Thirty-Four
Theo
“ H ere comes the man with the magical hands!” Mrs. Patel’s booming greeting barrels toward us the moment we step into Patel’s Petals.
“I’ve never seen fingers so skilled!” She cradles a bouquet of long-stemmed red roses against her chest, but that doesn’t stop her from gesturing wildly in my direction, gold bangles clinking musically.
Next to me, Isla lets out a half laugh, half gasp, her hand instinctively tightening around mine. “I thought these belong to me,” she murmurs, voice laced with playful possession. “What did you do to earn such an enthusiastic endorsement?”
“The piece your boy designed for you is absolutely magnificent!” Mrs. Patel exclaims, laying it on thick. “If only I could lure him away from that fancy company—we’d be the most talked-about flower shop in the country!”
Mr. Patel appears behind the counter with impeccable timing, passing a few sprigs of baby’s breath to his wife. “We can’t afford him, dear,” he says good-naturedly. “Or the restraining orders we’ll rack up if you keep flirting with the customers.”
“Just look at this beauty!” Mrs. Patel nods toward the elaborate display in the front window. “Yellow sunflowers and deep burgundy ranunculus? Sunshine and heart! A romantic showstopper!”
Isla’s eyes widen as she follows Mrs. Patel’s gaze to the arrangement I created last night. “You made that for me?” I doubt she notices how hard she’s squeezing my fingers.
“All for you.” After a quick, conspiratorial nod from Mr. Patel, I reach behind the counter and pull out a single sunflower. “A preview. We’ll drop back by on our way home for the full bouquet.”
Her touch trails over the velvety petals, and the smile that blooms across her face is worth all those hours I spent tracking down out-of-season flowers.
“The whole town has been begging for that bouquet,” Mrs. Patel says, clearly delighted. “But I told them it’s an exclusive . One of a kind. Just imagine what we could accomplish with talent like that on the payroll.”
She swats her husband’s arm with a rogue rose, scattering petals across the counter.
“And you, darling!” A warm, maternal grin beams at Isla.
“With that clever mind of yours, we’d be unstoppable.
The ads you designed for us were a true revelation.
That social media campaign doubled our Valentine’s orders this year. ”
Her dark brown eyes shine as inspiration strikes. “Perhaps you’d consider a contract to help me run the shop’s pages? Hubby can grow the most exotic plant species, but the man is hopeless with technology. And me? I can barely post a photo without filtering the poor flowers beyond recognition.”
I glance at Isla. The way she receives praise has always fascinated me. It’s as if she craves and questions it in the same heartbeat.
A bright spark lights up her gaze from within. Her cheeks are flushed—even the tips of her ears are tinged pink—and I’m certain it has nothing to do with the humidity in the shop.
She radiates pure, unabashed pride.
As she should.
“I can come by in a few days to discuss a plan,” Isla offers. “As a returning client, you will still benefit from my special discount for locals.” She adds the last part with the confidence of someone who knows her worth, but also loves her community.
“We appreciate that, dear,” Mrs. Patel says. “You’re as kind as you are hardworking. We’re very grateful to be able to grow our relationship with your business.”
“ Grow —get it?” Mr. Patel laughs.
Isla’s smile stretches even wider. A great privilege lies in watching her recognize her success. She’s building something special here. Something that matters. Not just a portfolio, but a fresh start. And I’m lucky enough to get to witness it.
I thank the husband-and-wife team for their time, then slide my arm around Isla’s waist, drawing her closer. “Ready for our next stop?”
“Yes,” she whispers back. “If we don’t get going, I’m afraid you’ll end up with a full-time job arranging boutonnieres.”
“Come on, Sunshine. We’ve got a packed schedule ahead of us.”
I’ve closed multimillion-dollar brand pitches with less prep than today’s date .
This moment with my girl, though? It’s worth more than any contract I’ve ever signed.
“Looks like Santa made someone’s wish come true!” Nicholas Nightingale may have traded his red suit for a pink button-down and heart-covered suspenders, but he’s just as jolly today.
The atmosphere inside the old Sugarpine Springs Library, though, is decidedly anti–Valentine’s Day.
All tables are decked out in dim lamplight, a vinyl record spins something jazzy in minor-key, and Isla’s red-and-black posters add a dramatic flair to the gloom.
Each is stamped with bold typography and cheeky taglines like: Heartbroken?
Come rage-read with us! and Forget meet-cutes! We’ve got meat cleavers!
