Chapter Five

Jameson wondered why he was looking forward to seeing her.

He paced the living room in moody silence and waited for her arrival. He couldn’t understand how this slip of a woman got under his skin and stayed there. And why had he made that ridiculous bet? He knew the rules. Never wager unless the odds were ninety percent or higher. Had he been that confident in the new menu? Honestly, he’d been taught better than this. When bringing anything new to customers, there was always a transitional period where people fought change. Even if the place wasn’t good, it was what they knew.

He'd tried to create excellence too quickly, then got too cocky. But it was hard not to try and show Devon he knew what he was doing. She made him question his natural leadership skills, and simply put?

It pissed him off.

After all, she sold flowers, which must be the easiest job on the planet. Having her challenge each of his decisions while trying to deny his attraction was difficult. He was a master at separating his emotions and ignoring the messy parts of himself he refused to indulge. Devon pushed at his boundaries. It was hard not to stare at her while she flitted around Vintage in that tight black skirt.

The exact uniform he’d insisted on.

But it was more than her gorgeous body. He’d watched her interact with the customers with such a natural warm energy, everyone wanted to be part of her orbit. The way she threw her head back and laughed without restraint. How she seemed to create an intimacy with each person within such a short time. He’d watched professional waitstaff try to emanate those qualities and fail because it wasn’t a core part of them.

Devon naturally exuded radiance with every person around her.

Except him.

The only thing he seemed to coax was sharp-tongued retorts.

On cue, the bell rang. He drew in a breath and opened the door.

She wore clingy yoga pants, a faded peach t-shirt that said BLOOM, and a big ass grin. The dog pressed against her leg, panting. Drools of saliva pooled around his massive paw. “Bear, meet your new daddy.”

He almost choked. “Very funny. This has an expired timeline, you know. I can’t keep a dog with my schedule.”

“No worries, you can bring him pretty much everywhere.”

He shook his head as she stepped past and unclipped Bear’s leash. The monster immediately prowled around the space, ears perked up, fur flying with each step. “I can’t believe Mac agreed to this. He has a pretty nice place that’s going to be ruined.”

His cousin had bought a generous sized house in North Cape May, about ten minutes from town. White with turquoise shudders, it was located on a prized corner lot a few blocks from the bay. Jameson liked the fenced yard and front porch for enjoying outdoors, and the large kitchen outfitted with all updated equipment. He wasn’t as thrilled with the eclectic furnishings, and endless knickknacks his cousin loved to collect. There seemed to be no single theme, just a mishmash of beachy furnishings in various bright colors. Teak tables, wicker rockers, and braided rugs covered a birch wood colored floor. Throw pillows painted with seagulls scattered atop worn navy blue sofa cushions. Happy painted signs declaring Beach Home and Summer Vibes blended with some badass canvases consisting of a half-naked woman poised on the end of a cliff. The brushstrokes were bold and moody and Jameson found himself drawn to the artwork, studying them for long periods of time.

He wondered if Mac did weed, or if he was just naturally quirky with his taste.

Devon dragged in a large tote bag and set it on the floor. “I brought his food, some bowls, treats, and toys. Mac has a few large dog beds in the attic he keeps on hand.” Her ponytail swung as she looked around the house. “How are you settling in here? This doesn’t seem like your normal style.”

He tried not to take offense and cocked his head curiously. “What do you think my style is?”

Her bottom lip quirked in a half smile. “I’m guessing modern. Clean lines. Minimal furniture.”

He hated that she was right. His loft apartment was stark black and white with metal sculptures and custom-made light fixtures with an industrial flare. He loved space and breath in his architecture though he was also comfortable in a tiny cramped pantry or kitchen. “Correct. And I would guess your place is filled with flowers?”

That got her to laugh. “Correct. Though I keep the good stuff for my shop since I’m there all day. My place is above the store so it’s an easy commute.”

He wanted to see her personal space. Imagined it bright and cheerful with just a hint of edginess. “Have you always lived in Cape May?” he asked.

Bear pushed his head around the corner, checking to make sure they hadn’t moved. His giant tail whacked against the wall in doggy delight, and then he disappeared again.

