Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Asher
Agreement made. Terms clear. Juliet Mark didn’t strike me as the kind of woman who liked people circling her decisions, or poking to see if she’d bend. I respected that. I’d walked away clean when she’d asked for space, and when she’d called, I’d given her exactly what she asked for.
That was the deal.
It still didn’t stop my chest from tightening when I pushed the door open and saw her bent over the prep table, sleeves rolled up, hair pulled back, and completely locked into her work.
She didn’t notice me at first.
The bell chimed, soft but sharp in the quiet shop, and she startled just enough to tell me she’d been deep in concentration. She straightened slowly, turning toward me with a look that was cautious but not closed.
“You’re early,” she said. “Jackie and Jenna won’t be here for another two hours, so I’ll have to cover the walk-ins until then, but I’ve been working on the flowers for the ride.”
“No problem from me, doll,” I replied.
She nodded once and went back to what she was doing without another word. No awkwardness. No games.
Good.
Buckets lined the table, each labeled in her neat handwriting. Red roses. White ranunculus. Greenery, I didn’t know the names of, but recognized for how well it was green. There were small leather ties laid out next to zip ties and strips of rubber padding.
She’d thought about this.
I stood off to the side, hands in my pockets, and watched.
She moved with purpose. Every motion efficient. No wasted steps. She tested stem lengths, adjusted balance, wrapped bindings with care that told me she wasn’t just making something pretty, she was making something that would hold.
“That one won’t work,” she said without looking up.
I lifted a brow. “Why’s that?”
“Too top-heavy,” she replied, finally glancing at me. “It will bounce loose not even a block into your ride.”
I nodded. “Good catch.”
She snorted quietly, like she hadn’t expected agreement. “I’m not guessing. I mocked it up earlier.” She reached under the table and pulled out a handlebar mounted to a weighted base. The kind you’d see in a showroom or repair shop.
Clever.
She pushed her hair out of her face and smiled. “I made a pitstop on the way to work. I like to be thorough.”
“Mind if I see?” I asked.
She gestured for me to come closer.
I stepped in beside her, close enough to see the fine lines of concentration at the corner of her eyes. Close enough to catch the faint scent of greenery and soap on her skin. She didn’t move away. Didn’t lean in either.
She lifted one of the sample arrangements and fitted it against the handlebars, adjusting the angle. “You’d want it slightly forward,” she said. “That way it’s visible but not obstructive.”
I watched her hands more than the flowers.
“What about wind?” I asked.
She glanced at me again, this time with a hint of challenge. “I accounted for that.” She tapped the rubber padding. “Grip without damage. And I’m anchoring in two places, not one.”
Smart.
I nodded. “You’re thorough.”
She shrugged, but I saw the pride flicker in her eyes. “I don’t like things failing in public.”
Neither did I.
She stepped back, assessing the setup, then turned to me. “You want to test it?”
I didn’t miss the way her voice dipped slightly. Not nervous. Just aware.
I took the arrangement from her carefully, our fingers brushing for the briefest second.
Electric.
I secured it the way she’d shown me, tightening the bindings, giving it a firm shake once it was set.
Solid.
“It’ll hold,” I said.
“I know.”
I looked at her then. Really looked.
She wasn’t smiling. She wasn’t guarded either. Just present. Waiting for my assessment like this mattered to her beyond the paycheck.
That was when the words slipped out.
“I don’t overpay unless it matters. You’re worth every penny.”
She stilled just for a second.
Then she met my gaze head-on. “This matters?”
“Yes.”
She searched my face like she was trying to decide if I meant the work or something else entirely.
Truth was, it was both.
But I didn’t say that.
We stood there in the quiet shop, the air thick with something that wasn’t business anymore, no matter how much we pretended otherwise.
“I’ll have everything ready by Friday,” she said, breaking the moment. “I’ll need access to the bikes the night before.”
“You’ll have it.”
“No crowds,” she added. “I work better without an audience.”
“Done.”
She nodded again, satisfied, and turned back to the table to make notes. I should have left then.
Deal sealed. Lines intact.
Instead, I stayed.
Watched her work some more.
Watched the way she bit her lip when she concentrated. The way she leaned back occasionally, assessing her progress with a critical eye. The way she didn’t rush, even knowing how slammed she was.
“You always this intense?” I asked.
She glanced at me over her shoulder. “Only when I care.”
I shifted my weight, suddenly too aware of the small space, the quiet, and the fact that we were alone in a room filled with soft things that didn’t belong in my world.
“I should go,” I said, knowing it was the right call.
She nodded, but didn’t look relieved.
I stepped toward the door, then turned back to her. “Juliet.”
She turned. “Um, yes?”
I moved and stood close enough that the air between us hummed. I lifted a hand, stopping just short of her face to give her every chance to pull back.
She didn’t.
“I don’t know how to explain it, Juliet, but all I want to do right now is kiss you,” I confessed. There was no sense in being anything but straight to the point.
Her eyes searched my face. “Okay,” she breathed out.
That was all the permission I needed.
My mouth brushed hers once, twice. Testing, not taking. A soft question, barely there, like I was asking if she was still sure. Her breath hitched, warm against my lips, and her fingers curled into the front of my vest as if she’d decided for both of us.
The third time, I lingered.
Her lips were warm, softer than I expected, and when she tilted her head, just a fraction, something inside my chest gave way. I kissed her then, slow, unhurried, letting it deepen naturally instead of rushing it. She made a quiet sound, more felt than heard, and it sent a jolt straight through me.
I drew back just enough to rest my forehead against hers, our noses brushed. We were breathing the same air now, the space between us charged and fragile. Her eyes fluttered shut, and when she opened them again, they were darker, steadier.
So I kissed her again.
This time she met me fully, lips parting, trust written into every movement. My hand came up to her jaw, thumb brushing along her cheek. The kiss grew surer, warmer, less careful, but still slow, like neither of us wanted to be the first to break it.
When we finally pulled apart, it was only by inches. Her lips were pink, slightly swollen, and she was smiling as she felt it too.
Yeah, she definitely felt it too.
“I’ll see you later?” I asked.
She nodded and stepped back. “Um, yeah. I’ll be there. Here,” she stammered. “I will be here with the flowers. Later. Here.” Her cheeks flushed red, and I didn’t think it was possible, but she looked even more beautiful.
I left the shop with the scent of flowers clinging to my jacket and the certainty settling deep in my bones.
This was going to matter.
And I didn’t walk away from things that did.