Chapter 24
Elsie
Fridays always seem to be our busiest day of the week. The upcoming weekend gets people feeling happy and hopeful, the kind of mood that lends itself to surprise bouquets and just because arrangements.
I can’t help wondering how many people in town have recently received flowers for the first time in a long time, with our help.
I know not everyone thinks so, but I believe a flower shop is a precious commodity in a smaller community like ours, making it easier for people to express their affection and let their loved ones know they’re appreciated.
I’m honored to be the one providing that much-needed service to my community, even on long days like today.
“What about zinnias?” Mable Tompkins, who owns The Lakehouse, one of several bed and breakfasts in Port Myles, suggests.
“That could work,” I agree. “Or maybe marigold. Those would look nice with some daisies and baby’s breath.”
With the lunch rush over with, Mable is our only customer at the moment.
She stopped by to talk about floral arrangements for The Lakehouse during Olivia’s wedding weekend.
Olivia booked a handful of rooms there for extended family and friends who will be coming into town, since the inn where the wedding is being held doesn’t have enough rooms to accommodate everyone.
Mable thought it would be fun to coordinate the floral arrangements in the guest rooms and dining room with the wedding colors.
“Oh, I love that idea,” she says, clapping her hands. “That sounds…”
Her voice trails off and I notice she’s distracted by something behind me.
Mable leans in closer and lowers her voice. “There’s a tall, dark and handsome man over there who I think is waiting for your attention.”
I turn to look and my stomach plummets toward the tiled floors when I see Declan in the doorway between our shops.
He’s leaning casually against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his broad chest. His faded green Red Sox T-shirt is pulled taut against his muscled torso, and my hungry eyes rake over him. I can’t help it – he’s beautiful.
“Hi,” I say, waving. He doesn’t smile, but his eyes crinkle just slightly, like he really wants to.
“Hey,” he says back, tipping his chin down in a nod.
“I’ll let you go,” Mable says, patting my arm. “I’ll drop in on Monday so we can talk a bit more about the big weekend.”
Before she’s even left the shop, another customer comes in, the bell over the door announcing their arrival.
“I’ve got this,” Noah says, swooping in with a smile on his face and his hand already outstretched to greet our latest arrival.
Declan pushes off from his perch in the doorway and strides over to me.
Without a word, he reaches down and grabs my hand, linking his fingers with mine.
He does it so casually, like it’s something we’ve done a hundred times before.
I have no choice but to follow as he heads toward the back of the shop.
With Declan’s hand engulfing mine, I can’t help the part of me that worries about our small, yet public display of affection.
Port Myles is a small town full of people who love to discuss everyone else’s business, whether they mean well or just like to gossip.
Between Mable, the customer who just arrived and the people walking by outside the shop, someone is bound to have noticed our linked hands.
The news will be all over town by dinnertime.
Ignoring my rising panic for now, I let Declan lead me out to the backyard and I try to ignore the riot of butterflies taking flight every time he strokes his thumb across the back of my hand.
I half expect him to pull me into the greenhouse for a repeat of yesterday’s performance, but he surprises me by leading me over to the bench along the back wall of the building instead.
He plops down onto it and pats the open seat beside him.
“Sit,” he tells me. Then, as though an afterthought, “Please.”
I perch on the opposite edge of the bench, leaving space between us. Declan just chuckles and slides an arm around me, tugging me close so our hips and legs are flush against each other.
“I don’t bite,” he says. “Not unless you ask me to.”
I’m a bit ashamed of the way that makes my pulse race. I’ve certainly never wanted anyone to bite me before, but something about the way Declan says it makes it sound equal parts dirty and delicious.
His arm is still draped across my shoulders, and I’m surprised to find that I like the weight of it there. I left my hair down in loose waves today, and I watch over my shoulder as Declan idly twirls a strand around his inked fingers.
“So,” he says. “You’re not hiding from me anymore.”
I turn to look at him, forgetting how close we are in this position.
If I lean in just slightly, I could plant a kiss on the underside of his jaw.
Instead, I examine the slope of his jawline, the high cheekbones where a hint of black stubble is beginning to show.
His dark lashes, which are even longer than I thought, now that I can get a good look at them up close.
The tiniest hint of freckles under his eyes.
