No Flowers Required (14 page)

Dillon scratched his chest and remembered the evasive look on his brother’s face the day before when he’d asked about Melinda. Maybe Cory would be finding something—or someone—new to obsess about soon.

Like you have?

“He needs a woman,” Dillon muttered. He should know, shouldn’t he?

He’d found one that he wanted to get to know a lot better, and not just physically. What he’d learned about Alexa so far barely scratched her alluring surface. But how long could he hang on to the teeter-totter he was balanced on? How long until he ran into the wrong person at the wrong time and they blew his cover?

He never should’ve lied. Even with the acrimony between her and Cory, he’d had a better chance of convincing her he wasn’t like his shark of a brother at the beginning than he did now. Now she’d believe he’d been scheming all along, likely for nefarious purposes. She’d probably think he was a spy for Value Hardware, intent on filling her head with business ideas he hoped were primed to fail.

“Speaking of women, have you found a date yet for the benefit?”

Dillon barely suppressed a groan. Not that again. His stepfather didn’t tack on the word
appropriate
, but he heard it nonetheless. Problem was the dates he’d once considered more than adequate simply wouldn’t get the job done any longer. Those sorts of women couldn’t compare when he’d had the real thing and only craved more.

“No, I don’t have a date,” he said under his breath, knowing that would pry the lid off a can of worms he didn’t want to touch.

“Why didn’t you say so? You know Stanley Wren, my golfing buddy? His daughter’s just home from Yale. She’d be perfect.”

Terrific. Filthy rich, educated in an elite school, and young too. There was a winning trifecta in Dillon’s book if he’d ever heard one. “I’m sure I can find someone.”

“Well, if you can’t find someone suitable,” his stepfather winked, “just let me know and I’ll get it set up with Haviland.”

“Haviland?” Dillon choked. “That’s a dish, not a person.”

Raymond chuckled. “She’s lovely. You’d like her. Why don’t I give Stanley a call? You simply don’t have time to find— ”

“No.” The sharpness of his answer made his stepfather do a double take. Damn, he needed to ease off. “I think I have someone in mind already,” he said, softer now.

Did he ever. Now he just had to figure out how to keep her in his life long enough for her to agree to go with him.

“Your choice, son. Let me know if you change your mind.”

They talked for a few more minutes while they walked through the store. His stepfather insisted on showing him a new pair of loppers he said cut through tree limbs like hot butter, and Dillon found himself chatting with a couple about the environmental benefits of a push mower over a traditional electric one.

By the time he swung by Cory’s office to take him the Danish, his mood had vastly improved even considering he was still pissed at his brother for making Alexa cry the night before. He knocked and opened the door to see what looked like Cory’s expensive Ming vase sailing through the air, hot on the heels of an ear-splitting screech, courtesy of Vicky. “God! You’re a complete ass.”

Cory hurtled to his feet in time to catch the vase, though he fumbled it a bit before clutching the artifact to his chest. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Yes, I have.” She snatched up her books, sailing past Dillon with barely a muttered hello. “Only an insane person would consider working with you.”

“You contacted me,” Cory called after her, shaking his head and setting down the vase as if he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. “You again,” he said, spotting Dillon.

“Women trouble?” Dillon asked mildly, fighting a grin.

Cory made a derisive sound in his throat. “Hardly. She’s still a girl. What is she, twenty-four? No wonder she’s such a hormonal wreck.”

“You do realize that bringing up hormones in connection with a woman is reason enough to have your balls strung up as jewelry, right?”

“Gonna go tattle?” Cory tossed back, placing his vase on the sideboard with all the care of an indulgent father cradling a newborn.

“No. You’re on your own with Vick.” Dillon set the bakery bag on Cory’s desk. “Danish,” he said by way of explanation. “Eat something for a change.”

“Aww. Bringing me sweets. I know you’re not trying to get into my pants, so what’s the occasion?”

Dillon leaned forward and placed his hands on the blotter, leveling his gaze on Cory’s. Time to start laying it on the line. “Give Alexa some time.”

Chapter Eight

One of Cory’s dark brows winged up. “For what?”

