Chapter Six
Jamie
The bell over the door had become my favorite sound.
The girls and I pushed through at a quarter after ten on Monday with two coffees from the Copper Kettle, and Holden looked up from the workbench with that expression I'd started collecting.
Not quite a smile, but close. Softer than the face he wore for customers. The one that said he'd been waiting.
“Hey there,” he said.
“Mags wanted to tell me about her niece's engagement. In detail.” I dropped the leashes and handed him the drink carrier. “There were photos. So many photos. I now know more about floral centerpiece options than I ever thought possible, which feels ironic given where I'm standing.”
Marceline and Bubblegum padded over to Holden for their morning greeting, and once they'd received their scritches, both of them made their way to the dog beds by the window.
Bubblegum curled tight while Marceline sprawled with her belly up.
They'd stopped even pretending to explore when we arrived.
The shop was theirs now, and they knew it.
The week settled into rhythm without either of us deciding it should.
Mornings I spent at Hutchinson Florals, working with the walk-in customers, checking for online orders, and making some local deliveries in the refrigerated store van.
I'd started wearing layers I could peel off as the shop warmed up: a rust-colored sweater over a thermal, my beat-up Converse that Holden kept eyeing like he wanted to throw them in a fire and buy me real winter boots.
By Wednesday I'd stopped bothering with the sweater entirely, just working in my thermal with the sleeves pushed up, the dog-ear tattoo on my wrist visible every time I reached for ribbon or tape.
Afternoons at the coworking space, catching up on client projects while Brandy shuffled listings and pretended not to watch me over her reading glasses.
The contrast between the two spaces was stark.
The shop smelled like flowers and cold, refrigerated air.
The coworking space smelled like Brandy's lemon-scented hand lotion and stale coffee, fluorescent lights humming overhead.
I'd started noticing I was more relaxed at the shop.
Evenings blurred together. Dinner at Holden's apartment above the shop or mine across town, the dogs adapting to the migration with the easy confidence of animals who'd learned their people would figure things out.
A bag of dog food had appeared in Holden's kitchen by Tuesday. Neither of us mentioned it.
Valentine's orders kept stacking up. The whiteboard behind the counter filled with Holden's handwriting, dates and names and special requests I'd learned to decode.
When a woman came in Thursday looking for something for her mother's birthday, I handled the whole interaction while Holden finished a piece in the back.
Suggested the peach roses instead of pink.
Wrapped the bouquet without tearing the paper.
Rang it up on the ancient register that had finally stopped fighting me.
Holden nodded when I showed him the receipt. Didn't say anything, but he touched my lower back as he passed, warm through my thermal.
We moved around each other without thinking now.
He'd reach for the scissors and I'd already be sliding them across the counter.
I'd turn from the cooler and find him there with the bucket I needed.
Our shoulders brushed in the narrow space behind the register.
Small collisions that neither of us tried to avoid.
Mags at the Copper Kettle had started calling me “Holden's boy.” Mrs. Morgansen from the bakery stopped by Wednesday with leftover scones and told us we made a lovely couple. The hardware store guy, Dennis, I'd finally learned, waved through the window like we'd known each other for years.
Nobody asked if we were together. They just assumed, which meant the arrangement was working.
Thursday afternoon, I packed up early from the coworking space. The brewery had finally approved version eleven of their logo, and I'd earned a night off. Brandy was still at her desk, bright green reading glasses perched on her nose, a stack of listing folders spread around her like a nest.
“Heading out, hon?”
“Holden's closing the shop in an hour. Thought I'd walk over.”
She set down her pen. Took off her glasses. The gesture felt deliberate in a way that made me pause.
“Sit down a minute.”
I sank into my chair, something tightening in my chest.
“Brandy, if this is about the rent—”
“It's not about the rent.” She folded her hands on the desk, nails freshly done in pink.
“I've been in real estate twenty years, Jamie.
You learn to read people. When they're excited about a house, when they're just going through the motions.” She paused.
“When they're staging a showing versus when they're actually home.”
