“Here,” I murmured, stepping into his space. Instead of moving out of the way, I swear, he actually leaned closer. Ignoring his heat as best I could, I rearranged the flowers a little so that the amaryllis blossoms spread out a bit more and surrounded the two callas.
“Perfection.” Monroe’s breath gusted across my cheek. I didn’t turn to look at him, but I knew I was smiling.
Monroe produced a pair of scissors from his pocket and started snipping the straws down to size. I jumped in, too, wrapping the stems together with floral tape so no water leaked out to make the cake gross and inedible. It took only a few minutes, and then we had several bunches, like big boutonnieres, ready to be placed in the cake.
With each one Monroe picked up, he glanced at me for confirmation before sliding it into the top tier. A couple of times I adjusted his placement before he set it inside. I was maybe using the opportunity to feel the strength of his hands, to just touch his skin, but he didn’t call me out on it. Our fingers were practically entwined when he slid in the last calla.
“It’s beautiful,” I whispered, reluctantly pulling my fingers free of his. Our gazes caught. Held. My breath stuttered in my lungs. There was no mistaking the heat in his look. Another time, another place, I would have pounced on him.
I stepped back instead. “I should—”
“Will you do the flowers for my wedding?” Monroe asked.
Disappointment, so acute it hurt, flooded through me, and it took every ounce of my professionalism to keep it from showing on my face. “You bet. Call the shop to set up a consultation.”
Monroe’s lips quirked. “I don’t have a date yet.”
I turned away, no longer able to look at him. I should have known he was taken. That was the way my luck ran lately. Hell, the way it had been for years. Finding a man who was gorgeous, creative, and caring was hard enough. Of coursehe wasn’t available.
“Just let me know when you do. I’ll make sure I’m available.” I started walking fast, but not so fast that it looked like I was running. Even though I was. “I’ll get out of your hair now.”
“You’re not staying?” he called. “Don’t you want to see Lincoln’s face when he sees the flowers?”
I really did, because I knew how much the man needed the surprise of the callas after the day he’d had. It would make this thing his brother did for him all the more special. I smiled sadly over my shoulder.
“Florists aren’t invited to the weddings.” I lifted a hand in a wave.
“I’m inviting you.”
I laughed, because it was so Monroe. I shook my head. “It’s not your wedding, dude. You don’t get to invite people.”
Monroe strode across the distance separating us, and my breath caught again, because the picture he made was my fantasy come to life. His grin was dark, wicked, but also, somehow, tender.
“I can if I’m inviting you as my date.” Monroe cleared his throat, made a show of arranging his features into seriousness, then reached for my hand. He stopped short of taking it, and I appreciated the subtle request for consent. “Please, West Walker. Would you do me the honor of accompanying me to my brother’s wedding and reception?”
I squinted at him, blatantly ignoring his outstretched hand. “Won’t your fiancé be upset?”
Monroe’s fa?ade cracked, that mischievous twinkle lighting his eyes. “Don’t have one of those. I’m not dating anyone at the moment.”
My snort was indignant. “But you just said!”
“Nope.” And he popped the “P.” “I asked you to do my wedding, sure. But I said I didn’t have a date yet. And that’s because I haven’t found the person I want to marry yet.”
It took a second for me to parse all that out, but when I did, I scowled. “You’re…ridiculous. Do you know that? What am I going to do with you?”
“Be my date to the wedding, I hope.” The playful grin that had been lurking on his lips stretched to its full capacity. “You know you wanna stay. See Lincoln when he views the flowers. Watch two men exchange their vows. Eat food and drink champagne and maybe dance with me. Come on, it’ll be fun.”
I sighed, exaggerating it, then rolled my eyes for show. But then I smiled, because I couldn’t not, and closed the inches between us to put my hand in his. “Sure.”
Monroe’s whoop of joy made my smile grow into a grin. 4
I was still in the ballroom when Lincoln had obviously calmed down enough to check out the floral arrangements. He was a ball of frenetic energy as he jogged in, and his gaze frantically swept the room, then he went absolutely still. I couldn’t tell from his facial expression what he thought, but the fact that Monroe was smiling eased my nerves. And then Lincoln started crying. Not hard, but tears welled up and spilled over. He pressed his hand to his mouth, and there was a hiccup of a sob, then he gave a tiny noise that was part squeal, part gasp.