Kate Collins - Sleeping with Anemone

“Mm-hmm,” Tara managed.

“How pretty,” Mom said, our dispute put aside. “Is it an antique?”

“I don’t know,” I said, fingering the brooch. “I found it in a shipment of flowers from Hawaii. I called the supplier, but he had no idea how it got in the box, so he said to keep it unless someone contacts him about it.”

“May I see it?” As I removed my hat, Mom took her reading glasses out of her purse for a closer look at the brooch. “Is it a lily?”

“Anthurium,” I said. “You can tell by the heart-shaped leaf and the long yellow spadix.”

“Spadix?” Tara repeated with a snicker, her lips apparently thawed. “Is that another name for a guy’s-?”

“Tara!” my mom said.

“Well, that’s what it looks like!” she cried.

Mom tapped the back with her fingernail. “It could be made out of wood, or some type of pottery. I’ll bet it wouldn’t be hard to copy.”

As I put my beret back on, I caught a familiar gleam in her eye. I had a feeling she’d found her inspiration.

“Hey, Buttercup, you’re back early. How was the show?” Marco asked, getting up from his desk to come around and greet me. He was in his office catching up on paperwork, and as usual, looking so yummy it was all I could do to not devour him then and there. Fortunately, I can suppress my appetite.

Marco had on a black T-shirt with a Down the Hatch logo on the front, close-fitting blue jeans, and scuffed black boots. There wasn’t anything extraordinary about the outfit, but the male inside it was a different story. How lucky was I to have found a guy who was not only brave, educated, and street-smart, but also honest, and with a dry wit that never failed to amuse me? Throw in a hard-bellied body, sexy voice, thick, wavy dark hair, and dark eyebrows over soulful, deep brown eyes, and he was one heck of a man.

He also had a firm, expressive mouth that was a genuine pleasure to kiss. Such as now. “You taste like peanut butter,” I told him, nibbling his lips. “Mmm. Makes me hungry.” ›

“You’re making me hungry, too,” he growled. We kissed again; then my stomach decided to join in the chorus, growling loud and long and not at all provocatively, definitely spoiling the romantic flavor of the moment.

“Sorry. I haven’t had lunch. I guess I should eat something.”

He turned and stretched across his desk for an open bag of nuts, affording me a great view of his backside. Hmm. Hot Pockets wasn’t such a bad nickname after all.

He held out the bag. “I’ll share these with you. So, what happened? I thought the Home and Garden Show ran until five o’clock.”

I grabbed a handful of peanuts and took a seat in one of the sleek black leather chairs in front of his desk as he relaxed in the matching chair beside me. “There was a slight hitch.”

Marco’s eyebrows rose. Such an endearing expression. So I gave him the whole story, from my petition failure through the candy disaster, omitting only my promise to Tara. When I stopped talking and reached for more nuts, I noticed Marco’s mouth quirking up at the corners, as it usually does when he’s amused.

“So, other than causing a minor panic with bleeding hearts, ticking off Nils Raand and two security guards with your petition, and getting your mom, Tara, and yourself booted out of the exposition center, how was the show?”

With a sigh, I leaned my head against the back of the chair. “Forty-three signatures. It’s disheartening, Marco. People simply don’t want to take a stand against injustice. I mean, everyone is busy, but how can they close their eyes to what’s happening?”

He drew my hand to his lips and pressed a sensual kiss in my palm. Tingles ran up my arm and landed in my pleasure zone, bringing a blissful sigh to my lips that made me forget my frustrations.

He kissed the inside of my wrist. “I’m sorry you’re having a bad day. Did anything good happen?”

“I promised Tara I’d take her to a Barrow Boys concert on February fourteenth for her birthday gift. Have you heard of the Barrow Boys?”

“Sure. I spend long hours on stakeouts, don’t forget, so I listen to lots of radio. The Barrow Boys are a good group. I like their music.”

Good thing, since that was how he’d be spending part of Valentine’s Day.

“That reminds me”-he pulled me onto his lap-“I finished my investigation this morning and got a nice fat check from it. So what do you say I take you to dinner somewhere pricey?”

“You are so on.”

“How about Adagio’s? I’ll pick you up at six.”

A. Mazing. I was thinking the same thing! Putting my arms around his neck, I said, “How about I wear my green silk dress?”

His pupils darkened as though he was already imagining me in that dress; then he kissed me, a deep, slow, intimate kiss that made me thirst for more. He was such a sucker for green.

“I’ve got to call for those concert tickets before they’re all gone,” I told him, reluctantly ending our kiss. “Tara would be crushed if she didn’t get to go.”

I reached for my coat and he stood to help me put it on. How many guys did that? “Oh. One more thing. Tara wants us both to take her. She needs two chaperones, and we were selected as the cool ones. Is that okay with you? It is on Valentine’s Day.” I held my breath.

“Sure.”

Was Marco not the best? I didn’t call him my hero for nothing. “Great! Thanks. She’ll be delighted.” I put on my beret, then paused. “I have to warn you, Tara has joined the campaign to get us to set a wedding date. I told her we were still discussing it.”

“Are we?”

“Discussing it?”

“We haven’t been.”

“We haven’t?”

“Maybe we should.”

“Wait. Are we talking about discussing setting a date or actually setting a date?”

“Discussing.”

“At dinner?”

“Yep.”

I gave him a light kiss and headed for the door. “See you at six.”

That was another great quality about Marco. He was always open for discussion.

I left Down the Hatch through the back exit and headed up the alley to my flower shop two stores away. Wow. Hard to believe we were seriously going to discuss setting a date for our wedding. After we’d promised our families we’d think about it, Marco hadn’t said anything further on the subject. I thought he’d been avoiding it. Maybe he thought I’d been avoiding it, too.

Okay, I had been avoiding it. The last time I’d made that big decision, my fiancé, Pryce Osborne II, dumped me two months before we were scheduled to walk down the aisle. So, sure, I was a little shy about taking that step again.

Still, I knew I shouldn’t compare Pryce to Marco. Pryce was a spoiled, self-centered mama’s boy who was used to getting his way, whereas Marco was considerate, helpful, family oriented, and had a strong work ethic-everything a husband should be. He had so many pluses, I doubted I could list them all, although, come to think of it, I probably should. Just for, you know, peace of mind. In fact, as soon as I had a few free minutes, I’d write them down.

So tonight we’d lay it all out on the table. I was actually getting excited.

I reached the back entrance to Bloomers and tugged on the heavy, fireproof door, cringing at the loud noise made by ancient, rusty hinges as I inched it open. But at the one-foot mark it stopped, refusing to budge until I wedged myself halfway inside and leaned my shoulder into it. Once in the building, I had to grab on to the handle and pull back as hard as I could until it slammed shut. Darned old door! It seemed to get worse by the season.

I’d gone before the city building commission in September to ask permission to put in a wider door, along with a small loading ramp, because as it was now, deliveries were a hassle. But so far, my request had been ignored. To see if there was a problem with my request, I had sent a letter to Peter Chinn, the assistant city attorney, who oversaw the building commission. When that didn’t garner any reply, I sent more letters, then called and e-mailed his office repeatedly, but he was ignoring me, too, and I really hated to be ignored. I wanted a new door!