1. Lily

Chapter 1

Lily

S unlight spills through the window, and I stretch on my tiptoes, greeting the morning with a smile. My feet pad across the wooden floor of my flat, the air laced with the scent of lily and vanilla. Below me waits my flower shop, Forget Me Knot, my pride and joy nestled in the heart of the English Lake District.

I skip breakfast, just having a quick cup of tea to kick-start the day. Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I pin a daisy to my hair, its white petals a bright spot against my light brown waves. My green eyes shine, ready for whatever this beautiful summer day brings. Life is good right now, and while I always have a small cloud in the distance, ready to bring its downpour, today, it's white and fluffy, and I can ignore it.

Heading downstairs to open up, I flick on the low-level lighting and roll up the blinds. I turn the ‘Closed' sign around and unlock the door. Moving through the fragrant blooms to the back of the shop, I unlock the back door and shove it open to let in the gorgeous fresh air and scents of the beautiful garden.

The bell over the shop door tinkles, drawing my attention—a sound that never fails to make me smile. The shop is alive with colour and life, every bloom a friend waving hello.

"Morning, Lily!" Mrs Henderson calls out, her voice as warm as the sun outside.

"Good morning, Mrs H! What can I do for you today?" I ask, leaning against the counter, my hands playing with a sprig of baby's breath.

She wrings her hands, her brows knitting together in that adorable way when she's flustered. "It's our anniversary, and Harold, bless him, he's as romantic as a brick. I need something special."

"Say no more, Mrs H." I wink. "How about we go with some red roses for passion, sprinkle in some white tulips for purity, and, oh, let's throw in some lilacs for that first love feeling?"

Her face brightens like I've just handed her a winning lottery ticket. "Oh, Lily, that's perfect! You always know just what to do."

I laugh, grabbing my floral snips. "It's all in a day's work. Anything to make your day bloom with happiness."

I select the freshest roses, the petals velvet under my touch, and gather tulips, their stems a chorus line of green. The lilacs are last, their perfume rich and heady, like memories of first kisses and handholding.

Each stem finds its place in my hands, no second-guessing, no hesitation. It's second nature. With Mrs Henderson's bouquet in the works, I watch as she inhales deeply, closing her eyes. "Oh, that's lovely."

"Harold won't know what hit him," I tease, grinning as she chuckles and shakes her head, her worries visibly washing away. I work quickly but with care, knowing each twist and tuck brings out the best in them.

"Look at you go," Mrs Henderson says, watching me work. "I swear, you've got magic in those fingers."

"Only the best kind of magic—the kind that grows in the soil and blooms with a bit of love," I reply, securing the arrangement with a flourish of ribbon.

"Every time, Lily. It's like you're painting with flowers."

I grin, feeling the praise wash over me and soothe my soul.

She laughs, taking the bundle into her arms. "Thank you, dear. You always make it special."

"Happy to help, Mrs H. Give Harold my best."

As she leaves, the bell tinkles again, a sound that fills me with peace. This is more than just a flower shop; it's a little slice of joy, one bouquet at a time.

Hearing the side gate open and close outside, I smile like I have a big secret that I'm not sharing. Stepping out the back door of Forget Me Knot, the air is sweet and fresh in this small village, which is coming alive in the morning sun. My gaze drifts over the riot of colours from the blossoms and the lush greens of the herbs and then lands on Jack.

Jack Thorne is bent over the rose bushes, his black t-shirt straining over his muscular back, his cute backside noticeable in his blue shorts. The sight sends a little jolt through me, like licking a battery, but in a good way. His hands are gentle and sure as they snip away the dead blooms, coaxing new life from the stubborn stems.

"Morning, Jack," I say, my voice smooth as the petal of a camellia.

"Hey, Lily." He glances up with that shy smile. It does funny things to my insides and makes me think of tangled sheets and whispered names on hot summer nights.

"Working hard or hardly working?" I tease, sliding on a pair of gloves. They're purple and comfy.

