Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 108862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Swear I’ve seen that logo before.
But can’t bother to think of where, too sapped by this fucking heat and humidity. It rained for two measly minutes, then the sun came out right after to soak it all up like a greedy bastard, leaving the air thick and stifling. I’m drenched in my loose gray t-shirt and wasn’t even out in the rain, the material clinging to every crevice of my chest and back. It’s annoying.
I enter. The tiny bell goes ding. It’s an instant attack on the nostrils, second you step in. Well, it seems like an attack at first, but only until you realize it’s the most pleasant aroma you’ve ever known and makes you feel instantly at home.
I don’t do “pleasant”.
But I feel like ten-year-old me in my tía’s arms again while she giggled and sang silly songs I’d long outgrown but still laughed at.
Old family gatherings in houses I only half-remember, all my relatives around me, something always cooking, a candy dish we were told not to touch until after dinner—but we always snuck in a candy or two when no one looked.
All those memories are inside my head as I walk around the cramped store full of shelves upon shelves of plants and flowers. Row of decorative pots on the floor. Counter of tiny hand-carved figurines. My eyes take in every color that fills the place.
For as many breakable, fragile things that are around me, I’ve instantly got this instinct to keep my hands to myself. I come up to one of the shelves, checking out some weird-looking plant with wide prickly leaves and tiny orange flower buds. I reach to touch it only for one of its sharp leaves to prick my fingertip, causing me to pull back at once.
Funny thing, how pretty things are so often dangerous.
Soft-looking and fragile but bites when you get too close.
“I’ll be there in a moment!” a voice calls from the back of the store, out of sight.
I freeze.
Why did that sound like—?
“Sorry!” he says as he flies out from behind a curtain. “Was in the back checking on—”
His gaze lands on mine.
I’ve stopped dead-center in the store, eyes on his.
“Diego,” he chokes, all his joyful tone of voice gone.
Of course I have that impression on him. “Wyatt.”
He crosses his arms. Uncrosses them. Then gently places his hands on the counter and lifts his eyebrows. “Something I can get for you?” he asks, sounding almost polite.
Almost. If it weren’t for the annoyed undertone.
Well, if this isn’t suddenly the shittiest day ever. “No,” I answer, and turn to leave.
Then stop.
Sigh.
And face him again. “Wildflowers.”
His lips twitch. “What?”
“The ones I mowed over. Wildflowers.” I shrug at the floral arrangements all around me. “Here to replace them.”
“Replace them …?”
“Isn’t that what I just said?”
He stiffens up. “I said I’d do it.”
“I’m the one who mowed over them.”
“And I said I’d replace them.”
“So you’re not gonna let me help?”
“Haven’t you already done enough?” he asks sweetly.
This fucking guy, I swear. “I didn’t mean to mow over them. It was an—” I shake my head, unable to say the words, then grab the first potted thing off the shelf. “How much are these?”
His eyebrows twist up. “You’re gonna replace outdoor Texas wildflowers with a moth orchid?”
“It’s a flower, isn’t it?”
“It’s an orchid.”
“An orchid isn’t a flower?”
“Do you know anything about—?” Wyatt huffs, his grip on the counter tightening. “I said I would replace the flowers, Diego. I’m the one who planted them in the first place. As you can tell, it’s kind of what I do.”
“So?” I gesture at the plant in my hand. “You don’t think I’m capable of digging up a few holes in the dirt and dropping some plants in them?”
He closes his eyes. “It’s not that I don’t think you’re capable. It just … It takes a certain kind of …” He gives up and comes around the counter. “Just put that plant back before you traumatize it.”
“I’m not gonna traumatize—”
I think I was expecting him to just grab it.
But Wyatt’s touch is gentle when he takes it from my hands.
His soft fingers grazing my own.
Gliding over them as he carefully takes hold of the orchid.
Fingertips like live wires, sending prickles of electricity up the lengths of my arms, so far up I can feel it in my ears.
Transferring the pot from me like you would a baby. Precious and fragile and guarded with the lives of everyone who loves it.
He sets it back on the shelf and doesn’t let go for a moment, hands lingering in place. He takes in a breath, smiles, then lets go and faces me. “I appreciate it. Thank you. For wanting to do the right thing.” His smile tightens. “But I can handle it.”
His light green apron, like spearmint, with the blue-and-pink flower-and-moon logo on the chest. Giving him a look of authority he didn’t have when squaring off with me on the lawn.