“No, I’m originally from New York.”

He lifted a brow. “Really? What part?”

“Soho.” A smile touched her lips like she was caught in a memory. “I did the fast lane for a while. Held two jobs, did yoga at six am every morning, and brunch every Sunday. One weekend I went to a friend’s wedding in Cape May and when I crossed the bridge, my entire soul vibrated.”

“You’d never been before?”

She shook her head. “I wasn’t really a beach person. Or so I thought. That weekend changed everything. I walked into the water and watched dolphins play in the waves and I cried.”

Jameson moved closer, fascinated by the softening of her features, the relaxed curve of her lush lips, the sparkle in her eyes. “Why?”

A tiny laugh escaped. “Because I hadn’t known I was unhappy until that exact moment. I quit my jobs and moved here within the month.”

He studied her angular chin and stubborn jaw and the glow of her skin. “You’re very brave.”

Her gaze swung to his, obviously startled. “I figured you’d say impulsive or silly.”

“No. Too many people ignore the signs of what they’re supposed to do or where they’re supposed to be. We feel stuck but are too fearful to make a change. You’re a bit of a warrior, flower girl.”

The space between them warmed and electrified. He sucked in his breath at the sudden sexual chemistry crackling between them, pulling him closer. His nostrils flared as he caught her scent. Vanilla and currant. Earthy. Sexy.

He liked the tiny catch of sound she made in her throat. She felt it too, and though it made no sense, Jameson decided he really, really wanted to kiss her. He needed to know how she tasted and if she’d melt under his touch or bring her own sensual sting to the kiss.

He reached out.

Bear barreled in and skid between them. He wrinkled his nose at the scent of wet dog. “Why is his snout dripping wet? I don’t have any water bowls out.”

Devon sighed. “Toilet bowl. You need to keep the lids down.”

“Yuk. He’s so…messy.”

“Love is not supposed to be neat and tidy, restaurant boy.”

Her words struck something within him and all those safe barriers he’d erected began to shake. Clenching his jaw, he fought it back and everything steadied. The mood was broken so he grabbed the bag and brought it into the kitchen, ignoring the funny look she gave him, almost as if she’d discovered his secrets.

Bear followed, sticking his wet nose into the bag. His furball body swung around and a crash echoed in the air.

Devon winced. “Yeah, you’re gonna need to clear off these table tops. He can’t help his size and can’t judge when he’ll knock something down.”

Jameson glowered. “Do you see all the junk in this place Mac collected? Why do I have to change my setting to accommodate a dog?”

She gave him a firm stare. “Because he’s a baby and your responsibility.”

“He’s a menace and a short-time visitor.”

“Bear’s had a hard time out there. Haven’t you just wanted to feel safe?”

He jerked back and turned away. The words hit its mark. “Yeah.”

“When?”

Her question thundered in his ears. The memory resurfaced and taunted. He practically squeezed his eyes shut to avoid all off it. “Before. Fine, I’ll clean up in here.”

“I’ll help. Grab a big bag or something we can pack the stuff in.”

Muttering under his breath about her bossiness, he retrieved a tote and began removing the knickknacks from the tables. Bear sat and watched them happily.

“Want a beer or glass of wine?” he asked.

She squinted at him, which made him laugh. “What’s so funny?”

“You’re acting like I’m about to poison you instead of offering you a drink.”

She grinned. “Sorry, you’ve been a bit prickly. Sure. I’ll take a beer.”

“Cape May White, good?”

“Perfect.” He popped open two, grabbed glasses from the freezer, and poured.

“Thanks.” She took a sip, sighing in happiness at the chilled brew, not seeming bothered by the foam covering her lips. “Damn, that’s good.”

“A frosty glass makes all the difference.”

“I’m sure next up will be a temperature-controlled wine fridge for Vintage,” she teased.

He grunted. It had definitely been on his list as a necessary investment. “I’m not prickly. I’m a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to business. It’s probably different from the way you run a flower shop.”

Her smile was wiped away. Jameson mourned it. “That’s the third time you made some crack about me being a florist. You have no clue what I handle.”