“For her to get her affairs in order at the store. I know you wanted to slide in Melinda,” he grinned when Cory’s jaw went tight, “but if you give me a chance to make this work with Alexa, I’ll get the place down the street ready for the yogurt shop. It’ll be even better than Alexa’s store when I’m done.”

“Oh, really. Since when are you the wheeler and dealer in this family?”

“Since it’s damn well time I step up and do my part.”

“So you’re helping Alexa just for the good of the company. And possibly your dick.”

“Believe what you want,” Dillon said easily, recognizing bitterness when he heard it. He also saw it written in the lines around Cory’s eyes and the shadows under his eyes. Damn, he was about to extinguish his candle completely, from the looks of it. “Are you sleeping at all these days?”

“Somebody’s got to handle things around here now that Mom and Dad are pulling back.” Cory dropped in his chair and rolled up to his computer.

“Yeah, well, I’m here. I’ll be here a lot more from now on,” he added when Cory shot him a dubious glance. “Just give me some room with Lex.”

“Don’t you mean ‘a room’?”

The juvenile joke would’ve made him roll his eyes, if he hadn’t known it was Cory’s attempt at putting another crack in the frost that had existed between them for years. As was digging out the cherry Danish Dillon had put on his desk, though he gave it a sniff when cherry smeared his fingers.

Dillon chuckled. His older brother definitely had his fussbudget ways, but damn if he didn’t love the lug.

“You’ve got time,” Cory said, not looking up from his pastry.

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“No thanks needed. It’s your company too, and I don’t even like fro-yo.” At Dillon’s grin, he waved his hand toward the door. “Don’t you have leaks to plug up? You’re screwing with the feng shui in here.” Then he winced. “Good Christ, she’s rubbing off on me. Next I’ll be talking about the aura of my leather settee.”

Laughing, Dillon walked out of his office and down the hall, his mind already on lunch. Eating, however, wasn’t what had him so excited, despite the gnawing ache in his gut. He’d scarfed down a couple muffins before laying the rest of the laminate flooring, but he’d still been hungry afterward. And not just for food.

After a quick stop at the deli to grab a couple sandwiches, and another coffee for Alexa—Irish cream this time—he headed up the street to Divine. The music hit him first when he opened the door. They’d switched to something with mournful strings and sweeping violins. In contrast with the scene of hilarity taking place near the prep table, the effect was jarring.

“Trying out bondage, ladies?” he asked as he set his bags and the coffees down on the counter. Then he unhooked his tool belt—he never remembered to take the damn thing off—and set that down as well.

Alexa pulled a pin out of her mouth and poked it into the bright pink ribbon sash she’d tied around Nellie’s bulging midsection. “Ha ha. No, I told Nellie I’d make her a sash if we got through a bunch of the boutonnieres we need to get done. It’s a rush job another florist botched so they have to be perfect. She totally rocked it.”

“Way to go, Noelle.”

Nellie beamed at him, probably for using her given name. “Thanks. Still can’t believe a school’s actually springing for a dance
before
school starts up again, but apparently their back-to-school mixer is a big hit every year.”

“It’s for Haven Prep, the middle school,” Alexa added. “You know, the richie rich kids.”

Yeah, he knew. He’d attended that school. “Aren’t boutonnieres something guys get on their own?”

“They hired a florist to do corsages and boutonnieres for the kids to pick up as they entered the dance. Apparently they didn’t want to take chances on what people would buy. They got the corsages from the other florist, the one who didn’t get their colors right.” Alexa shrugged. “Whatever floats their boat and pays green works for me.”

Dillon studied the neat piles of flowers stacked across the prep table. “Wow, you’ve been busy.”

“She’s a whiz kid. Second day on the job and already kicking ass.”

“Watch it.” Nellie cupped her belly. “No swearing around the kid.”

Alexa leaned down and spoke close to Nelly’s stomach. “Your mama’s kicking booty, girl child Conroy. Hear that?”

Nellie’s giggle had to be one of the sweetest sounds he’d ever heard. When combined with the quick smile Alexa shot him as she straightened, he nearly staggered back. He loved seeing her happy. Way too much.

“I brought you guys lunch,” he said, resting a hand on one of the bags. “Grabbed turkey sandwiches at the deli. Hope that’s okay.”

