Chapter Eighteen

Sebastian

Nora lets out a thoughtful hum as she turns down the music. "These tiny little thumbtack towns look like vintage postcards."

"Sure."

Not that I'm paying attention to the towns. I'm too distracted watching her drive. More specifically, watching for potholes, speed limit signs, deer gathered on the shoulders of the back country roads.

"If only they had actual flower shops," she continues. "They'd be perfect."

The first two towns we passed through didn't have any, or even the kind of grocery stores that might carry small emergency arrangements for dudes who forget their wives' birthdays, but if my maps app is to be trusted, the next town does.

As we pass a Welcome to Ladagalley sign, Nora pulls a Fast and the Furious maneuver and swerves off the cracked gray road to catch the entrance to a coffee shop. I grab the oh-shit bar and hold on for dear life. "Easy, killer."

"What? I took the turn at five miles per hour." She slows down to funnel into the drive-through line. "I need coffee."

My body lights up like a firework in anticipation of caffeine. "Great. I want to be really alert so I can hear the rest of your chaotic playlist."

She shoves my arm. "You sang along to half the songs. Mezza voce."

"One does not hear ‘All Night Long' or ‘Sweet Emotion' and not sing along."

She pulls up beside the ordering speaker, and we're greeted by a perky voice. "Top of the mornin', I'll be with you in a moment."

I attempt to read the menu through her window, but I can barely make out the words. I unbuckle my belt and use the center console for leverage so I can lean closer.

Which also means I'm forced to thrust myself into her space.

The car rocks as she jabs the brake.

"Sorry, foot slipped," she mutters. "Should I just read you the menu so you can sit back down?"

"This is much faster." I scan the Lass and Lad's Irish-themed offerings, looking for the normal coffee orders amid all the leprechaun shit.

But the longer I hover here, the more I breathe in the delicate, sweet smell of her that's slowly becoming a comfort and a vice. Sunlight streams through her windshield, illuminating her glowing skin.

We both got carried away last night, and I know it can't happen again, but that doesn't dull the impulse to get close to her.

Which is exactly why we shouldn't spend time together.

My brain tunes in to the sound of her sigh instead of the words I'm trying to read.

"Can you please pick something?"Annoyance has crept into her tone.

I get it. I'm annoyed with me too, for wanting what I can't have.

"I don't have a go-to order at these kinds of places." I tilt my head her way, and fuck, do I instantly regret that.

She's right there. It's a clear-frames glasses day, and her hair is in two cute braids.

Her full lips are bare. No gloss, no lipstick, just a shade of naked pink that makes it hard for me to remember why I said no more of this .

"Get any closer and we could Lady and the Tramp a stick of gum." She tries to sass me with that, but her eyes are on my mouth and her voice has lost its heat.

It's been less than an hour and I'm already tempted to do something stupid.

I should clear the air right now, before that happens. "Last night was…"

Those sea glass eyes snap up. "It was what?"

Risky.

A bad idea.

Like I was finally awake after years of being asleep.

My fingers find one of her soft, thick braids. I stroke it with my thumb as I lean in and steal her mouth.

The car lurches forward again, and she stomps the brake.

I rear back, dazed. "I'm sorry."

She shifts into park and winds her fingers in my hair, her gaze flitting between my eyes and lips. I cup her cheek and close the distance between us again.

There aren't enough words for her lips. She uses only enough tongue to tease me, a tentative swirl. Her thumb lightly massages my cheek in a way that's both soothing and sexy, a suggestion of how she'd dig in if she got her hands on me. We tilt our heads just right to take it deeper, and shit, I'd give anything to unbuckle us both right now so I could pull her closer. Maybe all the way across the center console.

"Sorry for the delay. Ready when you are!" says the disembodied purveyor of coffee.

I pull back panting.

"Go ahead and order first," she murmurs, wild eyed.

"One large triple espresso, plain!" I yell before forcing myself to drop back into my seat.

"Plain espresso, huh?" Her voice holds a determined edge, like she's willing things to feel normal on the heels of that kiss. "You studied the menu for that long only to order it plain?"

I refasten my seatbelt. "Had to read the menu to be sure I wanted it plain."

Or maybe I had to be in her space. Had to have my mouth on hers. I'm not sure what's true anymore.

She leans an arm on the window to order hers. "One large oat milk cappuccino with brown sugar please."

As soon as we leave the line, she turns up the music as if to thwart any potential conversations.

I turn it back down. "We need to talk."

She lets out a panicked sound that's almost feline. "Do we?"

