Page 11 of Lilacs and Leather
Buckling my seatbelt, I start the car and head off toward Old Town.
∞∞∞
I pull into an empty parking spot on the street outside Grandmother Wila’s Flower Shoppe and frown. The red-and-white awning is looking more pink-and-white, and I can see several holes in the fabric. I glance up and down the street at other stores and notice similar wear and tear. I would have to check the maintenance schedule when I go back into the office tomorrow.
I sit for a minute, watching the store. Thanks to a row of ferns and hanging flower baskets, I can’t see into the interior of the store through the front windows. The sign on the front door is still flipped toopen, which is good. But I still sit in my car for several more moments.
Fuck it. She’s either here or she’s not.
I straighten my spine and get out of the car, adjusting my suit jacket as I close the door. Walking the few paces across the sidewalk, I open the door. A merry bell dings as I enter, and I’m immediately assaulted by the scent of a dozen different flowers, caramel candy apple, and freshly turned earth. There’s a strange, plastic-y smell lingering near a cardboard display of different packets of seeds, and I move away quickly from the unpleasant odor.
“Hi, is there anything I can help you with?” a chipper voice asks from the back of the store.
I turn toward the sound and freeze. It’s her. The omega. She’s here.
Her body tenses as she sees me, and I take a moment to look her over. She’s wearing jeans and a purple tank top under her sky blue apron. Her skin is pale gold, and smooth up her arms. Her lips are parted slightly, and her chest is rising and falling rapidly, and I can see the beginnings of cleavage at the neck of her top.
Her tits are perfect.
I clear my throat, pulling myself together.
“There is. I’m here for some flowers,” I say, approaching the counter.
She takes the smallest step in retreat, her head tilting back to keep looking at my face. The top of her head only comes up to my shoulder. Closer now, that plastic smell is stronger, but I can still find hints of lilac, rain, and vanilla underneath.
Why is she using scent blockers? She smells divine.
She clears her throat, shaking her head a little. Is she as distracted by me as I am by her? That little bubble of hope expands slightly in my chest.
“Well, you certainly came to the right place. Is this for a special occasion? Birthday, anniversary…” her voice trails off as she pulls a pad of paper across the counter. She rips off the top few pages, but I glimpse the writing before she balls up the paper and tosses it away.
She lied to you.
She knew and did nothing to warn you.
SHE KNEW AND LET IT HAPPEN.
My brow furrows and I frown a little. Who is “she”? Wila? I don’t get to think longer on those cryptic messages, as she turns those bottle green eyes on me expectantly. Right, why do I need flowers?
“Nothing special, jus’ want to surprise someone in me pack.” I shrug, trying to sound casual but cringing internally as my words stray into my mother’s accent from my nerves.
“Your bond mate?”
I blink once, unable to tear my eyes from her.Is she asking if I’m single?
A corner of my mouth twitches upward. The beginning of a blush blooms on the bridge of her nose, growing larger the longer I stay silent, and her rain and earth scent is pushing past the blockers. I bite my lip a little as I consider my answer. My relationships with my pack mates were hardly first-meeting territory.
“Not my bond mate. She’s... well, she’s an alpha. We’re close, and I love ’er to death, but not—she’s important to me,” I admit, stumbling as I try to find the right words to describe our flirty-but-not-serious relationship.
Her brows twitch together in confusion for a moment, a little frown pulling at her plump lips. Her scent shifts, and I see her fidget, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Heat flares in my chest, making my heart flip-flop like a fish out of water.
“It’s not— We’re not traditional, one-partner people,” I blurt before I realize what I’m saying.
Her eyebrows fly up, and her cheeks flush brighter pink.Why is that the cutest thing I’ve ever seen?
“Oh, I didn’t mean to pry. That’s fine, if it works.” Her words come out in a jumble, and her blush creeps down her face toward her neck.
“It’s not prying if I tell you, love,” I say, laughing a little to cover my awkwardness.