Page 55 of Forsaken Trail (Runaway 4)

“Hi.” I crossed the space for the door, my hand outstretched for Marty. “I’m Aria Saint-James.”

“Marty Mathers.” He shook my hand, then straightened his shoulders. “I’ve worked here for seven years. I specialize in floral design, but I also take care of the ordering. I’m willing to do delivery if necessary, though there’s a young lady who’s been doing it for the past year and she’d like to keep her job. So would I.”

“This isn’t an interview.” I gave Marty my warmest smile. “Well, maybe it is. I guess I assumed today you’d interview me and decide if you wanted to stick around and help me get my feet wet.”

Marty blinked. “Oh.”

Time would tell if Marty was the right fit for my long-term vision. But I’d be stupid to let him go. If the previous owners had trusted him and he’d run this place for Brody since the business had shifted hands, that was good enough for me.

“I’d like that,” Marty said, relief washing over his face.

“Good.”

“Water?” He pointed toward the far wall. “My throat is a little dry.”

“Please and thank you.”

He smiled, revealing a little gap between his front teeth, then he moved past me and disappeared into the shop.

“Phew.” I blew out a long breath and pressed a hand to my heart. “That went okay.”

“Marty’s a good guy. At least, that’s what my business manager said. She’s been working with him, checking in and such, during the transition. Marty pretty much does it all around here. I think you two will get along.”

“I hope so.”

“I’ll leave you two to get acquainted,” Brody said, taking his phone from his pocket. “I’ll be in the car. Take your time.”

“Thanks.” I nodded as he walked out the door, giving his backside a thorough inspection.

Broad shoulders. Long, powerful legs. His suit jacket covered his ass. Damn. But at least I had this morning’s mental image to call up and appreciate.

“He’s something, isn’t he?”

I jumped at Marty’s voice. While I’d been ogling Brody, he’d returned with two mugs. Both brimmed with water. “Pardon?”

“Here.” Marty handed me my cup. It was white and hand painted with small, bright flowers. I’d noticed the same on a display table, each selling for fifteen dollars. “He’s something. Brody.”

“Oh.” Busted. “He’s . . . handsome enough.”

“You were undressing him with your eyes, my darling. I get it.” Marty laughed. “My husband and I both have him on our cheat list.”

“You have a cheat list?”

“Of course. Why would you not have a cheat list? We know Brody’s straight but my mother always said I had a penchant for grand delusions.”

I giggled. “Good to know.”

“Now come on back to the table so we can sit down. Then you’re going to tell me all about yourself, Aria Saint-James.”

“I’d like that.”

Two hours later, I walked out of the floral shop with a beaming smile.

The moment he spotted me, Brody hopped out of his car and rounded the hood, meeting me at the passenger door. “How’d it go?”

“Great.” I was so happy I could cry. “I love Marty.”

Time had flown talking to him. Hilarious and honest and dedicated to the shop and our customers, Marty was exactly the kind of person I needed by my side. When I’d told him I was pregnant, he’d immediately assured me I could count on him to run the shop during my maternity leave. Then he’d listened intently and followed me around the shop as I’d rambled ideas.