5. Chapter 5
Chapter 5
Ella
The shop smells like eucalyptus and fresh roses, the warmth of the space a welcome contrast to the chill outside. Joe Matthews stands in front of me, looking utterly lost as he holds a pair of flower shears like they might explode in his hands.
After our awkward meeting in the street a few days ago, I didn’t think I’d ever see Joe again. Then he showed up this morning, saying he wants to take a more active role in the Quarterback Cupid charity. Not only does he want to help me deliver the flowers; he wants to learn how to design floral arrangements himself.
"All right, quarterback," I tease, sliding a bucket of flowers toward him. "Let's see if your hand-to-eye coordination applies to floral arrangements."
He eyes the blooms suspiciously. "These look...fragile."
I roll my eyes. "That’s because they are. Now, start by trimming the stems at an angle. It helps them absorb water better."
Joe takes a deep breath, picks up a pink rose, and—snip—chops off nearly half the stem.
"Okay, not that much!" I exclaim, snatching the poor decapitated flower from his grasp.
He winces. "Whoops. That one’s on injured reserve."
I shake my head, biting back a laugh. "Try again. Gently. Like you're handling a football...but if the football was made of glass."
Joe tries again, his large hands surprisingly careful this time. He trims a few stems successfully before I hand him a vase. "Now, arrange them in a way that looks balanced and natural."
Joe furrows his brow, placing flowers into the vase with all the precision of someone assembling a puzzle. I step back, arms crossed, watching the great Joe Matthews tackle the daunting task of floral design.
After a few minutes, he gestures to his creation. "Well?"
I stare at the lopsided arrangement—flowers leaning at odd angles, colors clashing in ways that defy logic—and burst out laughing.
"This might be the worst bouquet I’ve ever seen."
Joe grins. "So, you're saying I shouldn’t quit football for floristry?"
"Not if you want to keep your dignity."
He chuckles, and for a moment, I forget that he's the town's golden boy. Right now, he’s just Joe . The guy making me laugh in the middle of my flower shop. A feat I’d have thought impossible this close to Valentine’s Day.
“Last I heard, you were moving to the big city to pursue a career in art. How’d you end up here?”
“This is art!” I protest, slamming my hands to my hips.
He throws up his hands protectively. “Of course, it is. I never said otherwise. I just remember you moving away for art school.”
“Oh,” I say, embarrassed by my outburst. My shoulders hunch. “It’s just that a lot of my art school classmates look down on floristry.”
“What?” he asks incredulously. “But everyone likes flowers!”
“Sure, but not everyone considers it art. Anyway, the story isn’t that interesting.” I twirl a daisy between my fingers distractedly. “My mom got sick. I left art school to take care of her. I needed a job and saw a ‘Help Wanted’ sign in the window of the floral shop. I got the job and never left.”
“There’s more to it than that,” he insists. “You own the shop now.”
I nod slowly. “My mom passed away. She didn’t have much, but I inherited enough money to buy the shop. By then, Mrs. Greenlee was ready to retire, and I’d found my calling. It doesn’t hurt that my best friend owns the shop across the street.”
His beautiful blue eyes gaze into mine. “I’m sorry to hear about your mom.”
“Thanks.”
He blinks. “Wait… Gigi Hart owns the bakery?”
My face stretches into a grin. “The one and only.”
“But she wasn’t allowed to eat sweets!”
“I know, right? Her parents still say this is just a rebellious phase.”
Joe whistles. “Dr. Hart is hardcore. We do his workouts in training camp every summer.”
I chuckle. “He’s a big teddy bear. And even though he and Mrs. Hart are still one hundred percent anti-sugar, they’re proud of Gigi for running a successful business.”
Joe laughs. “I bet holidays are awkward at the Hart household.”
“Indeed,” I say, returning his laughter. “But anyway, Gigi’s like a sister to me. So, when Mrs. Greenlee offered to sell me the shop at well below market value, I knew it was meant to be.”
Joe nods as if he understands, and my heart does a somersault as he looks down at me. I’m consumed with an overwhelming desire to stand on my tiptoes and press my lips to his.
But that would be stupid. He’s a celebrity. And he’s only in town temporarily.
I don’t have time for a crush.
And I don’t believe in love.
I glance out the window at the Cupid across the street. You hear me, Cupid? So, stop pushing.