A cluster of attendees sit on fold-out chairs in a semi-circle, sipping tea from mismatched mugs and chattering with the kind of camaraderie only mutual disdain for the holiday can inspire.
They’re deeply engrossed in dissecting a gory scene from a new horror release—something about a serial killer yanking the hearts out of newly engaged couples.
No judgement .
Last year, I would’ve been an ideal candidate for the club.
“I’d invite you to join our Bleeding Hearts Brigade meeting, but I fear you two will not fit in wearing those big grins.
” He turns to Isla, eyes gleaming, chest puffed with pride.
“Your posters brought in a whole new crowd.” He plucks one from his desk.
“ Cupid missed. Our villains have better aim . That one was a hit! We’ve had a great turnout of bitter singles looking to drown their sorrows in a little stabby action—of the knife variety. ”
“The prints look great,” I say. “Creepy enough to hook scare-seekers without spooking more delicate patrons.”
“And the lovely lady did it all for free!”
“I couldn’t charge a public library!” Isla looks genuinely aghast. “We all know how much of your own time and money you put into maintaining this place, Nick.”
He shoots her an appreciative smile, then turns to me. “Did she tell you she volunteered to revamp the children’s section next week? We’re doing a spring refresh that will hopefully engage some of our middle-grade demographic.”
“She did.” I look down at Isla, anticipating her usual deflection—something self-deprecating and charming—but she’s too caught off guard to downplay it this time.
“You’re really doing it, Sunshine,” I say softly. “Leaving your mark on this whole town. On your terms.”
When Nick runs over to answer someone’s question, Isla pins me with a wide-eyed look.
“I know what you’re doing!”
I arch a brow. “Yeah? What am I doing?”
She hesitates, then glances around the room again—the posters, the people, the buzz. Her voice drops to a whisper. “You’re showing me off.” A small frown creases her brow. “But not to other people. You’re showing me off to… me ?”
I nod. “And what do you think?”
She blinks. “I think…” A small puff of air passes her lips. “I didn’t expect it to feel this big. So special.”
“It is big, Isla. You’re so brilliantly special. ”
Her breath stutters, and her entire body stiffens. But instead of flinching away from the weight of my statement like she once would have, she steps into me. Grabs hold of my jacket and yanks me toward the shadowy maze of the nonfiction section.
We pass History and Geography . Philosophy and Psychology . At Religion , my body is already praying for her touch. When we brush by Astrology , I thank my lucky stars as Isla pushes me against the shelf and kisses me like she’s set on conjuring the Big Bang.
She tastes like the heat of the sun and the everlastingness of constellations.
My past, present, and future.
I almost slip up and tell her I love her. Make it known how much I’ve always loved her. How deep that love runs. How long she’s lived in my heartbeat.
But I know better than to push her, so I keep my mouth too tangled in kissing to string her up with words. I’m content to keep showing her how I feel. For the rest of my life, if that’s what she needs.
“Thank you.” She presses the words into my lips.
I don’t have time to reply before her tongue steals my capacity for speech. Her moans dissolve in my mouth, and I swallow them as she grinds against me, feeding off the grunts I’m too far gone to hold back.
She’s no longer kissing me. She’s consuming me. Piece by piece.
In this moment, she’s utterly wild, uninhibited, and free.
So fucking beautiful.
My palm slides under her sweater, skating along the warm, bare skin at her waist. Spurred on by her sweet gasp, I grip her thigh with my other hand, hooking her leg around my hip until her body slots perfectly to mine .
We share a groan as she angles herself, rubbing along the hard line of my cock. A curse rumbles low in my chest when she rolls again, dragging the seam of her jeans over me. The friction of rough, raw, denim on denim is maddening.
“You look so pretty,” I murmur in her ear, nipping at the sensitive spot just below it. “All turned on by your talent. Rightfully fucking so.”
My fingers glide higher, finding her breast, pinching her nipple through the thin fabric of her bra.
She arches to meet my touch, bringing us closer.
With a hiss of pleasure, I grab her ass, rocking her against me with a rhythm I’m no longer able to control.
We pant into each other’s mouths like we’re trying to breathe through an inferno.
“Can you come like this, Sunshine? Give me a sweet repeat of our first kiss? Or do you need to ride my face until you’re dripping down my chin? Need me to lick you until you’re shaking from the inside out?”
She whimpers, hips jolting. Her nails dig into my shoulders, the grip so fierce I feel it through my jacket.
“Or maybe you want to be bent over the stacks and fucked from behind? Is that it? Do you need to come on my cock right here where anyone can see?”