Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ruby
I should not be this nervous about teaching a grown man how to put roses in a vase.
But here we are. When he showed up this morning after a few days of no-shows and a couple of afternoon hours, I felt a wave of relief.
I was starting to think he was avoiding me.
I get he has his own job but my intuition was sending out a warning signal.
We’ve received a fair amount of Valentine’s orders. Normally, I would hire someone to help for the week preceding the holiday but it occurred to me we could save on that expense if I could cajole Griffin to do the job. Now I am not so sure it was the best idea.
Griffin stands at the worktable like he is preparing for a board meeting instead of a basic Valentine’s order. His jaw is set like flower arranging will determine his entire future.
“Okay,” I say, handing him a bunch of deep red roses. “First step, don’t glare at them.”
“I am not glaring.”
He is absolutely glaring.
“Griffin, they are roses, not stray cats.”
That earns me a low huff that might almost be a laugh. Progress.
I move beside him, close enough to smell his aftershave. Masculine, strong.
He grips the stems too tightly.
“Hold them gently,” I say, demonstrating. “They bruise easily.”
My fingers brush his and for a moment, he holds steady, his hand warm and callused. A jolt zings straight up my arm. Electricity. Thick and bright. Like someone flipped a switch inside me. The room feels suddenly airless.
I adjust his hand. “Like this,” I say, quieter now. “See? Let them rest against your palm.”
He follows my suggestion, eyes locked on mine instead of the roses. His expression has softened, hitting me right beneath the ribs.
He feels it, too.
“Good,” I whisper.
I step back before I combust, pointing to an empty vase. “Now start with the tallest in the center.”
“I got this.” He places one dead in the middle like he is issuing a command, then adds a few more around the middle stem, in tight, concentric circles.
“Here. Let the blooms breathe,” I say, reaching around him to adjust the stems.
He inhales sharply. A small sound, but it vibrates through me like a struck note.
“You make this look easy,” he says, voice lower than usual.
“It’s not about easy,” I answer. “It’s about care.”
He turns his head slightly toward me. “I don’t want to mess it up.”
“You won’t,” I say. And for a moment, we’re not talking about roses at all.
We work together in a strange kind of harmony, Griffin following every direction with an intense focus that I find incredibly endearing. When he lets himself laugh at my terrible “rose to the occasion” joke, the whole shop seems brighter.
We step back at the same time to admire the finished arrangement.
“It’s beautiful,” I say.
He looks at the flowers. Then at me.
“Yes,” he says softly. “You are.”
My breath catches. The world stills. He steps closer, slow enough to stop if I wanted him to.
I do not.
He reaches up, gentle, reverent, like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he moves too fast.
“Ruby…” he murmurs.
My name on his lips is spoken with fierce intensity. It unravels me.
I tilt my face up to him. His gaze flickers to my mouth. My heart thunders like it’s trying to escape my chest.
And then he kisses me.
Soft at first, testing, like he’s giving me every chance to pull away. Instead, my hands slide up his chest. His lips deepen against mine, increasingly confident, and the whole room tilts in the best possible way.
He holds me like he has been waiting too long. Like a man who doesn’t know how to let himself want something but wants me anyway.
The kiss grows, slow and hungry, his hands settling at my waist as if he’s learning me, memorizing me.
When we part, barely, his forehead rests against mine.
“That…” he says, breath unsteady, “was incredible.”
I smile and for one suspended, trembling moment, we just stand there, surrounded by the powerful scent of a room filled with roses, our hearts beating in the same dizzy rhythm.