Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Shaye
“Would you like a ham sandwich, Joe?” I know the answer, but I wait for his response anyway.
The little old man from Kentucky slumps on the stool.
A knit cap sits lopsided on his head. Strands of hair that resemble a Brillo pad poke out from beneath the edges and through the hole at the top.
The tear in the fabric has gotten bigger every day since I noticed it a month ago.
I need to remember to get him a new one before the weather turns cold.
Joe’s skin is stained with engine grease.
I think he does odd jobs here and there—working on cars for people who can’t afford to take them to an actual mechanic.
But I also suspect those same people take advantage of his kindness and how badly he needs twenty dollars.
It’s why I didn’t take my car to him to be fixed when I damaged it.
“If ya got one back there, I’d take it.” He gives me a lopsided, toothless grin. “Maybe some mustard if ya have that handy.”
“You know it.”
I wave at Travis, a friend of Nate’s, as he comes in. Travis did the roofing on The Gold Room when Nate remodeled before I started working for him. Apparently, the place was practically in shambles back then. You wouldn’t know it by the looks of the place now.
“Is Nate in his office?” Travis asks.
“I think so.”
“Can I head back there?”
“Go for it.”
He gives me a little salute and disappears into the hall on the far side of the building.
“Thank God for Sunday evenings,” Paige says as I enter the kitchen. She slides a knife through a tomato with the precision of a surgeon. “I think we’d be perpetually behind without Sunday evenings.”
“You’re right.” I reach in the cooler for the ham that Nate keeps for Joe. “I actually look forward to Sunday evenings without the alcohol and the crowd that brings.”
Paige’s knife hits the cutting board in even intervals. I get to work making Joe’s sandwich.
My mind drifts, thinking about how different my job is here than it is during the day for Oliver. I don’t think I prefer either one of them. Mason Limited makes me feel accomplished as a professional; The Gold Room makes me feel accomplished as a human.
Besides feeding Joe and providing stability for Murray, this place does so much more for so many people.
It’s a place for someone to come after work and relax.
It celebrates camaraderie. Couples enjoy the steak specials and dance to local live bands on Friday nights.
Lonely hearts venture in looking for love … or a one-night stand.
No judgment.
It feels just as good to be a part of it as it does the team at Mason. Even if Oliver is a little jealous.
His broodiness was so hot.
We’re exclusive.
“What are you all smiley about over there?” Paige asks. “Oh! You went to the gala last night, didn’t you? I saw it on the news this morning.”
“I did.” I try not to smile but fail miserably. “It was amazing.”
“I can’t imagine attending something like that. Did you feel like royalty?”
“Um, no. Not royalty.” I think of Marius and watching Oliver with the table of women. “More like Cinderella most of the time.”
Her cute little face wrinkles. “Why?”
“Oh, just … you know.”
“No. I don’t know. But I hope it doesn’t mean that something bad happened.” She frowns. “You’ll ruin my vision.”
I laugh as I finish up Joe’s sandwich. “Nothing bad happened. Actually, some really good things happened.”
Her face lights up with interest as the kitchen door swings open. Murray stomps with a frown on his face and a large vase in his hand. In the oversized glass are long-stemmed red roses—probably thirty of them.
“Holy shit,” Paige says, setting her knife down.
“Yeah. Someone has money to waste.” He thrusts the flowers at me. “Here you go, pal.”
It takes two hands to control the weight of the arrangement, so I set it next to the sink.
My heart races in my chest. A dopey smile takes up shop on my lips, and I don’t even try to erase it. It would be futile.
“Oh, my gosh.” Paige is at my side in a second. “These are freaking gorgeous, Shaye!”
“I know.”
My hand trembles as I lower a stem to my nose. The fragrance is heavenly.
You’ve outdone yourself, Mr. Mason.
“Nate asked me to get some lids for the to-go cups,” Murray says, flipping a chunk of hair out of his eyes. “Can someone get me money out of the register? I’m not clocked in.”
“I will,” Paige says. “Shaye needs to call her man.”
I need to do more than that to him.
My stomach fluttering with a thousand butterflies, I spy a little white envelope buried in the greenery. It takes me a moment to fish it out of the center of the flowers.
