Chapter Eighteen
August glanced at the text message on his phone, a strange smile tilting his lips. A short time ago, that phrase coming from someone else would have been totally foreign to him. He’d lived on his own since he turned eighteen and moved away from both homes. He’d never had a roommate until Mo. Never had anyone to ask when he was coming home.
It was a strange sensation to realize he actually liked it. Warmth filled his chest knowing that someone cared about when he would be home. And it was Mo, so she might be asking to hide the evidence of a pineapple pizza binge or because she was in the mood and wanted to jump him.
Please let it be the latter.
But whatever the reason, it was a strange sensation to feel contentment at the thought that someone was waiting for him. Eager to see him. He wasn’t used to it, but he was surprised to discover he liked it. A lot.
His thumbs flew over the phone’s screen as he replied to her text.
A few weeks ago, his grandmother casually mentioned a girls’ weekend with her friend Patricia. She also said she had something to discuss with him when she returned. He hoped it meant she’d considered his suggestion of selling and coming to live by him.
Or he thought he did.
Ever since he’d arrived in the city, all he’d wanted to do was leave. But lately, he’d been feeling…conflicted. He still didn’t like the city for the most part. It was loud and crowded, and the parking could be a nightmare. But he’d found aspects he really liked. The Botanic Gardens were beautiful. The vast array of restaurants that catered to many palates, including his. The parks and trails right in the heart of the city. And, of course, the best part of Denver:
Moira Rossi.
What a surprise she’d turned out to be. The first time he laid eyes on her, he knew his life was about to turn upside down, but he hadn’t expected it to turn like it did. He figured he’d have to suffer through six months of living with a flighty slob who annoyed him to no end. He’d been partially right; Mo was still as messy as ever. He found a bag of cubed cheddar in the bathroom the other day, and when he asked her about it, she replied it was her shower cheese.
That wasn’t even a thing.
But despite her less than cleanly attitude, he’d come to discover he liked Mo. More than he ever would have imagined. He wasn’t saying he wanted to go pick out china patterns or anything, but it surprised him how much he’d come to care for the woman in such a short time. He supposed their close proximity attributed to the acceleration of their relationship.
And it was a relationship. Of a kind. He wasn’t kidding himself. He and Mo lived together. Even though they kept separate rooms, she stayed in his almost every night. They ate most of their meals together, she introduced him to movies he’d never imagined he would have liked, but did, and he took her on walks through the local parks while she listened with fascination to him as he explained every tree, bush, and flower they passed.
In a weird way, they worked together.
Which was why he felt so conflicted about his plan to leave. He’d been so sure he’d lined out the perfect life for him and Gran. But now, for the first time, he had doubts. And all because some five-foot-nothing of a sassy, beautiful woman had somehow gotten him to start believing in things he never thought he would before. Like compromise and city living and commitment.
August’s three terrifying Cs.
But with Mo, they didn’t seem so insurmountable. They even seemed, dare he say it, fun?
His phone dinged with another text.
“Uh-oh.”
In the past few weeks, he’d learned that Mo’s surprises consisted of two options: an outing meant to break him out of his shell—some of which weren’t so bad, like the concert at Red Rocks she’d brought him to last weekend—or finding a new spot in the apartment to explore their chemistry.
Because she was batting about 50/50 with him and her surprises, and he wanted to be prepared.
He chuckled softly, not minding the ridiculous nickname as much anymore. Much like the woman who’d given it to him, it had grown on him.
She sent him a winky kissy face emoji. Since he’d never really had anyone to text before Mo, he wasn’t the best with these kinds of responses. Gran preferred calls to texts, and besides his former coworkers, whose only correspondence was to check schedules or switch shifts, his buddies would simply call him if they needed to talk. He’d never gotten the hang of the whole speaking-in-emojis thing.
He stared at the vast array of choices before him for a solid minute. What did he send? A heart? Would she read too much into that? Did he send the same emoji she sent him? And why in the world was there a poop emoji? When would someone use that? Who did you send it to? And why was it smiling?
When his head started to hurt, August gave up and sent back a thumbs up. Less than thirty seconds later, he got a response from Mo.
This was followed by four emojis, one that was cry laughing, one with its tongue sticking out, one that appeared to be some kind of nerd with glasses and buck teeth, and finally the smiling poop emoji.
He burst out laughing. Yet another surprising thing about Mo. The woman could make him laugh without even being near him. No one had ever made him laugh so much. He couldn’t remember ever being so…happy. Mo made him happy.
Gran would be happy to know her secret matchmaking had worked. Not that he was in any way ready to admit that to her. He still thought the best thing for him and Gran was to sell and buy a flower farm out west a ways. But maybe he could bend a little. Listen to Mo, see if she had any ideas for a compromise. He was sure the woman had about a dozen. She had said she was going to try and convince him to his grandmother’s side. He wondered what thoughts she had cooking in that sexy, inventive brain of hers.
Couldn’t hurt to hear a few, right?
He could entertain some ideas without completely giving up on his plans. It didn’t mean they would happen, but what was the harm in listening?
“Hey, Mr. Porter. Sorry I’m a bit late. The bus was off schedule by five minutes.”
August glanced up from his phone to see Chris stepping though the front door of the flower shop.
“It’s fine. And I told you before, you can call me August.”