My head feels like it's turning in slow motion toward her. Never in my life have I met a woman who didn't want to talk about things like this. She clutches the wheel until her knuckles are white, her jaw tight like she's bracing for something.

It makes me wonder how many guys have kissed her and blew her off afterward. "I keep finding my mouth on yours, so yeah, that warrants a conversation. Preferably before I trip and fall and find my hands on you, too. What are your thoughts?"

Her exhale is sharp. "I don't know. Friends kiss all the time, right?"

My eyes narrow. "They do? Are you regularly kissing Benji?"

She shudders. "God no! Never."

"Then what friends are you kissing?"

"None of them. I don't know why I said that, okay? I haven't kissed anyone in a very long time." She turns out of the coffee shop and immediately surpasses the speed limit. "I don't know why I said that either. Unhear that, please."

She's blushing like she's embarrassed, but all that does is confirm to me that every man in Long Island or wherever else she's lived is a dumbass. "Nora—"

"We need to focus on flowers." She grips the wheel tighter. "I'm trying to be a good friend to Benji and his family. You're doing the same thing. Can we table this?"

"The kissing, or the talking about it?"

She takes a very long time to answer, and when she does, it's just, "I don't know, Seb."

"Excellent. That makes two of us." I lift my coffee from the center console, no closer to understanding what we're doing here.

Many songs on her playlist later, the map on her phone leads us to Heart of Hudson Street. The buildings are weathered white brick, most with colorful scalloped awnings. Lights strung across the road create a fake ceiling to the cobblestone street.

I look up from the map on my phone. "Lily's Lilies and More, up there on the right with the yellow door. Do you know how to parallel park?"

She cuts a look my way. "Why wouldn't I be able to?"

And I found a new way to put my foot in my mouth, it seems. "Sorry. My bad. Of course you can."

But she butchers her attempt, cursing under her breath until she gives up altogether and finds a spot down the block. One that allows her to pull in without parallel parking.

"All right, let's fix Flower Gate, shall we?"

I nod. Obtaining flowers is a tangible objective. It gives me something to do with the excess energy coursing through me.

I usher Nora inside with a hand on the small of her back. Relief floods me as I clock the sheer amount of flowers on display. Pinks, purples, soft whites, and creams. Plenty to make Ro happy. "Jackpot."

It smells like late spring in this place, with moisture in the air to match. A cluster of low-hanging wisteria dangles from a false lattice roof.

I plant my hands on my hips. "What do you want, boss?"

She points to a display of white flowers. "What do you think of these?"

I shrug. "They look fine."

" Just fine?" Her eye roll seems playful enough. "Do you know what they are?"

I lace my hands behind my neck. "If they don't grow in Nella's garden, I don't know what they are."

If she's going for subtle as her gaze roams my body, she fails miserably. Adrenaline flows through me hard and fast.

She swallows and checks out the ceiling instead. "Of course you garden for your grandmother."

"I mean…yeah. I mow her lawn, maintain the rose bushes, that sort of thing. She sits on the porch and drinks and orders me around. It's fun for her."

Her attention slides back to the blooms. "These are hydrangeas, also known as Blair Waldorf's favorite flower. May that fact serve you well in trivia someday."

"Noted. Ro said she likes white, so I say we grab them."

"We've got the budget for them, that's for sure."

"Honestly, I think flowers are the least essential part of a wedding. I'd rather drop three grand on a trip, myself. Don't worry, I'll never let the bride hear me say that, since I value my extremities."

"Wise." She leans forward to smell another flower I don't outright recognize. This view of her, surrounded by color as she holds her braids from falling forward with a soft smile on her face, would make a pretty picture. "And what, in your opinion, is the most essential part of the wedding?"

"The vows. I'd spend weeks making sure those are just right. When the wedding ends, that's what's left."

Her thoughtful pause is long. "Oh."

"What does that mean?"

She looks up at me, cheeks rosy. "It means I bet you interview very well, because that's a great answer."

I can't help but grin at the indignation in her tone. "I don't interview well. I'm more of a prove-it-with-hard-work kind of guy."

Her body leans closer to mine, but she doesn't touch me. "I can see that, too."

I want to thread my finger through her beltloop and tug her closer. But I muddied the waters enough with that kiss, so I tuck my hands in my pockets instead. "What's your answer? Most important wedding thing?"

