Chapter 14 #2
“Are you getting me drugs?” I shout back at him, before realizing…yeah, I probably shouldn’t have shouted that.
He doesn’t turn around, but I can see his shoulders shaking with laughter just before he slips out of sight into the garden. When he comes back, he’s holding a bunch of flowers.
He shrugs, his expression self-conscious as he hands them to me. “For my secret fake girlfriend. I found some pretty weeds while we were working.”
“Thank you.” I clear my suddenly thick throat, then crack a joke. “Are any of them going to get me high?”
His mouth inches up on one side, and I notice his glasses have slid slightly down his nose. I reach up to fix them, and he leans in a little closer, making my breath hitch.
“I wouldn’t try smoking unidentified plants, as a rule,” he says.
I grin. “So noted. I’ll put them in some water. Seriously…thank you.”
I don’t want to say so, but no one’s ever given me flowers before. Even the shitty grocery store kind.
“It’s nothing. They’re weeds, technically, but I like them better than cultivated flowers. They’re tougher. They remind me of you, actually.”
My breath catches.
No one’s ever said anything like that to me before.
And he’s looking at me with such intensity.
I feel like I’m in the woods again, lost and in danger, with only Cormac to anchor me.
I inhale deeply, trying to push the feeling away. “I can drive us. On Thursday, I mean. It’s the least I can do for forcing you into this.”
“You did force me.” He smiles. “I’m not going to pretend otherwise, but I’d prefer to drive, if that’s okay.”
I push his chest slightly, but before I can pull away, he layers his hand over mine.
“You don't—” I swallow hard. Curl my fingers into his chest. “You don’t trust me to drive?”
“I’ve seen you whizzing around town in that little green Fiat, Nora. You drive like a bat out of hell.”
Surprised laughter trips out of me. “And I’ll bet you drive like an arthritic old man.”
“I thought we weren’t allowed to call people little or old.”
I shake my head, still smiling at him, and lower my hand. “All right. I’ll let you drive, but I reserve the right to sigh frequently and comment on your lack of speed.”
“I accept. We’ve reached an accord.” He holds his hand out, and I slide mine into it, trying to ignore the intense awareness that webs across my nerve endings.
“Why am I not surprised you have a powerful handshake?”
“So do you,” I say. “But maybe I am surprised.”
His lips hitch up. “Because I’m an arthritic old man?”
“Don’t talk about my secret fake boyfriend that way.”
It’s time to leave, but something holds me back.
Those butterflies from earlier maybe. If I’m completely honest, they’re still there.
He has a slight tan from being outside all day, and the hair on his forearms is golden against it.
His hair is an unruly mess that I’d like to run my fingers through.
I clear my throat. “So will we be using the VW van? I think that would impress Pansy.”
He swallows a laugh and shakes his head. “No, I had to give that back. My trial for grand theft auto is next month, by the way. In case you’d like to attend.”
“Oh, I know all about it. I’m a star witness for the prosecution.”
“Goodbye, Nora.”
I’m smiling as I walk toward the car with my wildflowers.
Text conversation with Pansy
That’s an interesting picture.
Cormac’s an interesting guy.
Cormac may have given me weeds, technically speaking, but when I get home, I stick them in a mason jar with some water.
Given my checkered history with plants, they probably won’t last more than a day or two, but…
I want them to last for as long as they can.
I feel a little effervescent whenever I look at them.
And, to my shock and concern, I research how to press flowers so I can keep them even after they begin to wilt.
That effervescent feeling is still with me when I go to bed that night—and at midnight when I wake up all fired up. For the first time in a long while, I feel inspired to make a new ginger beer.
Pear, infused with wildflowers.
The next day at the brewery, I drag José into my office to share my plan. He seems distracted, but he nods along.
“Whatever you think, Nora. You’re the creative one. You make it, and we’ll figure out how to sell it.”
I nod, because I have a feeling about this one—
The flavor’s going to dance. People will fall in love with it. They’ll line up at our doors just to get a taste of it.
I tell him so, and he snorts. “You really are in love.”
“No, I’m not,” I gasp, swatting his hand.
He gives me a WTF look, and I feel like an idiot. Maybe I’m not such a good liar after all. I’m supposed to be in love.
“I mean…yeah…I guess. But it’s new. I don’t want to put labels on it yet.”
“Uh-huh.” Suspicion has slid into his gaze. I can tell he wants to throw around words like fake and pretend, but blessedly he doesn’t. Instead, he says, “Pansy can’t do her presentation for P—she can’t be here on Wednesday.”
“You can’t bring yourself to say Pads by Pansy, can you?”
He fights a smile, then lifts his palms. “Look…she didn’t consult me on the name, all right? I’ve tried to float other options, but she’s set on it.”
I have at least thirty jokes I’d like to make about the name of her business. He’s clearly expecting me to do that, though, so I choose the road less traveled.
“So,” I say, hoping I sound sympathetic. “Is Pansy sick or something? Is that why she’s not coming?”
I obviously don’t want to listen to her presentation, and I strongly suspect José doesn’t want to either.
In fact, I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if he were behind this change in plans.
That being said, I need to put some steam into Project Pansy.
The last thing José needs is to plan a whole wedding to this woman, only for her to run off into the sunset—the same way she’s apparently done twice before.
“Just a little under the weather. We’re still up for going out on Thursday night. We’re looking forward to it.”
“Yeah,” I say sweetly. “So are we.”
“What are you going to call this ginger beer, anyway?”
I tap the surface of the desk with my fingertips. “I don’t know, but I’m sure it’ll come to me.”