Page 29 of Thorn Kiss
One kiss had ruined it all.
Which made the ugly cluster of feelings in my chest even worse.
It didn’t help that Dallas wasn’t just attractive—he was a mechanic, a volunteer firefighter, regularly helped our community, and had a fucking little free library in his front yard. He read books, for god’s sake. Real books.
Not to mention he had the prettiest damn eyes I’d ever seen on a man. They were like two windows to what he was really feeling. His heart reflected there—stormy when he was upset, sweet when he was happy, and troubled when he looked at me.
Kissing him had been a mistake. A mistake I’d told no one about. Not even Avery or Evie. It’d been nine months since his rough hands had lifted me onto the porch railing at Avery’s house and he’d kissed me into the new year until stars spun around us.
But then I panicked.
“Dammit,” I sighed.
I needed to pour all my untapped sexual energy into either another tattoo or prepping all the orders I needed to have ready by Monday.
At least the wedding had gone well. Bridezilla had mellowed out and had started crying happy tears over how gorgeous the flowers were. Ironic, considering how she’d treated me Friday, but it was all over.
I dropped my shears on the counter and rolled my shoulders. My flower shop blossomed around me, the crisp scent ofroses and plants sweetening the air. Like Avery’s art studio, my shop was full of color. Not only from the countless floral arrangements that would be picked over by the end of the day, but from the pink walls, my olive green tiled counter, and the burnt orange velvet stool I sometimes perched on when the day was slow.
Rarely was there ever a slow day, though. Even my Sundays were packed.
My phone beeped and I peered at the screen as a couple notifications came through.
“Oh god.”
The video I’d posted early this morning about my custom mums was getting a lot of views. Excitement was a trapped bird in my chest, followed by wing-fluttering nerves. Already, a couple orders from other towns in Texas had come through.
My phone lit up again and I casually peeked.Ugh.This time, it wasn’t a good notification.
Alice Moore
Why are you not texting me back? Are you really so busy you can’t even respond to me, June?
I wish I had a daughter who loved me
Well, I wished I had amotherwho loved me. I cleared the text message, tension simmering between my shoulders asanotherorder came in.
The last video someone in our friend group had posted that went viral was Mateo’s, and it was literally just him getting dressed in his stupid firefighter uniform. My theory was that it went viral because of his mustache and suspenders. I’d heard Levi and Avery wax poetic about those two things on more than one occasion over a meal. It was really cute, actually.
One thing I’d grown a new appreciation for was how much Mateo and Levi loved Avery and each other. They gave me just ashredof hope that one day I’d be scooped up and shown that I was lovable.
Until that day, I remained convinced I wasn’t. At least not romantically. I could probably blame that feeling on a lot of things—my mother constantly berating me for not being perfect, the fact that I was never good enough, or even my own personal hang ups around relationships.
In a perfect world, I could jump straight into a long term relationship with someone who knew all the broken parts of me and wouldn’t break them more. But to get there required vulnerability, and vulnerability required letting someone see the sticky parts of me I kept all to myself.
At least I got to see my best friend be happy. Now, I just needed Evie to find someone (orsomeones), and our lives would be all set. Because falling in love wascertainlythat easy.
Until the hero showed up at my doorstep, my one true love was running my shop. Mum season was breathing down my neck. It was a Texas tradition for the homecoming game that if you were taking someone with you, you got them a corsage the size of our state. I swore, they’d gotten bigger and bigger over the years too. I was drowning in boxes of ribbons, trinkets, and all the other things needed to make mums. By the end of this month, almost everyone going to homecoming in Whynot would be wearing a corsage handmade by yours truly.
After this, I’d have a small break before the holidays truly hit—which were never as intense. I usually breezed through them until Valentine’s Day rolled around, then it was another two-week nightmare.
Even with all the work of running my own business and the occasional nasty client, I loved it. About five years ago, Lisa, the local shop owner, had been ready to retire and I’d happily takenup the torch. For as long as I could remember, flowers brought me joy. They grew so easily with love and care and a little understanding.
Some days that meant my spine felt twisted from hunching over the work table or my hands were covered in a thousand nicks from rose thorns.
But it was all worth it. I’d built myself something I could be proud of. And most days, I was.
My phone lit up again and I craned my head as another custom order came through, followed by yet another text.