“Tell me. I’m curious.”

Her brows snapped into a fierce frown. She looked adorably grumpy with that expression and he had to fight his instinct to reach for her. His emotions were all over the place with this woman. He’d never reacted to someone like this—laughter, irritation, sexual attraction. It was like a giant ball of mess.

Devon took another sip of beer as if to fortify herself. “I get up at six am so I can prep the shop, take care of the flowers, and deal with ordering supplies. I get ready for deliveries and plot out the schedule. Depending on what event I’m working on, I may need to travel to get some rare blooms. I have consults during the day since I do endless events—from school functions, weddings, holidays, birthdays, beach picnics, etc. I also have regular customers who come and go daily, including local hotels and restaurants. Weekends are mainly spent setting up for events, which you should know, can exist within complete chaos.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I can relate. Bad tempered chefs, ruined food, demanding customers, food allergies. I’ve seen it all.”

“Exactly. Flowers are the crux of many celebrations. Making sure I have quality blooms on hand is a big deal. It’s also extremely creative. Many brides and grooms have no idea what they want. They’ll come in with odd demands or pictures, and it’s up to me to pull it all together and coordinate so everyone is happy. I work my ass off every damn day. I’m not tiptoeing through the tulips with no stress, you know.”

He grinned and threw up his hands. “I get it. Honestly, I never really thought of flowers on the back end. I just see the finished product.”

“Just like a restaurant.”

“Yes.” She seemed satisfied with his reaction and took another sip of beer. He craved more from her, so he focused on his task of tidying up so he could hide his deep interest. “Why flowers and why own your own business?”

Devon placed a snow globe with a beach Santa in the tote, then absently patted Bear’s head. “My parents had a massive garden. We lived in upstate New York, near New Paltz, in this old farmhouse. Every day, mom would pick an arrangement of fresh flowers and put them all over the house. I woke up every morning to the scents of roses, hydrangeas, and lavender. She taught me the balance of delicacy and strength, and all the tricks to keep them healthy.” A short laugh escaped her lips. “I learned most lessons from my life by being around flowers.”

He dropped the bag, no longer caring if he looked hungry for more. Her musical voice wove a spell around him, urging him closer. His fingers itched to touch her cheek, slide his palm to the nape of her neck, and tilt her head back. “Like what?”

Her eyes widened. She took a few moments to study him, as if testing to see if he was teasing her. “Lessons? Pruning is one. Sometimes, you need to chop away parts of yourself to be able to grow stronger. Learn to trust the strength of the flower to grow back when the time is right.”

“What if your timing is wrong? If you prune too early or too late?”

Her lips pursed in thought. “Then you learn from the mistake and get it right the next time. You learn what the flower needs and forgive yourself. Then try again.”

His head spun. There was so much more going on within this conversation. He’d never touched deeper topics with a woman. He was great at banter, flirting, and sex. He was a master at break-ups, taking the blame for his insane schedule and inability to commit long-term. Jameson never took the time to really dig into the why—he went with instinct and kept his head down, plowing through his days and his life with little reflection.

Devon made him want to poke around. Learn what was beneath her gorgeous exterior and find what made her so uniquely her. Ask himself some questions he’d never considered.

In that moment, he realized this woman was dangerous.

“What made you want to run a restaurant?” she asked, turning the conversation around. He avoided her gaze, needing to sort through his sudden drama.

“I like being around food.”

She laughed at that, and a reluctant grin tugged his lips. “Elaborate,” she teased.

Usually, he gave the easy answer. He’d grown up with an appreciation for good food, gotten his first job at a local restaurant as a bus boy, and fell into the career. But he wanted to share a bit more with Devon. “There’s an order within chaos,” he slowly said, trying to find the right words. She tilted her head, her focus fully intent on him. “I get high off the rush of the kitchen and the urgency to get the food on the plate in the proper way, in the proper time. The buzz of energy is so intense everyone is vibrating at such a high level. And then you walk through the doors to the main dining room and there’s this peaceful type of organization amidst the frenzy of seating everyone, or getting their drinks and meals to the tables. It’s both creative and risky. I found my favorite part was trying to control the logistics in order to minimize the unknown. Being in the thick of a Friday evening rush and pulling it off gives me satisfaction.”