"Always hard at work for you," he replies, his voice low and warm, like honey drizzled over toast. His chestnut hair is tousled, and his green eyes are twinkling.

I stifle a laugh and bend down next to him, trimming a bush of lavender. Its scent fills the space between us, mixing with the earthiness that clings to Jack. I start humming some old tune, notes floating up and mingling with the buzz of bees.

"Careful now, wouldn't want to cut too much," Jack murmurs, the protector of plants and apparently my fingers.

"I know my stuff," I shoot back. "These babies know who's boss."

He chuckles, and we settle down, working side by side in comfortable silence, just the snip of shears and the hum of my makeshift melody. It feels cosy and natural, like we're two pieces of the same puzzle that happens to be a bit frayed around the edges. He is an alpha of few words, but he knows how to get my blood racing. He is my oldest friend in the world with benefits that make my pussy fill with slick at the thought of him between my thighs.

"Looking good, Lily," he says after a while.

I wonder if he's talking about the garden or me. But I don't press, just savour the compliment and the easy company.

"Thanks, Jack. You're not so bad yourself," I murmur, risking a glance his way. His skin is flushed and has a soft smile that makes me want to do more than just plant flowers.

When the bell above the door jingles, I'm elbows deep in a sea of petals. I straighten up, brushing a stray lock behind my ear as I rise to meet a guy with a bowler hat as I step back into the shop.

"Morning!" I greet him, plastering on my brightest smile as I pull off my gloves. "I'm Lily Bloom, how can I be of service?"

"Good day," he starts, tipping his hat like he's just stepped out of a time machine. "I'm in dire need of your expertise."

"Hit me," I say, leaning against the counter, intrigued by this character who seems to have wandered out of a Sherlock Holmes novel.

"It's my sister's graduation," he explains, "and she's rather unconventional. I need something that screams ‘congratulations on your degree in cryptozoology.'"

"Ah," I muse, tapping a finger on my chin. "Unconventional, you say? How about a bouquet that could double as a Bigfoot lure?"

He chuckles, adjusting his hat. "If you said you had that, I'd be all over it."

"‘Fraid not, but let's think outside the box. Or vase, for that matter." I walk over to the rows of blooms, feeling the tickle of inspiration. "We'll start with some snapdragons—because dragons, obviously."

"Brilliant!" he exclaims, warming up to the theme.

"Then we'll add some monkey orchids because they have little monkey faces." I pick a few stems, their peculiar blossoms grinning up at us.

"Ha! She'll love it!" His eyes light up, and it's clear he's enjoying our brainstorming session as much as I am.

"Let's throw in some green trick dianthus for texture—it looks like moss or something you'd find in an enchanted forest," I suggest, plucking a fluffy bunch from the cooler.

"Perfect! It's like you've walked right into her imagination," he says, now fully invested in my vision.

"Lastly, we need something unexpected... Ah!" I spy the delicate tendrils of a climbing vine. "Black-eyed Susan vine. Looks charming, but has a hint of mystery." I twine it around the growing ensemble.

"Miss Bloom," he declares with a dramatic flair that matches his attire, "you are a true artiste."

"Please, call me Lily," I reply, grinning as I secure the arrangement. "And you've got yourself a one-of-a-kind cryptozoology graduation bouquet."

"Thank you, Lily. This is precisely why I came here," he says, his bowler hat bobbing as he nods approvingly. "Your reputation is far and wide."

My smile freezes, and I gulp back the sudden mouthful of saliva. "Oh?" I croak. "Where are you from then?"

"Carlisle," he says.

"Oh, you've come quite the way today."

"Like I said, your reputation for being a floral genius precedes you, Miss Bloom. The flower lady with a penchant for the peculiar."

And we're back to Miss Bloom?

My skittish nerves take a sudden leap to the forefront, but I keep smiling because that's what I do. However, I may take a small sidestep to the left to surround myself with the pungent scent of roses to try to mask my scent as much as possible. Reason numero uno why I have this shop where I'm surrounded by flowers, essential oils, and scented candles night and day. "Well, thank you for the kind words. I'll have this ready for you in just a few minutes."

