Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“Will you stop.” Judy blew a wisp of hair out of her face. “Did you think I was gonna burn the place down in the last week?”
“Of course not.”
Judy waved a hand toward the pile of baby’s breath. “Hello?”
“Sorry.” She moved the tangle of tiny white sprays closer to her business partner. “Here.”
“Did you really come right from the airport? I figured you’d go home and get a good sleep first.”
“I wanted to make sure everything was okay.”
Which was true. But this was also her first vacation since the divorce two years ago, and the idea of walking into that dark, empty house made her stomach hurt. Plus the time away hadn’t been worth it. She’d gotten a sunburn, sand in every shoe she had, and all she’d done was worry about the shop.
And of course, she’d missed Roger. Who was on a honeymoon with the new Mrs. Trumble.
“Did you miss me?” she blurted as she patted at her hair. She’d gotten it cut and dyed it blond before she’d left.
She hated the way it looked.
“Of course I did.” Judy speared the baby’s breath into the arrangement, the tiny buds like fireflies against a red night. “And before you go and start counting peonies, yes, the flowers came in for the Clancy wedding bouquets and that ridiculous planner of theirs has already been in. Twice. That event is going to be ridiculous. We didn’t do ‘planners’ in our day. I don’t know what’s wrong with these girls now. Everyone thinks they’re a Hollywood star.”
“Sometimes it’s more about the pictures and the ceremony than the guy they’re standing next to.” Milly tilted to the side and frowned at the bouquet. “Hold up, that section on the left needs more—”
“I know, I’m working on it—”
Bing!
Judy lifted her wrist and tapped her watch. “Right on time.”
Milly turned to the shop door—and time slowed to a crawl. The man who entered her and Judy’s pastel paradise was dressed in black—was that leather? the whole outfit?—and standing tall and wide as the building itself. He was positively enormous, with shoulders that seemed to press on the walls of the shop, and a tightly shorn head of dark hair that nearly brushed the ceiling. But the holy-crap wasn’t just about his size. His face was harsh in the ways of winter, the bones showing in hard cuts as if he didn’t eat enough, his stare black as the pits of Hell, his expression harsh and aggressive.
Milly jumped as she felt a hand touch her arm.
“Relax, will ya,” Judy hissed. “And stop it. You don’t have to call the police.”
“I wasn’t going to—”
“Then why’s your phone in your hand?” In a louder voice, Judy said, “Nice to see you again.”
She squeezed out from behind the counter and approached the man like one of those circus wranglers who got into the ring with tigers.
“Would you like to enter the walk-in? I know you prefer to take your time picking.”
Judy went over and opened the glass door, standing to the side like an usher. And even though the giant man hardly seemed the type to take direction from anybody, he put his hands into his—leather!—pants, lowered his head, and went forward.
Ordinarily, Milly couldn’t stand that fridge being open for anything other than a quick pass through as you might as well burn money leaking all the cold out, but like she was saying anything?
When he was inside, Judy let things ease shut and came back behind the register. As she punched another sprig of baby’s breath into the roses, she said, “Stop staring.”
“I’m not,” Milly shot over as she kept . . . well, staring.
Inside the glass box, the man was a living shadow that blocked the view of the flowers, the moon not so much eclipsing the sun, but devouring it and leaving nothing on the plate, no crumbs or scraps.
Or that should be petals or leaves, right?
Oh, whatever. She was terrible with metaphors. That’s why she handled the accounting.
“How long does he take in there?” she whispered as she studied his profile. “I think his eyes are closed.”
“He stands there for a while. Then he picks something out, gives me that ten-dollar bill even though I tell him I’ll just charge him two dollars, and leaves.”
Milly glanced at the cash register. “And he’s never tried to . . . ?”
“Good God, you’re suspicious.”
“You didn’t think the same thing the first time he walked in here?”
“Shh, he’s coming out.”
Milly grabbed for her purse and resolved that she’d hit him with it if he started anything. Although that would be like taking a flyswatter into a brass knuckle boxing match. But whatever.
He’d chosen a white rose, she noted. And a good one, one that had just started to unfurl from its tight curl.
“Nice bloom you got,” Judy said. “Milly will take care of you.”