And there’s a scar on his nose, a faint, white line I’ve never noticed before, stretching diagonally across the bridge.
“Elsie?”
I jerk back, but Declan’s arm around my shoulder tightens, keeping me in place against his side. “Sorry,” I mutter. I tug on a loose thread on my dress, avoiding Declan’s eye.
Apparently, he doesn’t like that. He slides his free hand along my cheek and into my hair, turning my face so I’m forced to look at him. “Why are you apologizing?”
“I was staring,” I admit, embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Sweetheart, you can stare at me all you want. In case you haven’t noticed, I can’t keep my eyes or my hands off you.” To emphasize his point, he tugs lightly on my hair and I swear to god, I nearly moan. Something on my face must give it away, because Declan’s eyes darken slightly.
“That’s not why I brought you out here,” he chuckles. “I just wanted to check in. Make sure we’re good.”
“We’re good,” I confirm.
I don’t know if good is the word I’d use. More like confused. Aroused. Exhilarated. Nervous. Horny.
All of the above.
“Good,” Declan says, untangling his hand from my hair and placing it back on his thigh. I think he’s going to leave it at that, which is why I’m surprised when he asks, “Will you have dinner with me?”
My pulse immediately kicks into a sprint. I try to get a read on his face, but I can’t tell if he actually wants to go out with me, or if he just feels guilty after our hookup.
“You don’t have to –” I start to protest, but he cuts me off.
“I want to.”
I snap my mouth shut. “Oh.”
“Oh?” That amused, infuriating smirk tugs one side of his mouth up, and I find myself wanting to lean in and kiss it right off of him. To give his mouth something better to do.
I think I surprise both of us when I do just that. I lay a hand on his stubbled cheek and I lean in, kissing him before I can talk myself out of it. His lips meet mine hungrily, and I can almost taste his surprise.
It’s not lost on me that every time we’ve kissed so far (three times, but who’s counting?), I’ve been the one to initiate it.
It’s unlike me. I’ve never been the one to make the first move.
For some reason, I can’t help myself when it comes to Declan.
I’m drawn to him in a way I don’t understand, and maybe I don’t really want to.
I nip at his bottom lip, the way I wanted to months ago when we barely knew each other and this same smirk would get me all riled up. I think Grace and Olivia were right when they said it was all the pent-up sexual tension between us.
When Declan groans and pulls me closer, all thoughts of my friends – all thoughts in general – flee my brain.
Our tongues meet at the same moment he grabs my waist, lifting me and settling me over his hips so that I’m straddling him.
When I sink lower and feel his hard length against me, I gasp into the kiss.
“Fuck,” Declan groans against my lips. He pulls back slightly. “I swear this isn’t why I brought you out here. I was trying to be a gentleman and ask you out on a date.”
A date. The words flash around my brain in neon letters, an alert that changes everything I thought I knew.
I kiss him again to hide my smile, but of course, he notices. He pulls back and his eyes zero in on my mouth, cataloging my grin like a keepsake he wants to save and pull out at a later time. “I want more of these,” he murmurs, reaching up to trace a finger across my lips.
“More of what?” The thoughts in my head are scattered, little bits and fragments that don’t quite fit together the way they should. I can’t think of things like words and complete sentences while I’m sitting in Declan’s lap.
Instead of answering, he leans in to plant a soft kiss along my jaw.
He lingers for a moment, just breathing me in, and I relish in his nearness.
He smells like cedar and something a bit medicinal, like maybe the soap they use in the shop, or a disinfectant.
When he pulls back, the soft smile on his face nearly breaks my heart.
It’s such a contrast from the mask he’s usually wearing, the face he shows the rest of the world.
In the months since we met, I’ve only seen this look on his face once before.
Yesterday, inside the greenhouse, when he looked at me like he was maybe a little bit in awe.
Declan is not, by default, a gentle man. He’s harsh lines and edges, sarcastic words and cocky smirks. A bit grumpy, at least to other people. It’s a heady thing, knowing I bring out a side of him that no one else gets to see.
“You never answered my question,” he points out. His hands flex on my hips and I lock my legs in place. It would be too easy to slide forward and create some friction between us. With my thin dress and panties, I don’t think it would take long to chase an orgasm like this.