Shaye Brewer is written in bold, blue ink on the front. I flip it over and slip out the card from inside.
I hold my breath, imagining what romantic or maybe dirty things Oliver thought up for me. I can’t believe he went to the trouble of sending me flowers already. Was he this jealous of Nate? Or maybe he just really wanted to make an impression.
I grin. You already did that, babe.
My eyes skim over the words. With each word I read, my heart pounds harder.
My temperature grows hotter.
My palms start to sweat.
Shaye,
I’ve found myself unable to stop thinking about you. I’ll be in town for a few more days. If you’d like to meet up for dinner—or another dance—I would be honored at the opportunity to spend more time with you.
My best,
Marius
“I guess you were right,” Paige says, her voice making me jump. “Something really good must have happened.”
“Why?” I pull the card to my chest. “What happened?”
She walks around the counter and picks up her knife again. Her eyes narrow. “Well, you got a couple hundred dollars’ worth of roses. Red roses, to be exact.”
“Oh. Yes.” I gulp. “So I did.”
She sets the knife down and looks at me suspiciously. “Are you okay?”
“Me? I’m fine. I’m absolutely fine.”
A bead of sweat dots my forehead as I look at the flowers again. They’re beautiful and sweet, and Oliver will not take this well.
Oh, dear God.
I’m not cut out for this kind of drama. I don’t know what to do.
Do I tell him? Will it cause a pissing match?
It will absolutely cause a pissing match. He didn’t even like Nate, and I just said I worked for him. There’s no way he’ll take this many roses from Marius as a friendly gesture.
But it’s not my fault. I didn’t do anything wrong.
But it will complicate my new relationship with Oliver. There’s no doubt about it.
And I so, so don’t need to complicate something so amazing and new.
“Shaye?” Paige’s hand rests on my shoulder. “I know you said you’re okay, and I’m not calling you a liar or anything, but … are you okay?”
I turn and face the sweet girl who I haven’t known very long.
I should call Lisbeth—that’s what I should do. She would know how to handle this. Giving me advice is her job as my best friend. But right now, in the thick of the mess, Paige is here.
“I’m freaking out,” I tell her.
She nods. “No offense, but I can tell.” She glances up at the roses. “I’ve never seen someone get so sweaty about a flower arrangement before.”
I smile through gritted teeth. This is so my luck.
“Well,” I say slowly. “This particular flower arrangement is not from the man who I just started seeing exclusively this morning.”
This takes her by surprise. “Okay, first of all—yay to you for your new relationship. Second of all … maybe yay to you for being so interesting that a second guy is also fawning over you?” She laughs tightly. “Or not? I mean, who is guy number two?”
“A guy I met last night.”
“So a guy before you became exclusive with the first one?”
I nod warily.
“Then what’s the problem?” She shrugs happily. “This is a win-win as far as I can tell.”
I lean against the sink and wish I had her optimism. What if Oliver gets angry? What will he do to me if he finds out? It will be like when Luca thought I was flirting with the—
Stop. Oliver is not Luca.
“I thought about last night at the gala and seeing you with Marius. I thought about having you in my house and in my bed. I thought about waking up and making breakfast … I want this to be the beginning.”
Oliver wasn’t angry with me last night because I danced with Marius. He was angry because he wants us. Our beginning.
I look at the flowers again. They are beautiful and if they’d arrived a few weeks ago, I’d be tripping over myself to touch every single petal. Despite how gorgeous they are, they don’t hold a candle to Oliver’s smile.
That’s what I want.
“Paige, consider yourself the new owner of a bunch of roses,” I say, walking to the counter and picking up Joe’s sandwich. I grab a bag of chips for good measure.
The decision feels right in my stomach. It’s logical. Why risk upsetting the apple cart—or flower cart, as it is—for one bad fruit?
“Really?” she asks.
“Really.”
“Thank you.” Paige smiles. “I’ve never had that many flowers in my life.”
“Me either.”
I laugh as I walk out of the kitchen.
I may not have had that many roses before, but I also won’t be swayed by an over-the-top gesture. Marius missed the memo last night. That’s on him. But I believe my heart is seeing a very clear memo right now.
The man who stole my breath this morning—multiple times—might end up stealing my heart.