16. Mia
Sweat ran down my back in rivulets, making my skin itchy in places I couldn’t scratch in public. My hair stuck to my forehead, beads of moisture trickling down my neck and soaking my bra. My sweat patches had sweat patches at this point… and I was bloody tired.
I hadn’t sat down since Margot had dragged me in here this morning, my phone reading almost 4 p.m. Neither had I eaten anything, so the roses I was currently handling were starting to look like an appealing snack.
‘Ouch’.
“I told you to mind the thorns,” Margot called over my hiss of pain where she was seated comfortably behind her little desk stamping filled orders.
Little plasters wrapped my fingers from all of the holes that had been stabbed into me today, and now I had another one to add to it. I sucked my finger, trying to ease the sting before I finished de-thorning what I had decided would be my final order. Why on earth I couldn’t wear the gloves since I was doing the dirty work, but according to Margot, there was only one pair and she needed them to keep her hands warm. Though she’d said this with a smirk on her face in a boiling hot shop that felt like a greenhouse.
I must have looked like a wreck too because I certainly felt like it. I spent hours on shift, on my feet all day dealing with patients of all sizes and it seemed like some little flowers and one geriatric were getting the best of me.
Movement in front of me took my attention away from my self-pity. In the worst twist of fate, Rex and another man walked into the little shop, their presence taking up every available inch. I looked like shit and Rex walked in looking like a cover model—his hair pulled back in a knot at the back of his head, and his light-blue eyes fixed on me. His dark jeans hugged his thighs, but fell loosely over his calves. I swept my hungry eyes over him, checking out the man who had got me all hot and bothered last night and then refused my offer of a drink.
With my hands full of stems, I used my arm to wipe the wet hair from my forehead, it’s not like I could make myself even remotely presentable at this point, not that it mattered I suppose. He was in a flower shop for a reason—buying something for a girlfriend? Is that why he wouldn’t have a drink with me?
My inner musings threw scenarios at me. I should have considered that someone who looked like him had a woman at his beck and call. And I bet she wasn’t a haggard, sweaty woman in old leggings.
The other man stood off to himself, glaring at the old woman who returned his look with her own fierce scowl—God, that woman wasn’t afraid of anything. She must have been a third of his size, he could break her like a matchstick and she didn’t even offer a ‘hello’, only a frown of epic proportions.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” I said to them both, pasting my professional smile on and taking the initiative, it seemed that if I left it to Margot, we’d be entering a staring competition, and If I was going to help Margot out, I may as well serve her customers too.
The scowling man faced me, and I got a good look at a nasty burn that had scarred one side of his neck. I stared at the disfigurement, wondering how it had happened. It stretched toward and under his chin, distorting the skin below his clenched jaw.
Black eyes narrowed on me, the strange man with the same leather vest that Rex wore glared back, challenging my stare with his own.
I merely shrugged at his annoyance, it was human nature to stare and even more to be curious. I’m sure he was used to it. I saw all kinds of injuries, and sometimes, when bored, I would make up scenarios in my head of how each person gained those injuries—especially if they were old scars and I wasn’t privy to that information.
With how scary the guy looked, I bet he got the puckered burn mark in a Freddie Krueger style story. Some poor villagers thought he was a serial killer and burnt him alive.
As long as he didn’t haunt my dreams for staring at him… I already had one biker who had a starring role in my nighttime, I didn’t have space for another one.
“I need carnations.” The man’s voice was all gravel and rust, a throaty demand that had Margot snorting at his request. I squinted at the old woman, she was never this rude to her previous customers who had walked through the door, greeting the others as if they were long-lost siblings.
“Uh, ok.” I had no idea what carnations looked like. I looked pointedly at the old woman who was trying her best to ignore the conversation. “Any particular color?”
I could swear a blush stained his cheeks, and Margot cackled her evil witch laugh which made the guy look even angrier. “All of them.”
“You’re not very chatty, are you?” I plucked the long stems from Margot as she handed them to me—pink, red, orange, purple—all piled together. I plucked the extra leaves off, before placing the large bunch on the pale tissue paper, wrapping them up as if I’d been doing it for years. Hours in the shop making flower placements had been a little bit therapeutic, even if my fingers and toes were paying for it now. I wouldn’t dare tell Margot that I might have enjoyed it a tiny bit—just a tiny little bit—she’d probably want me back tomorrow, and I didn’t enjoy it that much.
“Princess,” Rex started, I tore my attention from the carnations, his pretty blue eyes brighter than any flower in the shop, “this is Kannon. He’s harmless, but he don’t speak much.” He grinned at me, aware I’d been staring at the big, scarred man just now. Rex’s hidden message was clear though—don’t ask about the burns.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Kannon.” He grunted in response, his scowl a contrast to Rex’s grin.
“Ignore him, princess, he’s a miserable son of a bitch.” Kannon’s glare could cut through glass, his dark eyes piercing Rex with a crazy light. If I’d met this guy in a dark alleyway, I think I’d run in the opposite direction.
I handed him the finished bouquet, and without even a thanks, he threw a fifty on the counter and stormed out, the flowers clutched tightly in his fist.
“Well, that was interesting,”
“Verrry interesting,” Margot chimed in cattily, back in her seat now.
Rex watched me warily. “What? Do you need a bunch too?” I asked, hoping for one answer, but nervously waiting for him to respond.
