The way Brock had talked last week, they were still seeing each other. He’d probably be at the party, as would I, and there was no way for me to pass the task to someone else. I couldn’t admit what had happened to Addison without her using it against me, and although we had access to interns, there wasn’t a single one I’d trust with a Felix event.
So I’d endure it. I’d compartmentalize my feelings, pack them up, stow them away, and get on with it so I could do my job. So I could crush my job. I’d throw her the best goddamn birthday party to ever come out of New York despite the fact that she’d fucked my boyfriend.
Post-church, I’d gone on with my day, meeting with a caterer, stopping into the office for a meeting and to answer to Addison. And my last task of the day was to pop into Longbourne, where I’d become a regular fixture.
My purpose was twofold: take a look at the flower crop for a wedding this weekend and escort my very pregnant sister home. I’d been thinking about that pizza all week, and I’d convinced Ivy to let me get her a slice on the way home. Not that it took much convincing—pizza was her number one craving. I swore she was going to actually birth a pizza roll or a giant pepperoni. Or just a chubby little baby with doughy thighs and cheeks to pinch and fawn over.
And with that thought putting the first genuine smile on my face of the day, I walked toward the turquoise door of Longbourne and stepped inside, greeted by the dinging of the ancient bell over the door.
It really was something, what they’d done with the place. I’d been in and out of the shop since we were teenagers, when Ivy started working here. It used to be drab and dark, untouched by time, but when the Bennet children came home last summer, they came home with purpose. The makeover was brilliant—the shop was bright and cheerful, the windows inviting with gorgeous installations that had become a Village spectacle. I’d seen the crowds waiting on Sunday morning for the unveiling, and I’d heard from Ivy about the massive increase in business.
I was honestly happy to help by bringing them the wedding business I had to offer even if it was risky and even if I’d been a monster about it. As a rule, Archer Events used Bower Bouquets, but I’d gone over Addison’s head, taking it straight to Caroline, who had agreed, loving the charm of the small shop and their greenhouse. I found I much preferred the one-on-one interaction I had with Longbourne. I never saw the same florist twice at Bower. Here, I felt like Longbourne was part of my team. Granted, my sister worked here, but still. It was nice using a small business, and it helped the flower shop make their money. Thus helping my sister make hers. Everybody won.
My heels were noisy on the black-and-white-tiled floor, the shop still busy with the rush hour crowd looking to grab something on their way home. I waved at Jett behind the counter, one of the beautiful Bennet men, and he offered me one of their signature smirks, a cavalier tilt of wide lips.
They were shockingly handsome, the whole lot of them—tall and raven-haired, crisp blue eyes and solid frames, square jaws and brilliant smiles. My favorite of those smiles wasn’t Luke’s, who took nothing seriously, or Jett’s, who seemed to be just being kind. It wasn’t Marcus either, as hard-won as those smiles were—he was a little too brooding for my taste. I preferred a man with the serious air of Marcus but the charm like Luke.
Which was Kassius Bennet.
As much as I hated to admit it, he really did have the best smile, and I felt like Goldilocks about it—not too happy, not too quiet. Not too forthcoming and not too shy. His was just right—a perfect mix of quiet weight and wry humor. It was a smile of secrets and surprises.
Your blood sugar must be low, I scolded myself. Waxing poetic about the gardener? Get yourself a slice of pizza before you do something stupid.
I saw him the second I stepped into the workspace, before my sister, before Tess. He leaned against the worktable with his enormous arms folded across his wide chest. He seemed the ideal blend of the Bennet qualities, from his stupid, irreverent T-shirts to his unflappable, solid support. Granted, his T-shirts were a little more bearable since seeing him fill out tailored clothes so nicely. Nicely enough that I’d made excuses to get him to come to a few venues in the hopes he’d show up in a tie. He cleaned up well, though his jaw, which had been smooth and clean just a few days ago, was already smattered in dark, thick stubble. I wondered what he’d look like with a full-blown beard, imagining it would be as lustrous and luxuriant as his hair. I wanted him to shave his face and cut his hair just as badly as I wanted him to let it run wild despite my wishes.
Today, his shirt read, Sow Cool, bordered with a silhouette of wheat beneath it.
I wanted to laugh, but then our gazes tangled, and I forgot what was so funny.
Something had changed in him over the last week or so, something I couldn’t place. Something about his eyes or the set of his lips that smoldered serious. I’d caught a glimpse of it when he’d asked me about relationships—a personal tone we sadly hadn’t slipped into since—but today, the expression was unprompted, existing before my entrance and seemingly likely to remain when I was gone.
He didn’t move but for the uptick of one corner of his lips, framed by that square, utterly masculine jaw.
Caught off guard, I defaulted to my work smile.
“Lila!” Ivy sighed, smiling. “If you’re here, that means it’s almost pizza time, and thank God. I’m starving.”
The room chuckled.
“I’ll buy you all the pizza you can eat.”
“The cruelest part of that joke is that I can’t even finish one slice. I’m too full of baby,” she said on a laugh, running her hand over the swell tenderly.
“Well, half a piece it is, and I’ll get you one for the fridge. You can eat it in a couple hours when you’re hungry again.”
“Deal. How’d it go with the Femmes?” she asked.
“Well, Angelika and Jordan fucked in a confession booth, and I had to divert a nun who almost caught them.”
The three of them blinked at me, mouths hanging open, before they burst into laughter.
“I know.” I set my bag on the worktable, bending to smell the lilies in Tess’s vase. “If they weren’t totally goo-goo over each other, I’d have figured it for a stunt.”
“I mean, it probably was a stunt,” Ivy noted.
“Probably,” I agreed. “But still. At least something about the ordeal was genuine.”
“And at least one of the Femmes is actually in love,” Tess said. “I’m convinced the others are in marriages of convenience.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.” I changed the subject to avoid talk of Natasha’s romantic interest, lest I lose my appetite with pizza on the horizon. “Ready to walk me through the flowers for the Statham wedding?” I asked Kash.
“Born ready.” He pushed off the table, flicking his head toward the back.
I eyed him. “Don’t you need our paperwork? The concept designs Tess came up with?”
“Nah. I got it all up here,” he said, tapping his temple like he did.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and said flatly, “If you say so.”
“I say so. Come on,” he said, and I had no choice but to follow.
His back was a landscape of muscle in shadows and highlights, the topography clear, even swathed in his dumb T-shirt. The fleeting thought of what those rolling muscles would look like undisguised by his shirt made me salivate. Actually salivate, a hot rush of slobber like I’d been offered that pizza I’d been daydreaming of. I swallowed hard, shifting my gaze to the greenhouse the second we’d passed through the swinging doors.