My mouth went dry.
“Last week, when you told me about Holden? Staged.” She held up a hand before I could respond. “Don't bother denying it. You were too careful, too rehearsed. Selling me something instead of just telling me.”
“I don't know what you—”
“But this week.” Her voice softened. “Yesterday you came in here humming. You're checking your phone and smiling at whatever's on it.”
Heat crept up my neck. I thought about denying it, but Brandy's eyes were kind, and I was tired of keeping track of what I was supposed to be pretending.
“Is it still fake?” she asked. “The thing with Holden?”
I opened my mouth to answer.
Nothing came out.
The question should have been simple. Yes or no, true or false, a deal or something else.
But the deal had terms: three weeks, through Valentine's Day, hand-holding and public dinners and occasional kisses for show.
We'd shaken on it at the Copper Kettle while the whole town watched through the windows.
None of that accounted for the way he'd kissed me this morning before I left, slow and thorough, no one watching, no one to perform for.
Between that first kiss in the park and today, my universe had turned on its axis, wildly spinning, and I wasn't sure what was real and what was fake anymore.
Get used to it, I'd told him. I'm not done touching you.
I'd meant it. I still meant it.
“That's what I thought.” Brandy's smile went warm. “For what it's worth, I think he's good for you. Better than that Hawkins boy ever was.”
“Landon wasn't—” I stopped. Shook my head. “Actually, you know what? You're right.”
“I usually am.” She gathered her folders, checked her phone. “I've got a showing at six. Go see your man. And Jamie?” She paused at the door, reading glasses dangling from their beaded chain. “Whatever this started as, it's not that anymore. Trust yourself enough to see it.”
She left before I could figure out how to respond.
The words landed somewhere in my chest and stayed there, settling into a hollow space I hadn't known was empty. Trust yourself enough to see it. My hands were shaking slightly when I reached for the leashes.
She wasn’t completely wrong.
What we were doing wasn’t fake, not anymore.
But that didn’t mean it was real.
The office went quiet. Just me and the dogs and the hum of the heating system. Outside, the February light was already going gray, the days still too short, winter holding on.
I thought about my apartment. The month-to-month lease I'd signed because committing felt like too much.
The flower arrangement on my counter, Holden's arrangement, the one I'd ordered for myself before any of this started.
The petals were brown now, stems going soft in the water. I should have thrown it out days ago.
You're more than enough. Remember that.
He'd written those words for a stranger. Someone who wanted to believe he deserved flowers even when no one else was buying them.
I wasn't a stranger anymore.
Marceline nudged my hand, ready to go. Bubblegum was already at the door, patient, waiting.
“Okay,” I said. “Let's go see Holden.”
I spent the walk to the shop in a sort of daze, Brandy's words echoing in my head.
Trust yourself enough to see it.
That was the crux of the problem. After being burned by Landon, I had no faith in my ability to trust my gut when it came to love.
Holden liked having sex with me, I knew that.
Our chemistry was off the chart, and he'd been alone for so long that of course he was going to want to take advantage of this fake relationship, getting his fill during our time 'together. '
But that didn't mean he wanted a relationship with me.
They say 'show, don't tell' and 'actions speak louder than words.' But that wasn't always true. Sometimes a person needed the words. All the kisses and touches and morning nuzzles didn't mean that what we had was going to last one day past February 14th.
I needed to hear the words from his mouth. This is real. This relationship is real.
The lights in Holden's apartment were on, warm yellow against the gray. His silhouette moved past the window, tall and angular, and it made me smile.
I texted him that I was almost there, and he was waiting at the backdoor of his shop. We stepped inside and I didn't wait for him to speak. Just rose up on my toes and kissed him.
He made a sound against my mouth, surprise or relief or both, and his hands found my waist, pulling me inside.
The dogs pushed past our legs, heading up the stairs, already making themselves at home.
Brandy was right. Whatever this had started as, it wasn't that anymore.
I was starting to think it never had been.
Holden
Jamie was sorting ribbon again.