“Right, sorry, August.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
He liked Chris. The younger man’s leg was healing up nicely, but he still couldn’t drive the van, so he’d been taking over a lot more in the shop, and August had come to discover Chris was quite the talented florist. He’d helped Gran put together twelve floral arrangements for a funeral last week and managed to make them beautiful and respectful, something most people didn’t realize was very hard to do.
Chris carefully maneuvered on his crutches back behind the counter. August grabbed a stool for the guy, positioning it so he could sit comfortable for his shift.
“I’ve just got to grab some stuff and I’m out of here.” August nodded toward the back. “You need anything tonight, don’t hesitate to call me. You got my cell?”
Chris nodded. “Yup, but I’m sure I’ll be fine. My boyfriend is picking me up after closing so I don’t have to take the bus back home.”
“Good. Have a great night, then.”
August waved and headed to the back to grab some invoice orders he planned to look over tonight after dinner and Mo’s surprise, which he was hoping was hot, wild sex.
He made his way to the supply closet where Gran kept all her invoices and paperwork in a small filing cabinet shoved in the corner. She really needed an office, but the shop didn’t have the space for that. Another point to add to the sell the shop and retire side of his plan. One he would have been smug about only a week or so ago.
The battle for selling or staying still raging in his mind, August opened the metal filing cabinet drawer and riffled through the folders, looking for the invoices he needed. As he shuffled through the massive amount of paperwork—good grief, did his grandmother ever throw anything away?—his gaze caught on a word in big bold letters.
Loan Application.
His curiosity peaked as he stopped his search and pulled the paper from the file. It had been stuffed in with an old anniversary party order, as if someone had been trying to hide it. Come to think of it, he remembered a moment last week where Gran had been back here looking over something, but when he asked what it was, she’d stuffed it in the files, saying it was nothing. Some old order she was checking over. But this didn’t look like nothing. Reading a bit of the paperwork, it looked like something.
A very big something.
Gran lied?
His stomach cramped. If this paper had been what she was trying to hide—and it appeared it was—then yes. His grandmother lied to him. His throat started to swell; he couldn’t swallow past the pain. He read over the application, skipping the legal terms and interest rates to get to the heart of what it was.
Application for a business loan to expand Porter’s Petals for the purpose of a flower growing lot.
He read the phrase several times, each time raising his blood pressure higher and higher. Grandma had applied for a loan in order to…what? Buy a plot of land to convince him to grow flowers in the city? Where would she even get an idea like that?
But as he read further down the page, he knew. And it caused all his earlier warm feelings to die. The fire doused out by the cold, bitter sting of betrayal.
Co-Signer: Moira Rossi
Mo had gone behind his back and conspired with his grandmother. He knew she’d been thinking of ways to help Gran save the shop—and a secret part of him had been hoping she also wanted him to stay in town—but to do this? To convince his grandmother to risk everything, take out a loan that could ruin her? The shop wasn’t raking in the cash. Which was probably why Gran needed a co-signer.
Dammit, Mo!
He didn’t care that she appeared to be risking some of her financial safety, too, with this venture. All he could focus on was the fact that the two people he thought he could trust had pushed him out of a decision. Ignoring his say, his desires.
Story of my fucking life.
All his earlier doubts flew away. He’d been right all along. The best thing for Gran was to sell the shop and take her away. Let her retire while he worked a flower farm far away from the city and meddling roommates who pretended to care about you only to stab you in the back.
When Gran got home from her girls’ weekend, he was going to have a long talk with her. This was her business, but she’d promised to discuss it with him. That’s why he was here: to help. Not to be shoved to the side and dictated his place. He’d stopped letting people run his life a long time ago. He got to have a say, and dammit, he was going to say a lot.
Clutching the paper in his hand, he stormed out of the supply room, giving a halfhearted nod to Chris as he left the shop and hopped into his car. The ten-minute drive back to the apartment did nothing for the mad he had going on. Underneath all the anger was a flowing river of sadness he had no idea what to do with. Having Gran lie to him hurt—he wouldn’t say it didn’t—but Mo…
He’d been coming to trust her. He knew she lived to the beat of her own drum and all that, but he never thought the woman he was living with, sleeping with, connecting to, would keep something this big from him. Why hadn’t she told him about her and Gran’s plan? Sure, he might have argued with her about it. Pointed out the risk of getting a loan. Questioned their business plan. All logical concerns.
Mo didn’t care about logic. She ran on dreams and starlight. But that blinded her to the reality of life, and now it could have a devastating impact on both her and his grandmother’s life. The worry and deception all rolled into one big ball of turmoil in the bottom of his gut, fueling the indignation, causing his hands to clench.
He had to calm down.
Pulling the car into his assigned parking spot, he took a few minutes. One deep calming breath after another. But once the anger subsided, all he felt was pain. The sharp pinch in his heart knowing that the two women he cared about the most didn’t feel him important enough to include him. Because yes, he did care about Mo. More than he realized. She’d wormed her way past the defenses he’d built and settled herself right in his heart.
But now what did he do?
If she’d only mentioned this before the paperwork had been signed. Let him in from the beginning.
Maybe it could still work out. He’d go in, talk to her, get her side of the story. She probably had a reason for not telling him. A very Mo reason, but a reason. Then he’d talk to Gran on Monday.
He headed inside, reasonably sure he was calm enough to talk about this rationally now. The initial hurt and anger had diminished a little. He was still mad, but he was willing to listen. They could all get past this.
But with each step he took closer to the apartment he’d been coming to think of as home, all the old feelings of not belonging crept up in his mind. And he began to wonder if he’d ever be important enough for someone.