Chapter 11 Jane
JANE
The bell over the door rings, and I straighten from behind the counter where I’ve been repotting my newly propagated orchids.
“Welcome to Blossoms,” I say, dusting my hands off. “Let me know if you need help finding any…” My words die on my lips, my stomach dropping as I recognize the man who steps inside the glass door of my shop.
It’s the same creepy customer who came in asking for funeral flowers a few weeks ago.
And he looks eerily delighted to be back as he stalks straight for me this time.
Swallowing the anxiety that tightens around my throat, I do my best not to fidget as his dark eyes bore into mine, his lips curling in a sinister smile.
“Oh, good. You recognize me,” he says, the hint of an accent gracing his words.
I hadn’t noticed it before. Then again, I’d been so distracted by his odd behavior, it’d been a challenge to focus on much else.
“You were looking for a large order of lilies,” I recall, leaving off the details that made that request so memorable. I don’t want to ask if the person they’re for has died. If he looks pleased to inform me they have, I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep it together.
“Indeed,” he agrees, stopping at the counter, his eyes traveling slowly down my body and back up again.
His smirk spreads into something more disturbing, and my heart skips a beat as he reaches beneath the fold of his suit jacket.
“I’m ready to place that order,” he says, pulling out a black credit card that looks uncharacteristically heavy. He holds it between his first and second finger as he passes it across the counter to me.
“Of—Of course,” I murmur, careful to avoid touching him as I take the plastic from him.
Dropping my eyes to my laptop, I stroke the mousepad to bring it to life and quickly type in the lilies we discussed. “A thousand white lilies—would you prefer Madonna, Easter lilies, Casa Blancas, Asiatic…?”
I turn my laptop, lifting it onto the upper counter so he can see the example images, but he barely gives them a glance.
“What would you recommend?”
“Um, well, I believe you mentioned they were for a funeral…?” I hedge, wetting my lips anxiously as I turn my attention to the keyboard and pull up an image.
“In which case, I would suggest the Stargazer… or the Peace lily. Stargazers represent sympathy, and Peace lilies symbolize the rebirth of the soul and transcendence.”
The man barks a laugh that makes my skin crawl.
“Dear God, no. The last thing I want to see is him rising from the dead—body or soul. Why don’t you go with the Asiatic? It’s fitting… even if it’ll likely remain something of an inside joke between us,” he suggests.
His eyes dance as he leans an elbow on the counter, and I absolutely refuse to inform him that I’m afraid this inside joke would be lost on me as well. Unless he’s pointing out the fact that he’s Asian? And we’ll likely be the only two who know what variety of lily he picked.
I honestly don’t know what to make of this man. He gives me the strangest sense of foreboding with his cryptic language and meaningful looks—as if he expects me to read between the lines when I have no clue who he is.
Clearing my throat, I pull my computer back to the lower counter, putting distance between us as I focus on placing the order.
“Not a problem. Like I said the first time we spoke, this could take up to three weeks to come in. I’ll have the flowers shipped to the store so I can guarantee their quality.
At that point, I can have them delivered to the address of your preference. ”
“Don’t bother. I would rather come to collect them,” he says, another smirk playing across his lips.
I’d really been hoping this could be the last I would see of him. But if he’s placing an order this large, I really can’t afford to say anything that might upset him. At least I’ll be able to schedule his next visit by setting a pick-up time.
“No problem. I’ll call you when they come in, and we can set up a time for you to get them at that point. I just need a name and phone number…” As I let the computer process the order, I snag a pen and notepad, holding it up to show I’m ready for him.
“The name is Tanaka,” he says before quickly spouting off a number.
“Great. Thank you, Mr. Tanaka,” I say, snatching up his credit card and sliding it back across the counter. “I’ll be in touch.”
“I’m sure you will,” he agrees, managing to make even that sound threatening.
Then he turns without another word and stalks to the door.
The bell rings cheerily—in sharp contrast with the tension humming through my body.
And only after the door swings securely closed do I release the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
Pressing my palm to my chest, I find my heart sprinting, and I lean against the counter as I rake in several gasps of air.
I don’t quite understand why adrenaline is rushing through my veins, but my gut tells me something is very off about that man.
He feels… dangerous.
Not in the overly forward, rapey-vibe kind of way.
He feels more unpredictable, perhaps even bordering on unhinged.
Like he might take pleasure in watching the life drain from someone’s eyes.
A shudder races down my spine, and I stare at the order I just placed for him, wondering if his business is truly worth the risk.
Not that I know what kind of risk I’m even looking at here.
But after today’s encounter, I’m quite certain he’s not a good man.
When the bell rings a second time, I nearly jump out of my skin.
My hand is reaching for the bat stashed at my feet before I even have time to think about what I’m doing.
But if he’s coming back for more, I’m about ready to send him running—order be damned.
Then my eyes land on a face that makes my heart stutter in a different kind of way.
“Gio, what are you doing here?” I gasp, my hands finding the wood chips for my orchids and fidgeting as I try to calm my nerves.
Gio’s smile falters, his sensual lips pressing into a line. “I thought I’d stop by for a visit,” he says, glancing around the shop.
“How do you know where I work?” The question comes out more accusatory than I meant, but I’m still a bit unnerved, and warning bells continue to ring in my ears.
“You… mentioned it at dinner last night,” he reminds me, his face looking crestfallen now.
“I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have assumed it would be okay to drop in unannounced.
