Ugh, there’s definitely no fault in him there. His lips have a perfect bow and they’re extremely distracting. Ah, yes. That’s a fault. Henry’s lips aren’t distracting. They’re a little thin and less come hither, and perfectly safe.
Henry—1
Ellis—0
Against my will, my eyes scan his jeans and black button-down shirt as he picks up a calla lily. He glances at me over the top of the petals, and I should really call Henry.
Maybe if I hear my fiancé’s voice it will break the spell and remind me I’m getting married soon.
I pull out my phone but quickly push it back into my bag when the flower shop attendant stalks closer.
“Can I help you?” the raven-haired woman asks.
“Yes, I’m getting married and would like to look at some options you have for the ceremony.”
She smiles, glancing between me and Ellis. If she mistakes us for the happy couple like in every romantic comedy movie, I will lose it.
“Sure, I have a binder. Let me find it. I’m Alice, by the way. You two can have a seat at the table out back, and I’ll be right there.”
“Thank you.” Ellis leads the way past a display of begonia plants and opens the door for me. I brush past him, holding my breath so I don’t breathe in his intoxicating scent.
We walk toward a wrought-iron table surrounded by a garden of colorful flowers. “This is nice,” I tell him.
He shrugs. “I don’t really know much about flowers. I’m more of a beer guy.”
See. Right there. Another fault. He’s an alcoholic who drinks a lot of beer. Although, he doesn’t have a beer gut. I glance at his torso that’s probably etched with a six-pack. My hand moves closer to his stomach, and then, as if it doesn’t belong to me, it runs over his shirt.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“I can’t believe I just did this.” I remove my hand as quickly as I can.
Ellis laughs. “What were you looking for there?”
He pulls my chair out for me, shocking me that he’s such a gentleman. He probably throws his jacket over puddles too. Based on the fire incident, Henry probably wouldn’t notice if I fell in a manhole. But that’s ok. I’m a survivor. Yes, letting me rescue myself is good.
Henry—2
Ellis—0
I take a seat, square my shoulders, and let the truth free. “A six-pack.”
Ellis’ eyes meet mine. “Well, I can assure you it’s there.”
And it certainly is. He lifts his shirt. Like a peep show just for me. I feel like maybe I should throw a dollar bill at him, but I can’t move. Instead, I’m gawking like I’ve never seen a six-pack up close and personal like this.
And, I realize I never have. Sure, I’ve seen six-packs in pictures. I’ve seen the movie Magic Mike. I know what they look like. But, I’ve never seen one out in the wild like this. Even his belly button is perfect.
I mean, I love Henry, I do, but he does not have chiseled abs like Ellis. Or that carved vee. And that’s fine with me. Because Ellis would probably expect me to have one too. And the only six-pack I have is sparkling cranberry juice in my fridge.
Henry—3
Ellis—0
Ellis drops his shirt and takes a seat next to me. “If you want to keep staring at it, I’ll have to charge you.”
I laugh, a bit too much, and quickly stop. “No, I mean, no. I didn’t even enjoy that.”
Ellis smiles. “You’re a very strange cookie, Kiki.”
Before I can respond, Alice approaches with two thick black binders nearly falling out of her thin arms. Ellis hops up, meeting her half-way and quickly taking the binders from her. See, he has a hero complex. And if I’m being honest, it’s...endearing.
As a woman, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I do it every day. But the cave woman in me can’t help appreciating a man who is protective. Alice agrees with my traitorous thoughts, judging by the size of her smile.
She leaves us to browse the voluminous selection, and I fixate on flipping through the binder for the second perfect flowers for the wedding, since forget-me-nots are out of the equation. There’s an oppressive silence, as I turn the pages of one binder and Ellis the other. To his credit, he really looks interested in what’s on the page. Like he might care about what flower we have.
“Why did you kiss me?” I blurt out.
His head moves slowly to me. “I...uhh.” He snaps his binder closed and turns in his seat a little to face me. “My father was driving by, and I didn’t want him to see me. I’m so sorry. Had I known you were engaged I would have never—“
“I know,” I cut him off. “I’m sorry.”
He places his hand over mine, and a zing travels up my arm. “No, you have nothing to be sorry about. I’m the idiot who kissed a friend’s fiancée. You didn’t have on a ring.”
“My ring was swallowed by a goat.”
Ellis laughs—it’s mesmerizing—and I laugh a little too, hoping mine is as good as his. “I’m still waiting on the farm to call.”
“I was not expecting you to say that.” He leans in and his eyes drop to my mouth. “What did Henry say about it?”
“Nothing, actually.” His closeness makes me want to withdraw, but I don’t. He smells divine. It’s not an overpowering expensive cologne you can’t get away from like Henry wears. His scent is clean and understated, making you want to seek it out. “I didn’t elaborate.”
He tilts his head, puzzled for a moment. “He didn’t want the details of that story? I know I do.”
I shrug. Now I’m wondering why Henry didn’t press me for details? It’s not every day a goat eats your ring. I’m also wondering why I find myself telling Ellis every detail of the story and enjoying the amused expression on his face.
“That’s the best thing ever,” he says when I’m finished relaying what happened. “So, wait. How do you get it back?”
“Well, eventually the goat will...“
“Stop.” He places a finger on my suddenly dry lips. “I think I get it, and I don’t know if I can handle it.”
I giggle behind his finger. And then, my laughter fades when he traces his finger tip over my mouth. His eyes are so intense, I inadvertently lick my lips, grazing his finger. His jaw clenches as he pulls his hand back.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Why did you?” I ask.
“The flowers told me to.”
I straighten up in my chair. “Ah. Haunted flowers?”
Ellis smiles. “Yeah.” He taps the binder. “These flowers are all haunted, and you shouldn’t have any of them at your wedding.”
“Well, that’s more for Marsha,” I say, without thinking.
“Who’s Marsha?”
“My cousin. She’s getting married too.” I look down at the binder and trail my finger along the edge. “My mom is in psychological warfare with my Aunt over which daughter has the best life. I’m losing.”
“Ah,” he says as if he has completely grasped the entirety of the situation from that one sentence. “I find it hard to believe that Marsha could beat you in anything.” His eyes sweep over my face. “Don’t try to win someone else’s race.”