Practice Makes Perfect (When in Rome, #2)(60)

WILL: I like your hands, too, Anna-banana.


Thursday

ANNIE: I had the funniest dream about you last night.

WILL: Funny? Hmm. I’d prefer sexy.

ANNIE: Well, you don’t get to choose. And this one was funny because you and I were in high school together, and I kept failing the same test over and over so you wrote the answers out for me on a piece of paper and gave them to me.

WILL: Sounds like something I’d do. Did we get caught?

ANNIE: Yes. And then we had to spend detention in Harriet’s Bible study.

WILL: Yikes.

ANNIE: Did you ever cheat in high school?

WILL: No.

WILL: It was sort of hard to cheat in a wolf pack. Our tests consisted of preying on other animals and the best way to lick your coat clean.

ANNIE: Are you never going to tell me anything about your childhood or teen years?

WILL: I was shorter back then…

ANNIE: You’re impossible.

WILL: Thank you :)





CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE


Annie





I twirl a long-stemmed rose between my fingers as I lean against the worktable at the flower shop, but my mind isn’t here. It’s stuck in an alternate world where a sexy, funny, outgoing man is my boyfriend. And then there’s the texts. I know I shouldn’t read too much into them, but those texts have felt meaningful this week. Last night he texted me before bed, just: Good night.

That was it.

It’s so confusing. He says he isn’t relationship material, and then he goes and texts me “Good night.”

I jab the rose into the bouquet I’m assembling and tell myself to get a grip. It doesn’t matter whether he wants a relationship or not. I’m not into him like that. There’s absolutely no feelings stirring up in me. Anything I feel so far is just attraction. I mean who wouldn’t be attracted to Will Griffin? It’s got to be a law of nature or something. Nothing to worry about—but I definitely need to keep my head on straight and remind myself that all the kissing and cuddling and texting is just a part of the process of my transformation.

He’s Fred and I’m Audrey. But in our movie, the credits will roll after my transformation is complete and I’ve found the wholeness I’ve been looking for. Romance subplot, removed. Admittedly, it would be easier to picture this analogy if Will weren’t so freaking hot. I need to draw some wrinkles on his face and strap him in tap shoes and high-wasted trousers. That’ll cure my attraction.

My attention goes to the shop door when the bell rings and a nice-looking man steps inside.

“Hi! Let me know if I can help you with anything,” I say while continuing to mess with the bouquet. I try not to crowd shoppers because no one likes a hovering sales associate.

“Thanks,” says the man and immediately I take note of his voice. It’s a nice voice. And because it caught my attention, I try to discreetly assess him as he wanders around the shop.

Nice light brown hair cropped close to his head but with enough play on the top to style it

A well-groomed beard

Button-down casual dress shirt

Nice jeans

Clearly works out

No wedding ring

He looks up and catches me looking, so I’m forced to say something. “Um, those premade bouquets are half-price.”

“Great,” he says with an easy smile. “Thanks.”

The arrangement I’m working on is missing something. It looks nice and all, but I think it’s lacking a standout element. Something that grabs me and doesn’t let me look away. Something exciting. It’s missing a dangerous black rim around its irises…and wait, I’m not thinking about flowers anymore, am I?

I barely refrain from groaning into my hands. Of course I would be thinking about Will while a handsome (possibly single) man is roaming around my flower shop.

“Hey, could I get your advice on something?” the man asks, approaching me at the worktable.

“Of course! I’d be happy to help.”

He frowns, looking around the shop. “What sort of bouquet is appropriate to buy for a woman who just had a baby?”

Oh.

He’s a dad.

Well, that’s that.

“Actually, for a sister-in-law who just had a baby,” he amends like maybe he saw my face and wanted to clarify.

Things are looking up again.

I walk around the worktable and go to the far corner, where I have a few freshly assembled, colorful flowers. “I think any of these would be perfect. They’re beautiful but not over-the-top.”

“Great.” He leans in and selects one—treating me to a sniff of his cologne. And it is cologne. He definitely owns a fancy bottle of something cinnamonlike and spritzes it once—maybe twice—before he leaves the house.

I think I like it. Or I could like it.

It doesn’t smell anything like…

No! Not finishing that absurd thought. Now is my chance to use a little bit of the newfound confidence I’ve been practicing.

“So are you from around here or just in for a visit?” I say, wondering if this has been an appropriate amount of eye contact.

“I’ve actually just moved to town. Or the town over, to be exact. My family lives around here, and I felt ready to settle down. So I moved my clinic here and bought a house.”