“What question?” I ask, though I know exactly what he’s talking about. The word date is still ping-ponging around my head, unable to be ignored.
Looking into my eyes like he’s hoping to find the answer there, he asks, “Will you go out with me?”
His simple, earnest question breaks my heart just a little bit further. He looks nervous, like he’s expecting a resounding no.
But there’s nothing to stop and consider. No other answer that would suffice. When I tell him, “Yes, of course,” his shoulders sag in relief.
He plants a soft kiss on my mouth, just a brief touch of his lips against mine. “How about tonight?”
God, this sweet, eager man. I want to protect this side of Declan at all costs. I like the cocky, button-pushing, sarcastic Declan, though I tried my hardest not to. But this one, with the sweet kisses and gentle smiles? This Declan feels like he’s all mine.
Which is why I hate that I have to tell him, “Olivia and Grace are coming over for dinner tonight.” Disappointment flashes across his face for the briefest of seconds before he settles into an easy smile.
“No worries,” he says. “Sean and I have plans after work tomorrow. How about Sunday?”
“My family might kill me if I miss Sunday dinner,” I admit ruefully. “We could do lunch, though?”
“Lunch it is,” he agrees. “Text me your address and I’ll pick you up at noon.”
I so badly want to stay out here on this bench with Declan and forget the rest of my responsibilities, but I’ve left Noah on his own for too long already. Not that he’s not perfectly capable of handling things without me, but he shouldn’t have to.
I climb off Declan as gracefully as I can, which is to say, not gracefully at all.
It’s awkward in my dress and strappy sandals, which are admittedly not the best footwear for a day spent on my feet, but I manage.
I’m finger-combing my hair when Declan stands and settles a hand on my hip to tug me closer.
“Have a good rest of your day,” he says, dipping to plant a kiss on my forehead. I wonder if this is his thing, forehead kisses with his goodbyes. A girl could get used to a thing like that.
“You too,” I say, rising on my tiptoes to kiss his stubbled cheek. I hear his sharp intake of breath and wonder if anyone’s ever kissed his cheek before.
“Bye, Declan.” I give him a small wave before I turn and head back inside, where I find Noah waiting eagerly by the register at the back of the shop.
“So,” he says, leaning against the counter behind the register and crossing his arms. “Have a nice chat?”
“Sure,” I say noncommittally. I throw in a shrug for good measure. “Everything okay in here?”
“Yep,” Noah says, nodding.
“Great.”
“Sure.”
I busy myself straightening the small rack of business cards that don’t need straightening, trying to ignore Noah’s eyes boring into the side of my head.
“So,” he says again. “Should I knock before going out to the backyard from now on? Make sure you two are decent?” he jokes.
My jaw drops. “We were talking!”
“You liar!” Noah yells, laughing. “Your cheek is all red from his facial hair.”
I reach up to touch the spot on my jaw that Declan kissed, hoping my cheeks aren’t as flushed as they feel.
“Get back to work,” I grumble, ignoring the way Noah laughs when I don’t deny his accusation.
The rest of the day is a blur of finishing arrangements for weekend events and another rush of customers in the late afternoon, just before closing.
Even through the chaos, I find my eyes drawn to the shop next door, where Declan’s been hard at work all afternoon, bent over various customers’ body parts as he inks works of art into their skin.
Even so, he almost always looks up and meets my eyes, as if he can feel the weight of my gaze on him.
None of this is lost on Noah, of course. The third time he catches me smiling through the window, he starts singing the chorus of Jessica Simpson’s “I Think I’m in Love with You.” Too loud and horribly off-key, might I add.
I roll my eyes and ignore him, though there’s a tiny part of me that wonders if that’s even a possibility with Declan and I. I have no idea what he’s looking for. Is he looking for something casual? Something tells me he’s not a relationship kind of guy.
I’m getting ahead of myself, though. We haven’t even gone on one date yet, let alone enough to be worrying about the long-term.
God, it’s been so long since I’ve really dated anyone. Since the last one crashed and burned in a blaze of glory that had the whole town talking for months.
I definitely didn’t expect Declan to be the one who finally changes that.
Whatever glitch in the matrix led us to this point, I know one thing is true – I’ll be counting the minutes until our date on Sunday.