Jackie nodded slowly. “That part’s fair.”
I turned back to my work, but my hands weren’t steady anymore. I kept replaying his voice in my head. Flat. Certain.
I don’t want your employees or the florist across town. I want you.
It wasn’t flirtation, but purpose.
I didn’t know what to do with a man who didn’t push.
“Say you did it,” Jenna pressed. “Hypothetically.”
I shot her a look. “I didn’t say that.”
“But say you did,” she continued undeterred. “What would it look like?”
I exhaled slowly. “I wouldn’t be able to help with orders here. Full creative control, but other than that, I don’t know. I have a few ideas of what I could put on the bikes, but…”
Jackie’s lips twitched. “You’ve already thought about this.”
I glared at her. “I think about everything.”
That was true. Overthinking was my survival skill, but thinking didn’t mean agreeing.
I finished my shift in a fog, muscle memory carrying me through arrangements, invoices, and phone calls. By the time we locked up, my head ached, and my heart was doing something inconvenient I didn’t want to name.
Jenna lingered by the door as Jackie headed out. “Whatever you decide,” she said more gently, “we’ve got the shop. You don’t have anything to worry about.”
I nodded. “I know.”
She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to me. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
It was Asher’s number. Ugh.
Alone, I turned off the lights one by one, the shop settling into quiet shadows. I stood in the middle of it for a moment, breathing in the scent of flowers and something familiar enough to feel like home.
This place was mine. My proof that I could build something solid. Something that didn’t disappear when things got hard.
If I stepped into Asher’s world, even briefly, I needed to do it on my terms.
I pulled out my phone before I could overthink myself into paralysis.
I pulled out the paper with his number on it and stared at it for a long moment.
My finger hovered over the numbers, then quickly punched them in. Then I hit call.
He answered on the second ring.
“Hello, Juliet,” he said, like he’d been expecting me.
“How did you know it was me?” I asked.
“Because I don’t hand out my number to anyone,” he explained.
“I’m calling about the ride,” I said, because I wasn’t about to acknowledge the way my pulse kicked up at the sound of his voice.
“Okay.”
“I’m not agreeing yet.”