He wanders around the shop, sniffing this and sniffing that, pulling away from a Venus fly trap that nearly takes his nose off. Giggling and relaxing a bit, knowing I'm covered in floral scents galore, I finish up and ring up the cost on the till.

Bowler man pays, and with another beam, he tips his hat again and leaves me to calm my racing heart.

Serves me right for thinking that cloud was white and fluffy, the fucking cloudy bastard.

The door opens again, and I look up quickly, but then smile.

"Hey, Lily, how's business blooming?" Fred, the local baker, quips as he holds up a brown paper bag of freshly baked goodies.

"Hey, Fred. Blooming great, thanks," I shoot back, giving him a mock salute. He lets out a loud guffaw and I feel at ease again now that the familiar is around me. "What did you bring me?"

His grin widens as he places the bag on the counter. "Got your favourites—a couple of almond croissants and a fresh loaf of sourdough."

"Oh, Fred, you spoil me," I say, reaching into the bag and pulling out a croissant. The almond scent mingles with all the floral notes in the shop, creating an oddly comforting bouquet.

Before he can respond, another customer walks in—a regular named Mrs Thompson, who always buys chrysanthemums for her garden club meetings.

I wave to Fred as he creeps out in an over-the-top pantomime that makes us both laugh.

"Morning, Mrs Thompson!" I greet her brightly.

Mrs Thompson's wrinkled face brightens up as she spots me at the counter. "Morning, Lily dear!"

"How's your garden coming along?" I ask Mrs Thompson as she peruses the rows of chrysanthemums, her fingers trailing delicately over the petals.

"Oh, just splendid," she says, her eyes twinkling. "These beauties you recommended last week are thriving. I swear they look happier each day."

She selects a vibrant bunch of yellow chrysanthemums and places them on the counter. "Another meeting today?" I ask while wrapping the flowers in tissue paper.

"Indeed. The ladies were so impressed by these last time, they insisted I bring more."

I smile, handing over the bouquet. "I'm glad to hear it!"

Mrs Thompson pays and waves to me and I lean against the counter to finish off my croissant, glad of the few minutes' breather.

When I hear footsteps behind me, I turn to see Jack step in, and the sight of him is like a jolt of caffeine straight into my veins. He's all sweaty from working in the garden, his t-shirt clinging to him in all the right places, showing off the muscles that hours of pruning and digging have carved.

"Hey, Lily," he says with that half-smile that always sends a tingle down my spine. His voice is deep, the kind that makes you want to hear him whisper dirty somethings in your ear.

"Jack." I try to sound casual, but it's hard when every time he walks into the room, it feels like someone has turned up the thermostat. "How's the herb garden coming along?"

"Thriving," he replies, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. His movement releases a wave of his scent into the air, and it's all I can do not to swoon. That alpha scent of his is not just hot; it's Sahara Desert at high noon hot.

"Good, good," I manage, focusing on the flowers in front of me rather than the man who's making my heart race. Jack moves closer, and the earthy tones of soil and rain wafts around me.

"Need any help?" he asks, eyeing the floral chaos on my workbench.

"Sure," I say, grateful for the distraction. "Can you grab some of those peonies over there?"

He nods and strides over to the bucket of blooms, his movements confident and sure. I watch him for a moment, admiring his rippling muscles.

Suddenly, with the nerves from earlier and him being near me now, I find myself in a bit of a situation. Slick has made my knickers damp, and I press my thighs together. When he turns back to me and moves in closer, his nostrils flare.

"Now?" he asks with a sexy smile.

"I could do with a break," I murmur.

"Me too."

Waddling to the front door with my thighs still squeezed together to flip the sign and lock it, I return to him, and he grabs my hand, leading me upstairs to my flat without another word. Oh, how I do love the strong, silent type.