Page 20 of The Florist and Her Alphas

Julian stops. Turns back. Looks at my face. Really looks.

Then he immediately pokes his head through the car window and tells the driver to go on ahead without him. The car pulls away.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Something’s off,” he says softly while still holding the yellow flowers. His eyes are on mine, warm and focused. “You look sad.”

I blink. A tear tracks down my cheek. Then another. I didn’t realize they were there. I wipe my face fast with the back of my wrist, embarrassed, my hands twisting the hem of my apron.

The words come out before I’ve decided whether to say them.

“I felt lonely for a second. In there. After you left. The shop got so quiet and I…I felt lonely. Just for a second.”

Julian goes very still. Beside him, Pepper goes still too—a small mirror of his alpha, head tilted, eyes sharp.

After a long beat, Julian says carefully. “Liana. Look at me.”

I slowly look up, totally embarrassed by what I admitted and wishing I could take it all back. But his gaze is warm and not full of pity or anything.

“Close the shop.”

I blink. “What?”

“Let’s close the shop. Right now. Let’s go do something fun.”

I stare at him. The practical voice in my head, the one that has kept me alive for six years, starts listing reasons like items on a grocery list. Flowers to condition. Cooler to restock. Toby’s delivery at four. Wedding bouquet due tomorrow. I don’t just close my shop in the middle of the afternoon for no reason.

My heart is fluttering in my chest.

I’m supposed to hate him. He wants to buy my shop.

The yellow flowers are still in Julian’s hand, and he is looking at me like he is genuinely waiting to hear what I will say, and Pepper has tilted his head ninety degrees to look at me and is humming a soft little burble that sounds almost encouraging.

Against every instinct I have built, against every wall I’ve erected brick by brick for three years, I hear myself saying. “What kind of fun?”

Julian’s whole face lights up. The dimple appears, deep on the left, and something in my chest does a complicated flip.

“Whatever you want. You pick. Anything.”

I shake my head slowly. “I don’t know what people do for fun anymore.”

His expression softens. “Then I’ll pick. Do you trust me to pick?”

I don’t. I don’t trust him at all.

But being around him gives me a sense of excitement that was lost for many years.

“...Okay.”

Julian beams. “Okay. Go change the sign. I’ll wait.”

I turn. Walk back into my shop and rip off my apron, throwing it behind the counter. I’m moving faster than I have moved all week, my fingers fumbling with the lock, flipping the OPEN sign to CLOSED with a decisive snap. The bell rings as I pull the door shut behind me.

My reflection catches in the glass—flushed cheeks, eyes still wet, a curl of dark auburn hair fallen out of my bun and clinging to my neck. I do not recognize the woman looking back. The woman looking back has plans that don’t have anything to do with work and chores.

Julian is waiting on the sidewalk. He has not moved.

Pepper, on his shoulder, says cheerfully. “Pretty girl.”