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“Well, aren’t you a funny one,” says Grant as he recovers.

“Wasn’t a joke,” says Diego back, face still stern, unsmiling.

“Clearly not,” agrees Grant congenially. Then he looks at me. “A young pal of yours?”

Young pal.

I hear all the condescension dripping from those two words.

“Neighbor,” answers Diego, despite the question being aimed at me.

“Quite a tight-knit town,” notes Grant, making it sound like a compliment. “Everyone’s so close. So involved. So concerned.”

“I’m s-sorry, Mr. Bellamy, sir,” I quickly interject before Diego can say anything else—and he was a thousand percent about to.

“No need to apologize, no, don’t,” says Grant with a dismissive wave of his hand at me. “Young men in small towns are protective and stand up for their own. It’s a quality I respect.” He looks Diego over once more. “Like watchdogs on a porch, barking at anything that passes. Can’t tell a threat from a squirrel.”

“Did you just call me a—” Diego starts.

Until I’m around the counter, putting myself—and my panicked smile—between them. “We can move this into my office. I think we were just about to arrive at a deal that satisfies both of our—”

“Another time,” states Grant.

Crap. “Really, we can finish now, sir. Diego, please wait outside until we’re—Mr. Bellamy, sir?” He’s gathering up his briefcase and turning away. “Mr. Bellamy. We can finish now.”

He reaches the door and smiles warmly back. “Your young pal here … Diego, was it? … he has a point. It was unfair of me to invite myself into your shop when it’s closed. Just goes to show how far you go for your most valued customers.” He places a hand on his chest when he says that, dignifying himself with that shiny title. “I know you’ll always do what’s right, Mr. Callahan, to make your customers happy.” Then he gives another smile to Diego, says no more, and sees himself out.

My heart sinks to my toes. Stomach, too.

I grip the counter and droop my head.

“Problem solved,” mumbles Diego.

I snort in disbelief, shake my head, then face him. “What the hell did you do that for?”

Diego shrugs, folds his arms, eyes the front windows like he’s making sure Mr. Bellamy’s truly leaving. “Why’d you come in for that guy on your day off? Don’t you do enough for that shithead?”

“That ‘shithead’,” I say wearily, “is responsible for half of my store’s income this month alone. Half.”

“And he knows it.”

“So?”

“You’re letting him walk all over you. Don’t you ever say no?”

“Why are you here?” I finally ask, turning from the counter to face him fully.

He looks away. “Because I …” He picks at the corner of a shelf near him for some reason, as if brushing off imaginary dust. “Need to get some …” He clears his throat loudly, looks the other way. “I need some food. For the orchid.”

“Food? For the orchid? … Orchids don’t eat food, Diego. What do you think it is? Audrey II?”

Diego’s face wrinkles up. “Who’s Audrey?”

“The carnivorous plant. From Little Shop of Hor—never mind. Is that why you’re really here?” I take a step away from the counter. He notices, gaze flicking to my feet, eyebrows pulling together. “Is that why you just scared away my most important customer?”

“He’s a shithead.”

“Or are you here to explain why you kissed me and ran off the other night?”