Chapter 12
JULIETTE
Vivian and I are tucked into the tiny table in the back of Leaf & Letter, eating salads out of compostable bowls like two women who absolutely meant to be healthy and then emotionally ordered croutons with a side of extra ranch.
“So,” Vivian says, stabbing a cherry tomato. “Have you figured out what to do for Theo’s birthday?”
“Okay, I know I kiboshed educational outings, but…” I shove another forkful of lettuce in my mouth, chew fast, and point my fork at her.
“Hear me out—what if we took a tour of some of the Civil War battlefields. We could drive up toward Frederick, make a little weekend of it. Western Maryland, fresh air, history—”
“Juliette,” Vivian says, dropping her fork on the table with a thud. “Yawn. Snore. It’s his birthday. Not a required history paper.”
I sigh. “I know. I know. I know.”
“What if we do something low-key around here?” she counters. “He likes things that go fast, like go-karts.” Her gaze drifts past me to the wall. “Wait. Are you hosting a workshop here?”
I follow her gaze to where Charlie had pinned the flyer two days ago.
“Yes, we are. In two days.”
“That gives you…no time to promote it.”
I smile. “I had ten slots yesterday. We booked the last one this morning.”
Vivian stares. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish. I put it up on socials, went back to watering something, and it was filled.”
She grins. “So I guess things are going well.”
“I mean,” I say carefully, “they’re not bad. He’s not horrible. He’s…nice.”
Vivian bursts out laughing. “Nice to look at.”
“And,” I add, ignoring her, “he offered us tickets to a game.”
Charlie chooses that exact moment to wander in, coffee in hand. “You should go. We had great seats. He had us right behind the team. Best seats I’ve ever had.”
Vivian winces. “I don’t know if she could handle being that close to…all of that.”
“Actually…” I hesitate. “Sawyer said he could get us a box.”
They both freeze.
“A box?” Vivian says.
“Your own box?” Charlie adds. “Like private?”
I shrug. “Not really mine, but one reserved for family and VIPs.” They stare at me like I just announced I’m casually dating royalty.
And somehow, it feels just as dangerous.
“Whoa, you two, slow down. He’s offering for Theo.
Theo can watch on the balcony. There’s food and an inside room where I can sit and ‘listen to a podcast’ as he suggested. ”
Vivian and Charlie look at each other. Then they look back at me.
“Uh,” Vivian says. “Do it. Get the box.”
“Yes,” Charlie agrees immediately. “Then we can all go.”
I hold up both hands. “You guys—A, he is not a vending machine. B, this is for Theo. Theo. Little kid, about five feet tall? And C, I hate hockey.”
Charlie smiles serenely. “Exactly why we should go, too.”
“We would be your wing people.” Vivian clucks.
I groan. “Theo is the one who actually wants to go.”
“I’ll go along anywhere, any day of the week, if you flick me some free tickets,” Vivian teases as she leans back in her chair, studying me. “Juliette. Do you understand that man is flirting with you?”
I stand up so fast my chair scrapes. “No, he’s not. Don’t start.”
“Oh, he is,” Vivian says, already gathering her things.
I dump my lunch in the trash. “Stop it.”
Charlie opens the fridge. “My turn for lunch.”
“I know,” I say. “I’m heading back out front.”
Vivian follows me, talking the entire way, each sentence stacking neatly on top of the last. By the time we reach the front counter, she’s clearly decided she’s right. I cross my arms and turn, putting my back to the door like I’m bracing for impact.
“Viv. You missed your calling to be a lawyer. Sawyer could use you on his side.”
“No, seriously,” she says. “He offers you a box. He clocks that you’re—let’s be generous—quirky.
We both know you’re actually a grumpy human being.
And he says, please come to a game I’m playing.
He sets it up so your son can be front and center, and you don’t even have to watch.
He literally says you can ignore him while also being in his world. ”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say too quickly.
The words tumble out before I’ve fully decided to say them.
I busy myself straightening a stack of flyers that were already straight, suddenly very interested in the counter.
“Sawyer’s just being nice. He’s good at that.
Friendly. It’s part of the whole ‘I’m handsome, and relatable, and funny, and hot’ thing.
” I gesture vaguely, as if that explains anything.
I don’t look at her when I add, “Besides, guys like him don’t look at people like me and think anything beyond convenient.”