“Thank God.” Nellie made a beeline for the bags, though she bypassed them to lean over the coffees. She took a long, dramatic sniff and sighed. “Ah, caffeine. I miss you so.”

“What you’ve given up to reproduce.” Alexa nudged her friend aside and snatched the coffee with the big A on the cup. “You’re spoiling me, James,” she said before taking her first experimental sip. Then her eyes rolled back in her head. “Holy Christ, this is delicious.”

“Language!” Nellie danced away, hip-swaying into a rockin’ boogie that didn’t really match their musical selection.

Dillon frowned. “Should she be doing that? She might shake the baby loose or something.”

Alexa laughed at his low comment. “Nah, that kid’s gotta bake for months yet. No early arrivals will be happening on my watch.”

“Absolutely not.” He shuddered at the thought.

“Are we going to take an actual lunch break for once?”

Alexa rolled her eyes at Nellie. “You’ve worked here two days. Stop acting like you’re dealing with horrible work conditions.”

“Hey, let me do that,” Dillon said, rushing forward to help Nellie pull a foldaway table from the wall.

“I’m pregnant, not incapacitated,” she grumbled, stepping aside just the same.

He set up the table in the small open space in the prep area and they spread out with their lunch. Alexa stiffened each time a customer came into the shop—which happened twice—but she slipped into her business mode without faltering.

While Alexa led a customer over to the glass-fronted refrigerated case, Nellie leaned close to Dillon. “She’s a tough nut to crack, but don’t give up on her. I guarantee she’s worth it.”

He didn’t doubt that for a second, but the benefit was coming up fast. Once the gala talk overtook over the town, the chances of his remaining handyman Dillon James in her eyes were nil. This whole pseudo-relationship was living on borrowed time—probably why it felt so incredibly precious.

That’s not why, and you know it.

“You’ve been friends a long time,” he said instead.

“Yeah. Since high school.” Nellie toyed with the pop-top on her caffeine-free soda. “She’s had a rough year. First me and Jake, then Roz. She needs someone in her life, Dillon.”

“She has you,” he said, fully aware of what she meant. But he couldn’t face the hope in her trusting eyes when he was nothing but a deceitful jerk. Worse, a deceitful jerk sinking deeper by the moment.

“She does. And I’d do anything for her, but I’m not there for her in the middle of the night. She’s terrified everything’s going to shatter around her.” She glanced at Alexa as she chatted animatedly about the small pots of tiny silk red and white flowers she’d set by the cash register.

“They’re great for offices, when you need a little cheer to spruce up the space,” Alexa said to her customer. “I’m thinking of doing actual arrangements in the same style, so that people can have a real one for home and the faux one for work. Helps make the day brighter, you know?”

“Oh yes, I do. That’s a great idea!”

Dillon smothered a smile as he glanced back at Nellie, who cupped her stomach while she watched Alexa. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Nellie smiled. “Mother Hen syndrome. It waxes and wanes. Would help if you agreed to marry her and love her always.” When he started to cough, she giggled and leaned forward to thump him on the back. “Sorry. Kidding.” She beseeched him with big eyes. “Though you could get your wedding flowers cheap. Just saying.”

He had to chuckle. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

His phone rang and he pulled it out, seeing the number of his event planner, Julie. She usually didn’t contact him unless she’d hit a snag with the benefit, which he absolutely did not need. “I have to take this. Sorry.” When Nellie waved him off, he answered the call.

They chatted about the usual sort of thing—ways to motivate more donors to contribute to the charity auction, advertising possibilities, and an issue with the caterer—and he wondered why she hadn’t just waited until their next planning meeting. Now that the benefit was getting closer, they’d scheduled more of them to finalize last-minute details. He’d blown off the last couple of them, because he’d been busy. With Alexa.

As much as he loved the benefit, he didn’t regret spending the time with her. It was way too precious.

“I know you don’t have a date for the gala yet,” Julie said, drawing his attention. “Neither do I.” She lowered her voice seductively. “We could be good together, Dillon.”

His gaze shot to Alexa, still occupied with her customer. But she wouldn’t be for long.

“I can’t. I’m sorry. There’s someone else.” Someone he’d finally decided to ask to come with him to the benefit. He didn’t want his stepfather to set him up with some china dish. He wanted—no, he
needed
Alexa to be at his side.

