Chapter 1 #2
“Yes, collaborating,” Carol continues, exchanging a quick look with Ian.
I’m starting to feel like I may be the one person here who has no clue what’s happening.
“With the arrival of the Dominion, tourism is booming, and we want to build on that momentum. So, we’re here today,” Carol continues, her voice rising with excitement, “because we’ve chosen Leaf & Letter to partner with the Alexandria Dominion! ”
The words hit me like someone’s tossed a bucket of cold water over my head. Cold. Horrific. Shocking.
Hockey. Something to do with hockey players, perhaps…partnering with my shop? Make it make sense.
“Oh,” I manage. “That Dominion.”
“Yes!” Carol barrels forward. “We are going to have the players complete outreach hours in local businesses. Visibility for them, visibility for you. Total win-win!”
Assuming one wants to be visible. “Uh-huh.”
“And the player assigned to your shop needs a bit of structure.” She lowers her voice conspiratorially. “Minor PR situation. But your store seems perfect to help him get back on track.”
“What kind of PR situation?” I ask.
Carol’s smile wobbles. “Well, I wouldn’t say situation exactly—”
“I speak sports,” Charlie cuts in, stepping closer. “Where Juliette does not.”
“Rude,” I choke out.
“Accurate,” Charlie retorts.
“But rude,” I manage as Carol watches. Charlie nods and holds up his hands in defeat.
“Fine. It was rude, but,” Charlie says, turning his attention back to Carol, “is this about Sawyer Stockton?”
Carol exhales, that enthusiastic grin of hers wavering. “Yes.”
Charlie nods once as he drags his clear blue eyes away from Carol, then looks at me. “He’s a gremlin.”
I blink. “What?”
“He’s not a gremlin,” Carol says quickly.
“Hundred percent would bet my dachshund on it.” If looks could kill, then Carol would be filleted by Charlie. He pulls out his phone. “This explains it better.”
The video opens to a press conference—the Birdcage Arena, packed and buzzing. Players are seated at a long table, all broad shoulders and confident smiles.
One of them catches my eye immediately. Dark hair, easy grin, sitting sideways in his chair like he wandered into the wrong room and decided to enjoy himself anyway.
His finger absently strokes the rim of a potted plant in front of him.
I love it. It’s a gorgeous string of pearls with its lush greenery spilling over the edge. I. Die.
“That’s him,” Charlie says. “Watch.”
A reporter asks about the team’s playoff push.
Sawyer leans forward, gesturing to the plant. “See this? Everyone thinks success just happens. But growth is a balance. You forget to water it, it wilts. You overwater, it drowns.”
Okay. A guy trying to be funny and a little punny. I can excuse it while I see a few reporters nodding approvingly.
“Half the league is just aggressively watering themselves and calling it growth,” Sawyer continues.
Laughter ripples through the room. His teammates shift uncomfortably.
“Some teams are just weeds that got lucky.”
The laughter turns nervous. Someone kicks him under the table.
Sawyer doesn’t notice. His hands are moving now, big enthusiastic gestures. “And we’re not that. We’re intentional. We know when to—”
His arm swings wide.
The pot tips.
No.
Soil explodes everywhere. The plant snaps, scattering tiny green pearls across the table as it tumbles to the floor.
Flashbulbs pop.
Sawyer freezes. “Oh.”
The clip cuts.
“He’s my kind of chaos.” Charlie pockets his phone. “But, I’m not sure he’s yours.”
I turn slowly to Carol. “What exactly will he be doing here?”
“It’s open for discussion, but I suggest having him here temporarily for at least two shifts a week, maybe three?
We think it could be beneficial for both of you if you host some workshops or community events here at the store with Sawyer’s help and as his schedule allows, so he can bring in more people.
We’ll make sure you’re promoted on all the social media channels we can find… It’s all very manageable.”
Weekly. A hockey player. In my shop. Touching my plants.
“He destroyed a string of pearls on live television,” I say.
“I’m seeing a growth opportunity,” Carol says brightly.
“Literally,” Charlie adds.
Carol’s phone chimes. She glances at it, then at Ian, who shifts his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other. I get the vibe they want to leave. “When does he start?”
Carol stares at Ian. Something passes between them—a look I can’t quite read but definitely don’t like.
Ian straightens, adjusting his tie. “Actually, I’ll just go grab—” He doesn’t finish the sentence. Just turns and heads for the door with purpose.
My internal radar goes off. Call it intuition or what you will, but my stomach drops. “Grab what?”
Carol’s smile gets impossibly wider. “Well, you see, we thought it would be wonderful if you two could meet right away. Get the energy flowing, you know? First impressions and all that.”