“Sure, uh, roses. The blue ones.” That was easy enough, everyone knew what roses looked like. I plucked a dozen of the long stems from their bucket and wrapped them, childishly refusing to de-thorn them in an attempt to vindictively hurt the woman he was buying them for.
It was pathetic, I know. But I gained a small amount of satisfaction when I wrapped them up and felt the sharp points within. I smiled coldly at him, his mirth shining back as he grabbed the bunch from me from high up, trying to avoid the stabbing thorns.
“That’s a lot of Band-Aids, princess.” He nodded toward my fingers, all wrapped up and aching from the manual labor I’d been forced into. “I would have thought with all those English boys you’d be used to little pricks.” He threw his head back, roaring with laughter at his own joke, and I couldn’t help the twitch of my lips as I watched him wipe the corner of his eyes. Laugh lines fanned out beside his eyes, a testament to a life filled with love.
But still, pettiness refused to let me laugh along with him, he still held flowers for another woman in his hand. Not to mention all of the little digs about English men that were starting to piss me off. “You seem to have a thing against English men.”
His smile seemed to widen even more and he leaned his hip against the counter, leaning down until our gazes were even. “Baby, they can’t handle a woman like you. You need a real man.” His muscles flexed beneath his shirt, but I couldn’t tell if he was still joking with that smile that showed off his perfect teeth.
“Clearly you’ve never heard of Vinnie Jones, England’s ‘hard man’, he is definitely a real man, and anyway, a ‘real man’ wouldn’t brag about being one,” I responded cheekily.
“Never heard of him, doesn’t say much about him then, does it.”
“He was a famous footballer and now an actor. I can’t believe you’ve never heard of him!” I threw my hand to my chest in mock affront, playing along with his macho persona.
His face softened, his smile growing warmer as I kept up with him jab for jab, Margot forgotten in her own little corner.
“Now, that’s the look I want to see on your face, princess.” Our laughter trailed off, his stare felt like all the air had been sucked from around us, there was just a trail of heat between us that grew hotter the longer we watched each other, our only obstacle the counter between us. I don’t know what would have happened if it hadn”t been there.
A lump in my throat formed, for a minute I forgot why he was here, but his stance shifted and the rustle of the bouquet in his hand was a reminder that he wasn’t here for me. I looked at the bunch with disdain, hating the reason he stepped foot in the shop to begin with.
His eyes followed mine to where I glared at his hand, and the infuriating man smiled at me. “You should always have a smile on your face, Mia.” His hand stretched across, holding the flowers toward me. “Mind the thorns,” he whispered, his eyes dancing as my mouth fell open. Carefully, I reached out and grasped them just below his own hand, making sure I deliberately brushed my fingers against his.
My cheeks flushed in embarrassment, he knew why I didn’t trim the thorns, yet he didn’t say anything. “Did you order these for me? The whole time?” His smug grin was pure satisfaction as I inhaled the fragrant blooms, pleasure warming me from the inside.
“They’ve always been for you. And blue because one, I have no fucking idea what your favorite color is and two, they’re different, unusual. You can’t find them in nature… a bit like you. You ain’t homegrown, princess… but you’re growing on me… no pun intended.”
That warmth in my chest grew to an unimaginable heat. His kind act had put a smile on my tired face and he’d laughed in the face of my jealous act, because it didn’t bother him. The man was an enigma. Yesterday, he had seemed more interested in finding the man who hurt me for his own purpose and now, here he was, buying me flowers and making me laugh simply because I needed it.
“You still have to pay, that’s $62.” Margot burst the bubble that we had erected around us, her interruption fracturing the tension and letting me take a much needed breath.
“It says $50 for 12 on your sign,” Rex argued back.
“Yeah, well. Inflation.” The old woman held her withered hand out for the cash, and I felt embarrassed on his behalf. She had been so rude to the two men, and for what reason other than they rode motorbikes? Had tattoos? I couldn’t figure her out.
Rex dug into his pocket, pulling out his wallet and handing over the money, a shared smile between us easing the burn of awkwardness her brash behavior created. “It’s ok, Margot. It’s worth it.” He winked, ignoring her foul attitude.
She huffed and shuffled away, calling out that we were about to close.
“God, I’m so sorry about that. I don’t know why she was so rude to you,” I muttered low enough so she couldn”t hear and swept my hair back in frustration.
“Don’t worry, Margot, I’m leaving,” he called out to her, before leaning closer, his eyes shining as if he had a secret. “She only hates us because my grandaddy wouldn’t marry her. He wanted to be a biker instead, so now she hates all of us because we corrupted her poor sweet Virgil… even though I wasn’t even alive then. But hey, her hatred isn’t anything new to us, so don’t feel bad on her behalf.” Rex straightened to his full height. “And you don’t have to worry about that problem anymore.” He touched the dark skin around my eye, the bruise prominent without makeup to hide it. His smile still warmed his face, but for just a second, the mask slipped. Cold flashed through his blue eyes, but I knew it wasn’t aimed at me. “You and your sister don’t have to worry about Mickey hurting you.”
The ominous tone sent a flash of fear through me—for Mickey. I wasn’t scared of Rex despite his size and obvious means to protect himself. But had I, in my ultimate wisdom, gotten a man hurt? I had told Rex about our issue with him and what he did to me. When I became a nurse, I took an oath to do no harm, and that meant indirectly too.
As Rex turned and walked away, the door closing behind his large frame, I wondered if I had made a mistake in asking him to deal with our Mickey problem… though with his satisfied smile, perhaps it was already too late to worry about.