She nodded slowly, as if she understood the feelings beneath his explanation. “Order within chaos,” she murmured. “How beautifully said.”

He shifted his feet in discomfort. “Plus, the money is really good.”

Her laugh caressed his ears. “I’m sure it is.” She finished her beer in one long swallow and handed him the full tote. “All set. I better get going.”

She bent over and whispered something in Bear’s ear. The dog panted, shoving his body against her. He noticed she was covered in dog hair but didn’t seem to care, casually brushing off her clothes and moving toward the door. “Thanks for the beer.”

“Thanks for…the dog.”

“Take care of him, Jameson.”

Then she disappeared.

He stared at the closed door, wondering why the place suddenly seemed so empty.

Until a low whine interrupted his thoughts. He regarded the messy beast with an assessing gaze, and those big brown eyes stared back with a naked pleading and hope that punched him right in the chest.

Damnit. He wasn’t up for this. His two lousy months had already been met with too many challenges when he’d only wanted to help out Mac and keep his head down. He had no desire to be involved with any of the locals or dog rescues but now he was stuck.

“I’ll get your bed from the attic. No sleeping on the bed or the furniture. Understood?”

Bear whimpered.

Jameson sighed. “Come on. I’ll show you where the food and water will be. But don’t get too comfy. I’ll be putting your picture up around town so you can find a real home. Deal?”

He headed toward the kitchen, stumbling when the dog bumped into his legs and almost made him face-plant. His dress pants were already full of hair, and a line of drool seemed to follow Bear wherever he went.

It may be harder than he thought to get this beast a home.

He reminded himself it wasn’t his problem.

And wondered why the thought made him feel…regret.

* * * *

Two days later, Jameson was ready to lose his mind.

Things had begun so hopefully. It was the last weekend to pack in the customers before the Fur Gala, and he’d decided to push hard to dazzle the town. His contacts in New York City had come through and shipped him brand new table settings that screamed elegance and restraint. He’d gathered up the staff, galvanized them into an action plan, and completely renovated the place with all new décor.

Bright-white tablecloths replaced the dingy black. Chipped white china was switched out to square plates with silver edging and lavender napkins. The flatware was all upgraded to a heavier weight in platinum finish. The endless cheap holiday accessories were packed up and put away, from the white lights and fake Christmas trees, to the mistletoe and poinsettia centerpieces. In its place were now delicate glass bowls filled with pebbles, water, and one perfect red rose.

The old, red area rugs were gone. The new ones were more subtle, a tasteful pale gray splashed with a touch of lavender. The new colors were pleasing to the eye, and transformed the dining area into an upgraded experience.

He knew the staff disliked the changes, but Jameson believed it was for the best. They’d all been working too long in the same type of environment and that courted laziness. He was positive the new décor matched the menu and cocktail offerings. Everyone would eventually get on board and be happy.

Jameson was ready to overserve and overdeliver. Mac would be pleased.

Until Carl Perkins started off the day on a sour note.

Jameson looked up from his quick meeting with the hostess to see an overweight man lumbering through the front door dressed in a Santa suit. He was about to politely get rid of him before they officially opened, but Layla lit up and greeted him like an old friend. “Carl! I was hoping we’d see you this weekend! How are you doing?”

Carl patted his belly and squinted through metal framed glasses that seemed to be more cosmetics than to see. His beard was a bit dingy and crooked. “Hi, Layla. Well, I’ve been a bit sick with my IBS, but finally feeling better. I didn’t want to miss our weekend tradition but the new guy has been giving me the runaround. Left a few messages but he never got back to me. Was going to call Mac but figured I’d just show up.”

Jameson tried not to groan. He’d ignored the garbled messages, which consisted of asking for a few hundred dollars in order to purchase gifts for random kids this weekend and the rental of a Santa suit. Of course, he’d deleted the messages and assumed it was a prank, or spam. This was for real?