"Hmm." She fiddles with her braid. "I always imagined eloping, since I have a family of one and all. But if my husband wants a proper wedding, that'd be fine. I'd want the important people in our lives there. I don't care where it is or what season or what color anything is. I want people dancing until their feet hurt and arguing with the DJ for just one more song . Lots of laughter. At the end of the night, I want one last dance with my man when the room has emptied out. I don't want to be a bride who makes all the demands and he's just along for the ride, I want it to be equally ours."

"But you'd want to elope? Where?"

"A beach." She smiles softly. "Somewhere tropical so I can wear a cheap cotton dress and a white bikini. A wedding and honeymoon in one. Spending a ton of money on a wedding doesn't appeal to me. I'd rather save that money for a house."

Something tells me Nora in a simple dress would outshine even the fanciest bride.

I clear my throat. "You'll need just one flower, then." I lift a yellow bloom from the display and offer it to her. "A bright one for behind your ear."

Her lips twist into a shy sort of smile as her lashes flutter. She takes the stem, her fingers brushing mine. "Good choice."

I want to give her more things just so she'll make that face again.

"Do you want a family?" she asks.

Honestly, I haven't thought about anything like that for a long time, since Kelcey told me it'd be unfair to my kids to make them move schools all the time for my job.

But do I want them?

"Yes, I'd like a family. If I could ever figure out how to pull that off with my life. Which I probably can't, so it's a moot point." I swallow, heat creeping up my neck. "What do you say we get these flowers? We're on a time crunch."

"I'll get a cart." She scurries off, leaving me with a shit ton of flowers and no one around to steal them.

A minute later, she returns with a cart and a determined expression. "The lady at the counter said anything on the main floor is fair game."

I drop the flowers I'm holding into the cart and stroke my chin. "Should we search the internet for what types go together? For her bouquet?"

"They're all pretty. Pretty things go together. Let's grab everything."

"But what are the rules? I'll research it." I take my phone from my pocket. This is what I should've been doing in the car on our drive over, but I was too distracted by her and her playlist. "I don't want to show up with a bunch of bad flowers."

" Bad flowers?" An airy laugh slips out of her mouth. "Is there such a thing?"

"Yes. You heard her mom going on about magazine spreads and whatever the hell. I know how these rich people operate. Like when people want me to paint their houses, they have picked out contrasting colors that complement each other. The right blue to go with the right coral that both play nicely with eggshell or whatever the hell shade of white for the trim. All the same paint finishes. That's the kind of perfection the Ferraro mom will be expecting. If we drop three thousand on flowers that aren't good enough—"

She pinches my cheeks to shut me up. "They don't have to be perfect to be good enough, Sebastian. Watch this."

I let my phone hang at my side as she flits about, brow furrowed in concentration.

"A sunflower," she murmurs, taking the bloom from the metal trough-like vase. She whirls around, eyes wide as she appraises the options. "An orange rose." Pluck . "A white hydrangea." Snag . "A yellow tulip." Grab . She spins again, a pretty tornado in this tiny shop. "And these pale daffodils! Yes."

She gathers them all in her fist and holds it up for my inspection. "Voila. I'll call this one sun kissed . You wouldn't think they'd make sense together, but they work. And if it's ugly, hey, at least it was made with love."

She's so proud of the thing, with all its mismatched stem lengths and sizes.

"It does look sunny," I admit.

"Thank you." She places it in the cart and sets to work picking more from the display.

"I don't like getting things wrong," I blurt. "It's not that I want to be perfect. I've just spent a lot of time feeling like I'm not"—I shake my head, dislodging the words smart enough and good enough —"like I'm going to disappoint people."

She blinks at me. "You really believe that you could?"

"I don't know what I believe."

She drifts closer, taking my hand to spin the ring on my finger, the way I've seen her spin her own when she's thinking. "I can't imagine you disappointing anyone." Her eyes gleam. "Not Ro with flowers, not your friends who you are doing this elaborate favor for, not your family who probably think you're God's gift to humanity, not your mentees who I'm sure idolize you. So, who? Who are you disappointing, exactly?"

Myself. Constantly.

She drops my hand. "Your best is good enough."

When I don't immediately say something, she pokes me in the ribs, and then again until I laugh. "You hear me? Even if your best is mismatched flowers, it's more than fine."

I tuck her words away, hyperaware that she's studying me. She was having a good time putting flowers together, and I derailed her with thirty years of baggage.

So, I angle her toward the flowers with a hand to her waist. "Let's get back to it. If it's for sale, we're taking it."

She opens her arms as if to gather the whole store into her embrace. "That's the spirit. Let's Supermarket Sweep this thing."