’d done it for me.
I cleared my throat once I was mostly sure I wouldn’t do something as dramatic as break down over ribbon.
“Thanks, Aunt Petunia.” Marc leaned back to smile at me behind her, and it was obvious I was doing a terrible job of keeping my feels to myself.
It was ribbon for fuck’s sake. “So, uh, what sort of flowers would you pair with this?” I asked.
“Hmm,” she mused aloud, looking thoughtful.
“There’s the usual marigold, chrysanthemum, cypress, and mint, which you can supplement with lily of the valley or weeping willow as you see fit.
Outside of a traditional bouquet, you can look at including statice, poppy, sad geranium, camellia japonica, and of course rosemary for remembrance.
” She did a double-take at the look Marc was giving her. “What?” she asked.
“You could have been a lot less dire about it,” he huffed, angrily stuffing freshly cut stems into his current vase hard enough that some of them bent.
She raised an eyebrow at him, but I doubted he clocked the mischievous smirk curling her lips. “Oh? And how would you have answered?”
“With hope,” he muttered, before adding louder, “Yellow-and-purple mixed pansies, almond blossom, spruce, blue violets, lemon blossoms, red and white roses, I’d keep the lily of the valley, but maybe consider adding some dog rose.”
“Interesting,” she commented in the same thoughtful tone, not that anyone had bothered to clue me into whatever secret conversation they were clearly having.
Marc frowned at his great aunt, having finally clocked her sly grin.
“Don’t give me that look. You know I’ve never been one for conventional arrangements.
” He rolled his shoulders, betraying his increasing discomfort, and if his great aunt hadn’t been standing between us, I’d have gladly massaged that spot on his neck that seemed to hold all of his tension.
“It’s not that. I’m just surprised you didn’t include buttercups, is all.” She said it innocently, not at all like she hadn’t just dropped a live grenade and was waiting to see who would jump on it first.
Marc gave a derisive snort that felt like a punch to the chest. “I’d sooner include honeysuckle.” The moment the words left his mouth, he froze. He continued to stare at the arrangement he’d been building, which seemed to consist primarily of tulips and the aforementioned buttercups.
“I thought as much,” Aunt Petunia said rather primly.
I glanced between them, desperate for a clue as to what had just happened.
First, Marc callously dismissed the use of buttercups in a military arrangement, which hurt more than I wanted to admit, since I’d kind of hoped it was my flower name.
But then he’d created this masterpiece of pinks and yellows that was bursting with them.
I really needed to invest in one of those “language of flowers” books.
These coded convos were doing my head in.