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“So long as you keep this little conversation all to yourself.”

“Deal.” He jumps up and grabs the flowers. “Wait until I’m at the bar.”

I have no clue what it’s all about, but once he’s there, I get up, blow him a kiss, and leave.

As much as my respect might be through the roof for him, I’ll never pretend to understand Art and the way he operates.

DMC GROUP CHAT

Orson:How do you know if you’re dating someone?

Griff:Ask them?

Payne:Have feelings and hook up a few times and keep stubbornly putting it off for their benefit … no? Just me?

Griff:How did you end up with Beau, again?

Orson:Because they’re in love.

Griff:I’m just saying, Heath had me hooked after weeks, I couldn’t imagine being Beau and dealing with TWO DECADES of unrequited love.

Payne:Yes, but we all know you struggle to keep it in your pants at the best of times.

Art:Are you and Ford dating?

Orson:I have no idea. It feels like yes but neither of us has actually confirmed anything.

Griff:Do you want to be dating?

Orson:I think so.

Griff:Then tell him.

Payne: Agreed.

Art:I don’t agree! You’ve only just found this dick-loving side of yourself. Share the love around!

Orson:I’m not going to sleep with you.

Art:Huh. In that case, I agree too.

25

Orson

Ford wantedto get up and come with me to the market, but he hasn’t had a single day off in weeks, so I told him to park his ass in bed and threatened to withhold sex if he showed his face before nine.

I miss him as I set up my stall, but it’s for the best. There has barely been a day this week where I haven’t seen him, and our sleepovers are becoming regular things. His scent is on my clothes, in my house, in my car. It’s calming. Warming. I haven’t been this happy in a long time.

Amber and Steve are setting up their produce stall just down from me, and now that we’ve reached October, they’ve set up a second stall to sell pumpkins out of. They’re huge and orange, and I have this ridiculous moment imagining Ford and I carving one out together, wearing matching costumes … My gut swims happily at the stupid image.

“Morning, Orson,” Amber calls.

“Morning.” I point to her stall. “Make sure you remind people that flowers look amazing behind jack-o’-lanterns in their social media photos.”

She laughs. “Will do. You’ve got some very seasonal ones happening.”

I nod and look at the orange and black flowers set up along the front. They were a pain in the ass to get in, but I know I’ll sell every one of them. “Look great, don’t they?”