But I didn’t have your number, and…” He shakes his head, his hand going to the nape of his neck as he scratches at it in discomfort.
“No, it’s fine,” I assure him quickly, my face heating as I realize just how rude I’m coming across.
Honestly, I’m flattered he would want to see my shop. “I just… I just finished with a weird customer who left me with a bad feeling,” I explain, glancing toward the door behind Gio as if Mr. Tanaka might return just from mentioning him.
Gio follows my gaze, his face darkening with concern as he scowls out at the street beyond. “Do you want me to go after him? I can warn him not to come back.”
My chest squeezes at the protectiveness of his offer, but I doubt that would improve the situation based on what I’ve observed of Mr. Tanaka’s personality. “Thank you, but I’m fine. It’s fine, really. He’s gone and won’t be back until his order’s ready.”
Gio’s light eyes meet mine, and there’s no moderate amount of worry in their hazel depths as he strides toward me. “If you’re sure, but I don’t like you being in your shop alone if someone’s giving you bad vibes.”
“Don’t worry about me,” I say, stooping to pick up my bat once more, and I hold it up for him to see. “I’ve got it covered.”
Gio’s eyebrows lift, his lips curving into that panty-dropping smile once more. “You know how to use that?” he teases.
“Test me and find out,” I warn, brandishing the tip at him with a wicked grin.
He raises his hands in surrender, making me laugh, and I drop the pretense, lowering the bat before tucking it safely behind the counter once more.
“So, what can I help you with? Or did you just come in to take a look around?” I ask, wiping my hands on the rag behind the counter before stepping out to join him.
“Actually, I came to buy some flowers,” he says, his smile turning bashful. “But I could use some help picking them out.”
“Of course,” I agree. “I’d be happy to. What are they for?”
If he weren’t already painfully gorgeous, his blush makes him adorable as well, and he scratches at the back of his neck again as he glances at me sidelong. “I was planning to ask a girl on a date,” he confesses.
If words alone could crush a person, I’d be dead on the floor.
I should have known better than to get my hopes up.
But after last night’s dinner—and that moment in the kitchen after—I thought Gio and I might be building a connection.
But it was stupid of me to read into the situation.
I learned early on that men run the other direction when they find out I’m a single mom.
So, why would Gio—who knew it from the very start—see me as anything but Jackson’s mother?
If all he wants is to be friends with my son, I should be grateful he’s shown a genuine interest in that relationship.
I shouldn’t be trying to snipe him, hoping for a romantic connection that’s clearly one-sided.
Still, barbs lance my chest as I work hard to maintain my smile, and I hope it doesn’t look too forced as I keep it plastered to my face.
“Don’t you worry. We’ll put together the most romantic bouquet this girl has ever seen,” I promise, turning quickly to focus on the flower kiosk nearest me.
Plucking flowers from their containers, I start with a base that will make the blossoms pop.
“Tell me about her—this girl you’re asking out,” I say.
“Something that will help me gauge her personality and the perfect flowers for her.”
“Oh, man, where do I start? She’s smart, beautiful, passionate,” he lists off, his voice rich with emotion. “She’s got a great sense of humor and a killer laugh.”
Each word twists like a knife inside me, and I swallow hard, trying to hold back the salty moisture that stings my eyes.
What is wrong with me?
I’ve only just met this guy, and already I’ve developed some kind of schoolyard crush that has me on the brink of crying just to find out he likes someone else.
“She sounds amazing,” I say, praying he can’t hear the tears in my voice as I avoid his gaze.
Keeping my hands busy and my eyes preoccupied, I continue my selection, going for daisies, calla lilies, chrysanthemums, and dahlias—each flower representing a bold new color of the rainbow.
He chuckles. “She is. I just hope she doesn’t turn me down flat.”
The unladylike snort that escapes me makes me want to crawl into a hole and hide.
But honestly, I can’t imagine a world in which any woman would say no to this man.
“With this bouquet, I promise, that won’t happen,” I assure him, taking the collection behind the counter and tying it together with a classy white ribbon.
Then I slip it into a clear plastic sleeve that will protect the flowers until they reach their destination.
Taking a deep breath, I steal myself and force my eyes to meet his as I pass him the bouquet. “Good luck,” I say with a grin that feels stiff and painful.
“How much do I owe you?” he asks, pulling out his wallet.
“It’s on the house,” I say.
“No, really. How much?” he presses.
More than money, I really just wish I could get him out of my shop before I completely lose it.
The last thing I want to do is embarrass myself by crying in front of my new neighbor. “Ten dollars,” I throw out there, hoping that will get rid of him.
But Gio just chuckles, shaking his head as he riffles through the bills in his leather billfold. “Keep the change,” he says, slapping a bill onto the counter. “Thanks for the help. I’ll see you later.”
“Yeah, see you,” I agree, clinging to the shreds of my dignity until the door mercifully closes behind him.
But as soon as he’s gone, my face falls, the disappointment rising up to swallow me.
Somehow, despite all the rejection and failure I’ve felt in the past, it’s so much worse actually liking a man, being attracted to him, feeling like we have a true connection—and realizing he doesn’t feel the same for me.
Is it something about me that’s so unlovable?
Swallowing down my pride, I drop my eyes to collect the payment Gio left me.
And when I see the hundred-dollar bill he massively overpaid with, I can’t hold back the floodgates any longer.
I break down and cry.