The sentence lands heavier than I intend. I feel it the second it’s out there, but I had to say it. I clear my throat and tack on, lighter this time, “He probably does that kind of stuff all the time.” Which is exactly what I need to believe.
I realize that Vivian, who is usually right on top of me with comebacks and opinions, is quiet. Too quiet.
I squint at her. “Why are you not responding or at least trying to convince me of anything but what I’m thinking?”
Her mouth has fallen open. Fully. Her jaw might actually be detached. I can tell she’s stunned into this silence, her gaze stuck on something just beyond me that I cannot see.
Slowly, I turn.
Sawyer stands just outside the door, hand raised in a wave, and behind him is a small army of very large men following him inside, trying to fit through the entrance at the same time.
I stare at Sawyer, back to Vivian, then at the wall of men behind him. “You brought the team?”
He shrugs, easy and unapologetic. “We were nearby having lunch, so I figured we’d come in and”—he makes air quotes, glancing at Charlie—“support local business.”
Charlie, who has somehow appeared at my elbow, nods solemnly.
I turn on him. “What are you two doing? I feel like you’re actively working against me right now.”
Charlie clasps his hands behind his back. “I may or may not have texted Sawyer that anytime he’s in the vicinity, popping in is very good for business. For the business. Which makes you happy.”
I shoot Sawyer a look.
He grins. “So I brought friends. If one hockey player makes people take photos, a few hockey players make people lose their minds.”
We all laugh, the sound overlapping and easy, and before I can stop myself, I’m smiling right along with them.
“Okay,” he says, stepping aside and motioning behind him. “This is Liam. Ty. Owen, too.”
Introductions happen quickly, names and handshakes blurring together.
Vivian gets pulled into a hug by Liam since they’ve known each other forever.
Charlie shakes hands with each of them in turn, posture straight, expression solemn, like he’s greeting visiting dignitaries instead of hockey players who just wandered into a plant shop.
Then, the bell over the door rings and four women step inside, mid-conversation, laughter still hanging between them. One of them looks up, takes in the scene, and stops cold as her line of sight lands on the guys.
“Oh my—”
Another gasps. Phones appear like reflexes, screens already glowing.
Within seconds, the mood in the store shifts. The quiet, cozy bubble pops. Voices rise. Someone outside presses closer to the window, peering in. Another joins her. Then another.
And suddenly there’s a line forming outside my door, curiosity and excitement spilling down the sidewalk, all because the boys from the Dominion just walked into Leaf & Letter.
I step back, stunned and laughing, as my little plant shop turns into a celebrity meet-and-greet.
Charlie is in his element, guiding people, smiling, keeping the energy moving.
Vivian hangs out for a bit, but then slips away to head back to her store, shaking her head like she absolutely knew this would happen.
Sawyer wanders over to where I’m standing against a back wall, near a display of hanging plants, watching his friends pose for photos.
He leans with me, bumping my hip with his. “They’re pretty cool, right?”
“They are,” I say, watching his teammates spread out through the shop, filling it with laughter and life. “Thank you for doing this. You didn’t have to, you know.”
“When I brought up stopping by, it was a non-negotiable. They all wanted to come. Funny enough, they’re invested.
” He snickers as he shrugs, but there’s something thoughtful behind it.
“We’re close. I know with blood family, you show support by being there when someone really needs you to be.
We’re the same way. This team always believes in showing up for each other, and we do. It’s how we’re built.”
I nod, because that lands somewhere tender.
“You do this, too, you know,” he says, turning to me. “Every day. For Theo. For this place. For people who need it.” His mouth curves, soft. “You’ve built your own little makeshift family here.”
I cock my head to one side. “I guess I have.”
“Yeah you have,” he says simply. “You. Theo. Charlie. Vivian. This.” He gestures around us. “It counts.”
I look around the store, brought to life today by a random drop in from Sawyer and his teammates, and feel gratitude. He’s right, this does count. My little spot, my little family. My team of people who show up for me.
I’m still absorbing his words when I meet his gaze again––and I find him watching me, his expression softer now. More tender than it was a moment ago.
That’s when it hits.
Heat rushes up my neck, settles in my chest. My heart promptly forgets how to behave. It stutters, then trips over itself, like it’s trying to decide whether to bolt or lean in. I’m suddenly aware of my breathing, of how warm I feel, of how much I don’t want him to step away.
Because no one’s ever said that to me before. Not like that. Not with certainty.
This is the part where something clicks into place. Where the flutter could stop being hypothetical, thus turning into a problem.