He just had to come clean first. And hope she didn’t tell him to go to hell.

“I asked around and everyone says you’re not seeing anyone,” Julie said.

He hissed out a breath. What the hell was she doing, running polls about his sex life? “I don’t check in with the town when I sleep with someone.”

She chuckled. “You used to enjoy having everyone see what gorgeous woman was on your arm now. What’s wrong with this one that you need to hide her away?”

“I’m not hiding anything,” he snapped, louder than he’d intended. Remembering Nellie, he glanced up to see her glaring at him.

Fucking fabulous. Could he dig his hole any deeper?

Once he hung up with Julie, he leaned closer to Nellie. “I’m asking Alexa to the Helping Hands benefit. I just haven’t had a chance yet.” If he told her the truth first and she realized he’d only wanted to help her, maybe she’d even
want
to go with him.

Hell, a guy could dream.

She nodded and firmed her mouth. “Don’t hurt her, Dillon. If you can’t do right by her, just end it now. She cares about you, and she’s way too fragile to deal with anyone’s bullshit.”

“I know.” He shut his eyes. “I’m not going to hurt her,” he said, and prayed it was true.

…

By the time Alexa made it back over to Dillon and Nellie, the happy mood at the table had cooled considerably. Before she could begin to figure out why, Nellie bounced to her feet and claimed she need to pee “something fierce.”

Not about to get in her best friend’s way on that matter, Alexa sat beside Dillon and picked up her abandoned sandwich. Her appetite had deserted her as usual, but she couldn’t deny the sandwich tasted great.

The pensive look on Dillon’s face, however, didn’t go down half as well.

“What’s the matter?” Alexa murmured, almost afraid to ask. Were Nellie and Dillon already not getting along? Everyone and their little doggie loved Nellie. “Problem between you and Nellie?”

“No.” The smile he gave her soothed her concerns. Mostly. “Why would there be?”

“No reason. She just looked a little green when she ran out of here.”

“She
is
pregnant.” He sounded almost defensive.

“Yeah.” Alexa picked at her sandwich, surprised by her disappointment at the possibility of friction between Dillon and her best friend.

It wasn’t as if she and Dillon were anything serious or even really anything at all. The past week had been fun, sure, but they weren’t long-term material. The guy enjoyed manual labor and got off on spreadsheets, for pity’s sake. They were from different worlds, completely opposite poles. They’d stumbled over some emotional common ground here and there, but that had been accidental. And temporary.

Keep trying to convince yourself.

Suddenly aware that he was staring at her, she blurted, “Where do you fish?”

“There are a couple places, but most often Gillie Lake. East end, near the woods. There’s this pier that’s just big enough for me and a couple of other guys. It’s a quiet spot.”

“Thought you had a problem with eager-beaver morning types.”

“Actually I fish in the afternoon, usually around twilight.” He rubbed his nose against hers until she had no choice but to grin. He had that effect on her way too often. “When it’s a clear night and not too hot, that’s where I go.”

She almost asked what entertained him about getting chewed up by bugs and then carving up an innocent creature when he could get one already cleaned and ready to go at the grocery store, but she bit her tongue. It was far too early in their not-quite-a-relationship to show him her crazy. “That’s nice,” she said instead, pretending not to notice how his lips twitched.

“What time do you close today?” he asked, his voice husky.

“Eight.” Her own came out scratchier than she expected, so she cleared her throat. God, what those jewel-blue irises and inky lashes could do to a girl if she wasn’t constantly on guard. “I stay open later on Fridays because we close at two on Saturdays. Roz was convinced that a lot of people appreciated the shop being open later on Fridays because of last-minute dates.”

“Eight, huh?” He leaned close and his scent wafted over her, aftershave and the faintest hint of laminate. Damn if it didn’t make her nipples harden. “If I come back then, will you spend your night with me?”

She swallowed the rush of excitement his words caused. “The whole night?”

He smiled. “As much as you can handle, Conroy.”

Right then she could’ve tackled him and ripped off all his clothing without batting a lash. “Sounds like a plan.” Then she smiled, suddenly eager to throw him as off-balance as he’d been so easily making her all week. “Though you could sweeten the pot a little, if you wanted.”