He cleared his throat and stepped forward. “I’m the new manager, Jameson Franklin. I apologize, your messages weren’t clear. What exactly were you asking to do?”

Carl gave him a once-over, then shook his head. “I play Santa the weekend before Christmas. Been doing it for Mac a couple years now. Polite thing to do is give a man a call back, right?”

He tried not to wince at being schooled on manners. “I’m very sorry, but I’ve been a bit overwhelmed with things around here. Trying to keep things running smoothly for Mac.”

The man seemed to soften. A loud noise rumbled from his belly and Carl patted it. Jameson tried not to worry at his expression, which was pained. “Sorry, I had some milk in my coffee this morning. Not a good idea. Listen, it’s not a problem. You can give me about three hundred and I’ll head to the store and get the gifts. Be back here by 11am. Sound good?”

Jameson shifted his feet. “Layla, can you check with the chef that he has everything he needs? There were a few supplies that came in late.”

“Sure.”

He waited until she’d disappeared before turning to the man. “Thank you for the kind offer but we won’t be doing Santa this year.”

Carl stared. “Huh?”

“Santa. We won’t be needing your services. Thank you for the offer, though.”

The man scratched his head, and the wig slid partway off. He glared over the tiny spectacles. “What are you talking about? You don’t cancel Santa.”

He sharpened his voice to show authority. “I do. Vintage is going through some renovations so we’ll be skipping the gifts and visit this year. Again, I appreciate it, but I have to get ready to open. Nice to meet you.”

He turned to leave but a loud sound exploded in the air. Carl groaned and a certain smell drifted over. “Who are you—the Vintage Scrooge? The kids will be devastated. They always eat their pancakes and open presents. Why are you being so cheap? Fine, I’ll do it for two hundred.”

“There are no more pancakes,” Jameson muttered. “And no money will be spent on useless gifts.”

“What am I going to do with the suit? I already paid for it!” Another gurgling noise. “Damn dairy. I need the bathroom.”

Jameson glanced at the clock. He did not need this scene to greet the first customers of a busy weekend. He needed this man out of here. “I’ll cut you a check for the suit,” he said, motioning him forward. “Use the office bathroom, then you can leave through the back door.”

Carl bent over slightly, which loosened his beard so a bunch of gnarled gray hair hung halfway to the floor. “Fine. But this is a terrible thing you’re doing. Killing kids hopes and dreams is a sin.”

“I can live with that.”

He wrote out a check to cash while Carl was in the bathroom destroying his private sanctuary, then hustled him out the door. By the time Vintage opened, Jameson was already a bit rattled.

The customers flooded the new space, commenting on the lack of holiday décor; the expensive bar bill; and why all the colors had changed. Jameson showed up at every table to greet the customers, explaining the exciting new updates, upselling the menu, and promising a five-star experience.

The children became a problem.

He stopped at table five, where an adorable young girl and her father were eating. Her blonde pigtails held red ribbons, and her outfit consisted of a sparkly sweater, furry pants and bright red rubber boots. Her wrist was filled with jangly bracelets and Christmas tree earrings bobbed as she tilted her head up to look at him. “Welcome to Vintage. I’m Jameson, the manager, and I’m here if you have any questions. We’ve been doing some updating and looking forward to any input you have for me and my staff.”

“Hi, I’m Zoe! Daddy and I came to see Santa. Do you know when he’ll be here?”

Her bright blue eyes fastened on him with innocent trust. He swallowed hard and tried to be a man about it. “I’m sorry but Santa won’t be able to make it this weekend. He’s extremely busy with his…schedule.”

The father studied him with frank curiosity. He was ridiculously good-looking in a classic way, with thick dark hair, dark eyes, and a solid, confident presence. “What a shame. Hi, I’m Gabe. I work over at Sunshine Bridal. How’s Mac’s sister doing?”

Jameson checked in on both of his cousins regularly, but was surprised at the consistent concern of the patrons. “Much better, he appreciates so many of his friends checking on him.”

“Good. I see there’s been a lot of changes here. Looking forward to attending the Fur Gala.”

