Page 78 of Forsaken Trail (Runaway 4)

The arguments, I was learning, were foreplay. Because by the time each day closed, we would be together, either in his bed or mine, and there was never any argument about ending the night naked and wrapped in each other’s arms.

“I brought cookies too.” Brody pulled another to-go container from the white paper sack on the table.

Before he’d arrived at noon, I’d cleared away the floral petals, leaves and discarded stems from the bouquet Marty had made for one of five deliveries we had today.

“Can I run an idea by you?”

“Of course,” he said.

“You have to promise not to run out and spend a bunch of money.”

He frowned. “Have I bought you anything extravagant lately?”

I tore off a chunk of cookie and popped it into my mouth. “This cookie is fairly extraordinary.”

He grinned. “Your idea.”

“Someday, in the distant future when I’m ready, I want to build a greenhouse. I love working with the flowers and making bouquets. It’s been an exciting change from what I did in Oregon, but I miss playing in the dirt. I can grow houseplants for the shop and maybe even expand to have annuals and perennials available to customers.”

“I like it. Whatever you set your mind to, I have complete faith you’ll make it a success.”

“Thank you.” I blushed and tore into the chocolate chip cookie, moaning as the sugary, buttery confection melted on my tongue. The greenhouse idea wouldn’t be anytime soon. I needed to save some money and get the shop turning a bigger profit, but someday, I wanted both.

“Marty’s going to have to run the shop this afternoon,” I said, devouring my cookie. “I’m going to be in a food coma.”

“I heard that.” Marty walked into the room with a grin on his face. “And I’ll allow an afternoon nap if you agree to call the Friday promotion Fresh Flower Friday.”

“Done.” I clapped. “Easy.”

That was my favorite name out of the options anyway. But if I could get a nap in on the gold velvet couch in the office, I was taking it.

“See how easily some people can agree on names?” I shot Brody a smirk.

He simply shook his head. “Eat your cookie.”

“Yes, sir.” I winked and took a huge bite to polish it off.

Fresh Flower Friday was going to be a new addition to Welcome Floral. We were going to rearrange a wall just inside the door. We’d add shelves to hold tin buckets. Then each Friday, we’d fill them with bundles of fresh flowers and offer them at cost.

The goal was to get people into the shop. For too long, Welcome Floral had survived on deliveries to area residents. That would always be our core business, but to expand, we needed foot traffic.

When John Doe drove home from work, we wanted him to stop here and grab a bundle for his wife, Jane, who’d had a long week. We wanted Jane to then come in and shop for a birthday gift for her mother.

Over the past month, we’d rearranged the shop. The tables had a better configuration to showcase not only the floral arrangements, but also the houseplants and knickknacks and gifts. The shabby-chic style had been toned down, the clutter cleared and the lights brightened to give the shop a clean and open look.

It still had charm and character. But individual pieces were given space so they could breathe. The layout didn’t overwhelm the eye, but showcased items so customers could appreciate the beauty of a clay planter or a lawn ornament or a succulent terrarium.

The door dinged, and when I made a move to stand, Marty held up a hand. “Sit. I’ve got the shop.”

“Thanks.” I smiled at his back as he disappeared from the workroom. Then I rubbed my belly. I might have gone too far with lunch. I was stretched tight. “Ready?”

Brody inched closer, putting both hands on my rounded stomach. After every meal, the baby would kick for a few minutes, sometimes longer. Brody was on a mission to feel as many as he could.

The black-and-white-striped tank top I’d worn this morning stretched tight across my abdomen. I’d finally had to give in and buy maternity jeans. Today I’d rolled up a dove-gray sweater and knotted it at my ribs, over the bump.

Brody and I were color coordinated today, him in a light-gray suit. He’d even traded his normal dress shoes for sneakers. They were new and perfectly white, but they were casual. And he’d left his normal tie at home.

“Come on, little one,” I whispered. “Kick Daddy for wanting to name you Adler and Courtland.”