Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 79821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Unfortunately, I’ve messed things up so badly, I know a pretty bouquet isn’t going to cut it—but it sure as hell won’t hurt either.
“Welcome to Sweet Peony!” a deep voice calls from somewhere in the shop. “Over here—how can I help you?”
I round the corner to find a man with long dreads arranging a bouquet over a table in the back of the building.
“I need flowers,” I say lamely.
He grins. “You’re in the right place. Occasion?”
That’s a loaded question if there ever was one. “You got anything that says I know I ruined everything and you hate me, but I still love you and have no plans on giving up?”
His grin morphs into an all-out blinding smile. “Tricky, but doable.”
“Really?”
He nods. “Didn’t anybody ever tell you that anything is possible if you just believe?”
“I’m glad one of us is feeling optimistic.”
“Do you know her favorite blooms?”
I chuckle. “She actually loves flowers. She has a garden that she tends to damn near obsessively.”
“Oh.” He hums under his breath. “That changes things. I’m Zach, by the way.”
“Samson.” I shake his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too. Now, what’s your budget here?”
I swallow hard. “Budget?”
“Good flowers aren’t cheap.” Zach raises his brows. “And your girl sounds like she’ll know—and appreciate—the difference.”
Mentally, I tally my checking account balance, and then spit out a number. Judging by the awestruck look on Zach’s face, it’s a good one.
“You must really love her.”
I nod. “I do. Oh, and hey! Could you make a small version for her mother?”
“Smart move, my man. Smart move.”
Twenty minutes later, I’m at the Cartwrights’, hovering on the front porch, wondering if I should knock or just walk in.
Nine months ago, I wouldn’t have questioned this—I’d have just walked on in and made myself at home. Because for most of my childhood, this house was my home; or at least more of a home than the Scotts’ ever was.
“Fuck it,” I mutter as I turn the knob.
The second I step inside, the scent of Mrs. C’s cooking tickles my nose. The woman may be a teacher by trade, but she could easily put most of the local diners to shame with her food.
“Orion,” she calls from the kitchen, “is that you?”
“No, ma’am.” I enter the room.
“Samson Carter!” She shucks off her oven mitts, races around the island, but I stop her before she can hug me, pulling one of the bouquets out from behind my back. “You little charmer! When did you get back?”
“A few days ago.”
She grabs a vase from below the sink and fills it with water. “Thank you, these are lovely.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Have you seen Orion already? Oh, Stella’s going to be so happy. She’s been in a funk ever since you left.”
I swallow roughly at the mention of Stella. If only Mrs. C knew the real reason for her daughter’s sadness.
“I’m looking forward to seeing her.”
She spots the second bouquet. “Are those for her?”
I nod.
“She’s in her room. Why don’t you go up and take them to her?”
“Okay.” An anxious shiver works its way through me.
“Don’t take too long—dinner is almost ready.”
As I climb the stairs, I only have one thing on my mind—getting Stella to forgive me. Or at the very least, to make her consider forgiving me. Baby steps and what-not.
I rap my knuckles against her bedroom door and wait.
“Come in.”
I push the door open and lean my shoulder against the frame. “Luna.”
“Are you freaking kidding me?” She whips around to face me, her lips curled in an angry snarl. “Why are you here?”
“To give you these.” I start to pull the flowers from behind my back, but Stella doesn’t give me a chance.
“No.” She stalks over to me. “Why are you here, in my house?”
“Last I checked, I have an open invitation.”
She mimics the words back to me and rolls her eyes. “Well, the last I checked, that was before you shoved a knife into my back.”
“I got you something,” I murmur, pointedly ignoring her animosity.
“What?”
I pull the flowers from behind my back, loving the ways her eyes widen at the colorful display.
“Oh, wow. These are beautiful.” She crosses the room and snatches the bouquet from me. “But you’re still a double-crossing piece of crap liar.”
I press my right hand over my heart. “Tell me how you really feel, Luna.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“There’s a letter for you tucked in there.”
“A letter?” She blinks.
“That’s what I said.”
She snorts. “Hard pass.”
“I get that you’re mad, and you have every right to be.”
“Damn straight I do.”
“But I really think we need to talk—”
“The only thing we need to talk about is you staying the hell away from me. You did it so wonderfully for the last nine months.” Stella shoves past me, knocking her shoulder into my chest. “Now, keep it up… I don’t know… forever.”
With a parting smile that’s as cold as ice, she turns and flees down the stairs, taking them two at a time.