“It will be quite a turnout. How was your meal, young lady?”

Zoe glanced at her father as if asking a question. Gabe nodded. “Mr. Jameson, I really miss the pancakes. It’s my favorite part of coming here and I would like to make a suggestion, like in one your boxes? I would like to vote that you bring the pancakes and Nutella and fruit back.”

He’d been dealing with complaints on the charcuterie board all morning but the way Zoe approached it made him pause. “Did you try one of our new entrees on the menu? What about the stuffed French toast?”

“Yes, that’s what I got but I really really love the pancakes. Plus, it comes on a big fun board and I get to have different type of bacons. But I don’t want anyone to get sad so please don’t tell anyone else I was disappointed. Okay?”

He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. She actually looked concerned she’d hurt his feelings. “Okay. Anything else?”

She bit her lip. “I really like the lights but they’re gone. But I love the purple. Purple is my favorite color but I put red ribbons and a red sweater on because it’s Christmas and red is the best.”

“Thank you for the suggestion, Zoe. I will see what I can do.”

Her face lit up. “Okay! Mr. Jameson?”

“Yes?”

“Since Santa is busy and lots of kids still come here to get presents, would it be okay for me to bring some over here for kids to open later on? I’ve been saving and Mom says it’s good to give to cheerity, and I usually give to the dogs because I love dogs and have one, but this year I want to give extra presents because Santa is busy. Daddy, is that okay? We can go to the store with my piggy bank money and come back here! Plus, you don’t have a tree and you need a Christmas tree to put the presents under so we can stop and get a small one!”

He blinked and glanced at Gabe.

The man gave a deep sigh. “Yeah, I know. She’s hard to say no to, and I have to deal with her and Bella. Her mother’s heart is just as big. Probably the reason I fell in love with both of them on sight.”

Guilt squirmed through him. Crap. Now he felt like a Scrooge instead of a good businessman. “Zoe, that’s very kind. Santa would be really proud of you. But you don’t have to worry because I’ll take care of it here. My staff will get some presents and a tree and we’ll give them out tomorrow. Okay?”

She clapped her hand. “Okay! Thank you, Mr. Jameson. You are a very nice man.”

His ears felt like they were turning red. Gabe reached out to shake his hand. “A pleasure to meet you. Let me know if there’s anything my wife and I can do to help with the Fur Gala. I’m sure you have your hands full.”

“Thank you. Devon has been my point person on the whole thing.”

Gabe’s dark eyes twinkled. “Ah, Devon is the perfect person to keep it all together for you.”

“Are we talking about the same woman?”

Gabe laughed. “I think so. She knows exactly how to deal with the heart of any problem without flinching and get things done. You’re in good hands.”

Jameson turned over those cryptic words in his head, wondering why it seemed Gabe knew her well. “Good to know. Have a wonderful rest of your day. Zoe, it’s been a pleasure.”

He bowed formally which made her giggle, and walked away.

The rest of the day held the same undertones. Kids cried when Santa didn’t show up. Customers complained. The staff seemed miserable. The chef sent out a whipped cream sad face on the French toast, inciting giggles from the table. With each hour, Jameson became more frustrated and confused to why no one in Cape May saw his vision, and how much better Vintage was if they just gave it a chance.

He left to go home before the dinner shift and take care of Bear.

When he opened the door, he was met with a frantically happy, drooling dog with a very large piece of furniture in his mouth.

The leg of the sectional.

In growing horror, Jameson took in the damage to the house.

Pillows were torn. The sectional limped drunkenly to its side. The beach coffee table book was shredded into confetti. He’d gotten into the garbage and had a food party, so coffee grounds, banana peels, and the remains of Vintage take-out were strewn all over the kitchen floor.

“Bear. What did you do?”

The canine ducked his head for a moment, as if feeling guilty and wanting to take a moment to form an apology.

And then with a mighty leap, he jumped up, toppling Jameson over, and licked his face furiously. Jameson fought off the drool from his drippy jowls and the massive weight trying to pin him down as Bear’s tail wagged with pure happiness.

Jameson was not as happy.

He was going to kill Devon.