The realization lands all at once, bright and unsettling, and my body reacts before my brain can catch up.
Instinctively I gulp, my lungs needing air.
Needing space. Needing to not be standing this close to him when my thoughts have clearly gone rogue.
We’re in panic attack territory, and I don’t need that embarrassment today.
I’m in retreat mode, at least in my mind I am, when my shoulder brushes something. I feel a sick feeling in my stomach when I realize I’ve bumped the display. All of my hanging baskets lined up in a row are now in complete danger.
A hanging basket sways…and then tips. It’s like watching a scene in a movie in slow motion, but it’s gut wrenching because you’re pretty sure you know how it’s going to end.
Before I fully wrap my head around what’s happening, the string of pearls plant that had been happily living its best life a moment ago spills forward, trailing over my shoulder and down my arm.
Long succulent strands drape across me like I’ve been personally attacked, or better yet crowned Queen of the Houseplants and awarded my official sash.
Soil dusts the floor. A few pearls swing wildly before settling as the pot crashes to the ground.
I look down at myself, half-wrapped in greenery, deciding that the shop has made its choice to physically manifest my emotional state.
Sawyer is beside me, steadying the other baskets before they can do any more damage. He crouches, hands gentle as he lifts the trailing vines away from my arm while I put effort into picking up a shattered ceramic pot.
“Everything okay?” Charlie calls out.
“I think we’re fine,” Sawyer calls back, plucking a strand of tiny green ‘pearls’ from my hair.
“Oh,” I mutter, frozen in place. “The irony.”
“Hey,” he says softly. “At least you committed.”
“I should be committed,” I snarl under my breath.
“But now, we’re coordinated,” he says, not even trying to hide his grin. “String of pearls for life.”
Sawyer’s fingers work their magic as he frees the last strand, mumbling something about matching tattoos, when my heart does that thing again. It is completely unhelpful and wildly off-task.
Of course this would be the moment I lose my footing. Apparently, falling for this man comes with props. I just wish one of them wasn’t an expensive pot.
We start gathering what is left of the fragile plant, his big hands careful, gentle, like he’s picking up something precious instead of a mess I made.
Our fingers brush. Once. Twice. And suddenly everything feels too quiet. Too close.
What is happening?
Yesterday I hugged him—hugged him—and I wasn’t mad about it. It felt safe. Warm. Like being held by someone who meant it. And the dancing the other night was…unexpected. A surprise sweetness I didn’t know I needed and all wrapped up as a man named Sawyer.
And now, I’m kneeling on the floor in my plant shop, breathing in his clean, warm scent, watching the curve of his jaw, the line of his cheekbone, the way his lashes darken his eyes when he looks up at me.
I know what he looks like. But this is different.
He lifts his gaze. We’re so close I could count his freckles if I wanted to. Something pulls between us, but then Owen’s voice crashes in like a reality check.
“Yo, Stock-ton!”
Sawyer looks up. “What?”
“Physical therapy,” Owen says.
Liam grins. “He means massages.”
Sawyer groans, but he still pushes to his feet, offering his hand to help me up. I take it, and he pulls me upright with an ease that feels entirely too familiar.
Behind him, the guys start heading out, still laughing, still carrying him along with them in theory if not in practice.
Sawyer lingers.
Then he glances back at me. “Hey—before I forget.” He rubs the back of his neck, suddenly a little less effortless. “I’m free tonight if you still want to grab Thai and go over the workshop?”
My brain stalls. Thai. Together. Outside the shop. Something that sounds innocent, but at this moment, I wonder if I can be trusted all alone with him. I freeze just long enough for him to notice, maybe searching for an excuse or just a hole to climb into.
“I can pick you up,” he adds quickly. “Six. Tonight. After you close.”
“Yeah, that sounds good to me,” I finally manage to say, nodding my head in agreement.
Sawyer’s smile is easy when he looks back at me. “Good. Six it is,” he says again, like the decision has already rooted.
I watch as he walks away from me, my pulse still not quite steady. I press my lips together, like I can contain whatever that was…or whatever this is.
I question my choice to say yes, but the doubt doesn’t stick. Not when the shop suddenly feels too big. Too quiet. Like it’s missing something it didn’t even know it needed.
It’s in the space he leaves behind that something inside me shifts—not toward fear or caution, but tilting toward him.
Huh.
Six o’clock suddenly feels like a lifetime away.