Chapter 1
Athena
My shop, Wild Lilac, seems to be the place all the hot guys in Manhattan come to when they’re looking to impress their certain someone with flowers.
Today is a perfect example of that. One of my first customers this morning was a hotshot hockey player. I only know that because I saw his face on a billboard in Times Square during the playoffs last season.
After he bought and paid for the perfect bouquet for his special lady, a looker in a suit strolled through the door.
It took him over an hour to choose the arrangement he wanted. I was happy to oblige since it cost a small fortune. The flowers will be delivered tomorrow before he goes to the yoga studio his girlfriend owns to drop to one knee to ask her to spend her life with him.
I look over at the man who walked in less than a minute ago.
He’s sexy-as-sin.
His dark blond hair is pushed back from his face and skimming the collar of his black button-down shirt. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, so the black and gray tattoos that cover his muscular forearms are visible.
He’s giving off a semi-corporate vibe since he’s dressed in black pants and shoes.
I turn to the side to stop myself from staring at him.
“Excuse me?”
If there ever was a perfect voice for phone sex, it belongs to this man.
I look over at his face. His jaw is covered with a trimmed beard. His blue eyes pierce through me as he stares at me.
The man is a gorgeous giant. He must be at least six-foot-five.
“Can I help you?” I ask cheerfully from behind my checkout counter because swooning over the clientele will not pay the rent on this place.
“I need some flowers.” He huffs out a laugh. “Nice flowers. I want something extra special for the woman I’m seeing.”
Something deflates inside of me. It’s not as though I was expecting him to be in my floral boutique to buy a bouquet for his mom. That mad rush happens in May. It’s late September. The bulk of my recent orders have been gestures of undying devotion, new baby arrivals, birthdays, or sadly, red rose heavy arrangements to honor the recently departed.
“Are you celebrating something?” I ask not only because that will help me determine what type of bouquet to suggest, but curiosity is a motivating factor too.
“I’m celebrating her.” His tone softens. “She’s an incredible woman.”