Brooke #2
The three dots appear again, and then another photo of him sitting at his desk.
Dutton
Yeah, and some of us don't get much done because we're reading a book.
My head drops back on a laugh.
Brooke
Oh, it must be a hard life to be sitting alone in your office reading a wonderful romance novel. Tell me, is your door open or closed when you read the sex scenes?
The moment my thumb taps that blue arrow, my eyes widen. Why did I ask him that?
I sink into the closest chair and stare at my phone, willing it to erase my text.
There are no little dots appearing to show he’s replying. Just the extra fun note under my message that says read.
I took it too far, didn’t I?
I thought this was what we did. The banter and teasing. I thought it was how our friendship worked.
Another few odd seconds tick by, and just when I’ve convinced myself to send the classic “just kidding” text, a knock on the bakery door scares me right out of my seat.
I look at the glass to see who it is, and my heartbeat begins to return to normal.
I unlock the door for Mrs. Buckley.
She’s holding a giant bouquet of lilies that smell wonderful.
From time to time, someone asks her to deliver flowers with a treat from my shop. Normally, she calls ahead to get it ready, but she must have forgotten today.
“Those are gorgeous,” I tell her, gently touching one of the pedals closest to me so that I can smell it. “Did you need something to go with them? I hope I didn’t miss your call and set you back today.”
“No, dear, you did not. These are actually for you.” She grins and hands me the vase.
“For me?” I repeat and take them from her. “Thank you.”
I notice there is a card, so I set the flowers down and pull the card out.
Before I start reading, I spot Mrs. Buckley waiting with the oddest grin on her face.
It makes me pause a moment.
“Go ahead. Read it,” she says and nods.
I’ve never seen her look so … giddy.
I flip the top open and slide the card from its small white envelope.
It’s handwriting I’m not familiar with, but the words leave me with no doubt who it’s from.
Books,
Mrs. Buckley is watching me write this. She better not read it. God, she scares me.
See you tonight.
Big D.
My head falls back on a laugh, and I instantly reach for my phone, all nerves from our earlier conversation forgotten.
I’m unlocking my phone when something occurs to me.
“Wait.” I snap my attention to Mrs. Buckley.
Her head bobs knowingly.
“Did Dutton buy these from you?”
“I wouldn't be delivering flowers from any other shop, Brooke dear.”
I wave the card in my hand back and forth. I know what I read, but I still need to ask.
“No, I know, but like he came into your shop and physically bought these flowers and spoke to you? I mean, he had to, right? You don’t have anyone else working for you.”
She steps toward the door.
“Yes, he came in yesterday during the festival all on his own, bought these flowers, and then apologized. It was … a true display of his character. I didn’t believe you at first, but that man was not the angry boy I remember.”
Of course not—he’s all grown up.
“It was lovely to put something so horrid behind us. I hope I see him in my shop more often now that you two are dating.”
“Oh, we aren’t dating,” I tell her and then grab the flowers again to smell them.
I’ve never had flowers given to me before. Even at prom, Donny Sander forgot to get me a corsage.
“Aren’t you, though?” she asks.
I shake my head.
“Nope, we’re just friends.” I mean every word of it this time.
“Oh, well, you two could have fooled me,” she says and then steps out the door.
Have we given off the impression that it’s more? Are we hanging out too much? It doesn’t feel like too much. It feels … natural.
Perfect. Now the town rumor will be that Dutton and I are dating.
My father is going to just love that.
My smile falls for the briefest of moments before my phone lights up.
It’s a text from Dutton.
Dutton
Closed. My door is 100 percent closed.
I press my lips together, biting my bottom lip as I look between the text and the flowers.
I’ve never had anyone send me flowers, and I love that Dutton is the first. This thing between us is real, and him walking into that flower shop is huge. He really does want to show people the type of man he truly is.
We need to celebrate.
I quickly lock the door again, rush to finish closing up, and then haul my flowers to my car. Next stop, Lovers Lodge.
True to his word, the door to Dutton’s office is closed.
I dropped my flowers off at my house before I came here, but it was a quick stop. Then I went by Grace’s office to warn her about any dating rumors, but she wasn’t there.
Now I’m here, debating whether I should knock or just barge right in.
I go with no knocking.
Because it’s more fun.
“Hello,” I call out in a singsong as I open the door.
“Fuck!” Dutton shouts, the book in his hand flying across the room. He stands quickly as if he’s going to run after it but stops when he spots me grinning in the doorway.
“Hi,” I say a little more casually as I wiggle my fingers and try not to laugh at him. “Am I interrupting?”
Slowly, my gaze scans the man before me.
He’s wearing khaki slacks that seem to be like a uniform to him, a tan belt that matches his dress shoes, and his white button-down shirt is hanging open, revealing a firm, smooth chest and abs that my fingers itch to reach out and touch.
Instantly, I start to sweat.
I shrug my jacket off.
“I thought Gavin got the AC fixed?”
“He did, but then the heater decided to act up.”
“That’s so random.”
“Yeah, just about as random as you showing up out of the blue right now.”
I grin. “Well, I wanted to thank you for the lovely bouquet of flowers I received just a bit ago.”
His entire demeanor softens.
“You got them. Good.”
I nod. “I did, and that means you now have only four more people to impress.” I clap my hands and squeal. “And you didn’t even need me there. I don’t think I did anything to help.”
Dutton moves around his desk and grabs the book he tossed off the floor.
“You helped by associating yourself with me. Trust me when I say that you’ve done the heavy lifting and don’t even know it.”
I roll my eyes and point to the book. “I’m still shocked I got you to read another book.”
He taps my nose with his finger.
“And I'm shocked that the sweet, small-town girl Brooke Sloan reads books with explicit sex scenes.”
I push him back teasingly and then make myself comfortable in one of the chairs across from him. Had I stood in front of him any longer, these hands of mine would have been petting him like a dog.
Okay, what?
I clasp my hands together to feel more in control.
“Yes, well, as we have figured out, there is a lot we still don’t know about each other.”
He nods.
“True. Are you hinting that you want to ask me something?”
I shake my head. “No, but I am curious if—”
“Dutton.” His father’s booming voice in the doorway startles me so much, I jump to my feet.
Henry Richford is just as tall as Dutton, if not an inch or two taller. His hair is salt and peppered, and his suit is in pristine form, considering the temperature in the room.
Mr. Richford has dark, beady eyes that freak me out more than I care to admit, and right now, those eyes are on me.
“Is this a meeting?” he asks, his gaze slowly slinking to his son. Gosh, he’s not even looking at me and my skin is crawling.
I scratch my arms as if I can make it go away.
“No,” Dutton answers.
“Ah”— his father makes a show of checking his watch—"We are still in working hours, are we not?”
I grab my jacket and take a step for the door.
Jesus, this is awkward. Dutton is a grown man, and this is how his dad talks to him? I mean, I’m not one to give advice on relationships with fathers, but this is not a healthy one.
I definitely don’t want to make it worse by staying here.
“It is. Brooke, stop.” Dutton's voice makes me pause.
Well, shit.
I turn slowly, keeping my gaze on Dutton. If he wants me to stay, I’ll stay. Quietly in the background, where I hope they both forget I'm here, but I will stay.
“Well, then you should be working and not sitting in your office with your shirt half undone and wasting your time with distractions.”
Yeah, I want to leave, but I can't seem to peel my gaze off Dutton.
I hope my eyes are saying just give me the go ahead, please.
But the longer I look at Dutton, the longer I feel like his eyes are saying, don’t leave me.
Somehow, I manage to pull my gaze away from his.
Listen to me.
Thinking I can read what he’s thinking just by looking into his eyes.