“Carol.” My voice comes out strangled. “What did Ian just ‘go grab’?”
The bell chimes, and Ian reappears in the doorway, stepping aside with a flourish like a game show host revealing the grand prize.
Behind him, taking up approximately all of the available space, is a man.
Not just any man. A giant. A broad-shouldered, tall-as-a-tree giant. The village-destroying variety. The kind who wears a hoodie like it’s a designer label and smiles that wide because he knows exactly how much space he’s taking up….and finds it highly amusing.
“Juliette,” Carol announces, practically vibrating with delight, “meet Sawyer Stockton.”
He is also beautiful. The universe has a sick sense of humor.
Sawyer steps inside and the shop physically shrinks.
Or maybe that’s just my lungs. His very presence is, well, to put it quite simply it’s big.
He’s much more than I am prepared for—which is saying something because I watched him pretty much demolish a plant on a screen a minute ago and knew he wasn’t small.
Dark hair slightly messed from the wind, whiskey-warm hazel eyes that sweep the shop before landing on me, and an expression that’s half-apology, half-mischief.
There’s also a hockey bag slung over one shoulder. Because of course there is.
“Hi,” he says, and his voice is low, a little rough, like he’s been yelling or laughing or doing whatever hockey players do. “You must be Juliette.”
My mouth has gone completely dry. I’m aware that I should say something. Words. Human language. The thing I’ve been doing successfully for thirty-two years, yet nothing comes out.
Charlie, bless him, steps forward with his hand extended. “I’m Charlie, Juliette’s shop assistant and a fan of the Dominion. Welcome to Leaf & Letter.”
“Hey, man.” Sawyer shakes his hand easily, that smile never wavering. Then those hazel eyes come back to me. Expectant, patient, and definitely amused.
Say something, Juliette. Literally anything.
“You’re…Sawyer,” I manage.
His eyes light up at the sound of his name. “That’s me.”
“And you’re starting today?”
“Oh, no.” His grin widens. “My coach and this committee wanted me to stop by, get a feel for the place while I had free time.” He glances around, taking in the plants, the afternoon light filtering through the windows, the carefully curated chaos that is my entire life. “This is great. Really green.”
“It’s a plant shop,” I say flatly.
“Right. Yeah. That makes sense.” I follow his gaze as his eyes land on the back wall, where our stationery is displayed. “Cards, too?”
I’m at a loss. He’s pointed out the obvious…again. “Yep. Cards, too.”
There’s a beat of silence. Carol is beaming at us like she’s watching children meet for the first time at a playdate.
“Well!” she says brightly. “We’ll just leave you two to get acquainted. Sawyer, you have my number if you need anything. Juliette—” She reaches out and squeezes my arm. “Thank you for being such a wonderful sport about all of this.”
Sport? Like I had a choice.
Ian gives a little wave. “Good luck, you two.”
And then they’re gone. The bell chimes behind them like a death knell.
It’s just me, Charlie, Sawyer, and a store full of fragile, innocent plants that suddenly feel very breakable.
“Mom?” From the back of the shop, Theo’s voice cuts through the silence. “Did I hear someone say that man plays hockey?”
Oh no. This has got to be what they mean when they say all the chickens are coming home to roost.
Sawyer’s face lights up. “Someone here likes hockey?”
Charlie’s hand starts to float in the air, but I’m pretty sure the look I give him is also what makes him snap it back by his side again.
“I love it!” Theo appears from behind the potting table, eyes wide, face flushed with the kind of excitement usually reserved for Christmas morning. He’s clutching a handful of soil and completely vibrating with joy. “Wait. You’re Sawyer Stockton. From the Dominion?”
“That’s me.” Sawyer crouches down to Theo’s level without hesitation, shifting the bag on his shoulder as he does so it rests securely on his back. Something about the gesture makes my chest tighten in a way I absolutely do not have time for. “What’s your name?”
“Theodore Gianelli, but you can call me Theo.”
“Nice to meet you, Theo,” he chuckles. “You watch the games?”
“Every single one!” Theo is practically bouncing. “You had three assists last week against Pittsburgh. And that goal in overtime against—”
“Theo,” I interrupt, my voice coming out sharper than I intend. “Don’t you have homework?”
Theo’s face falls. Sawyer glances up at me, and for just a second, that easy smile falters. I’m guessing he clocked the panic I’m desperately trying to hide.
“Your mom’s right,” he says to Theo, voice gentle as he slowly straightens and rises from the floor. “Homework’s important. But hey, I’ll be around. We can talk hockey later if that’s cool with your mom.”
He looks at me when he says it. Asking permission and kindly acknowledging a line. I should appreciate that. I do appreciate that…but I also need him to leave.