Chapter Four

“August! My sweet boy.”

August felt his lips curve up into a smile as he stepped into Porter’s Petals, the flower shop his grandmother owned and ran. The woman who’d been the only bright spot in his chaotic childhood stood behind the large wooden counter at the front of the shop. A line of sweet-smelling flowers in various shades of yellow and pink lined up before her, waiting to be placed in a bouquet of some kind, if he had to guess. Her cheeks wrinkled, the fine lines around her eyes deepening as she graced him with a smile that never failed to lighten whatever load was weighing on his mind.

Damn, it felt good to see her loving face again. He really needed to visit her more often. At least he’d be seeing her consistently for the next few months, and if he could get her to agree to his plan…he’d never have to say good-bye to her ever again.

“Hi, Gran, how are you?”

She rushed around the counter to hurry to his side. He towered over her, but she put her arms around his neck and tugged, and August was helpless to do anything other than bend his knees so his grandmother could give him a good squeeze that nearly choked the air out of him. The old woman still had a lot of strength in her. That thought made him happy. He’d been worried about her health lately; she was getting on in years and needed to take better care of herself.

It was one of the main reasons he’d finally decided to come out to the city. Temporarily. The city made him itch. He’d never lived in Denver, but he had grown up a little over an hour away in Colorado Springs, a large city in its own right. So many people all crowded together but not noticing a damn thing around them. His parents both lived in the Springs but on opposite sides of town. It used to take him two buses to hop back and forth between their houses when they were too busy with their other kids to pick him up for their custody days.

He hated buses. Give him a town you could walk to the end and back in an hour any day.

Agatha pulled back, her smile dropping into a disapproving frown as she looked him over. “I would be doing better if my loving grandson had deigned to call his grandmother last night—the one who was worried sick about him getting into town.”

A load of bull. If his grandmother had really been worried, she would have called. Repeatedly. She was just giving him a hard time. Probably because this was the first time he’d come to visit in more than a year. Guilt churned his gut, but he pushed it aside. He was here now.

“I got in late. I didn’t want to wake you.” He knew she needed more sleep and headed to bed earlier these days. “I sent you a text.”

“You young folks and your texts.” She reached up to pat him on the cheek. “What’s wrong with speaking to a person directly?”

For one thing, his grandmother always took her hearing aid out when she answered the phone, so she couldn’t hear half of what he was saying. She said it whistled when she held an electronic device up to it. Cheap piece of crap. He’d be adding “buy a new hearing aid” to the list of things he wanted to do for her.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call.” He placed a kiss on the top of her head, inhaling the aloe-scented lotion she’d used daily since he was a boy. The smell always put his nerves at ease. “But don’t think I don’t have a bone to pick with you, either, Gran.”

She dipped her head, moving fairly quickly for a seventy-three-year-old as she hurried back behind the shop’s counter. Her fingers fussed with the flowers, picking up the stems and arranging the plants with a focus she hadn’t possessed when he first arrived.

“I’m sure I have no idea what on earth you’re talking about, August.”

Ah, denial. The Porter family trait.

“Oh, really?” He stepped up to the counter, placing an arm down and leaning over. “You have no idea what I could be upset about?”

She glanced up, covering her guilty expression with a shake of her head. “You’re a very sweet boy, August, but you can be a bit of a broody moody at times, so I couldn’t possibly know what could be troubling you at the moment.”

Broody moody?

What in the world did that mean? That made him sound like an angsty teenager who spent all day locked in his room listening to My Chemical Romance. He hadn’t done that since he was fourteen.

Sure, he might be a little stoic, a bit of an introvert, but he wasn’t moody. And his grandmother could try the innocent act all she wanted, but since she had been the one to teach him how to count cards at the age of eight, he knew the old lady knew exactly what he was talking about. She might be able to fool others, but she couldn’t pull the wool over August’s eyes.

“Mo, Gran.”

She glanced up, blinking widely behind her thick glasses. “Mo?”

“Yes, Mo. My new roommate.” He leaned farther over the counter, looking his grandmother directly in the eyes. “My new female roommate.”

“Oh, Moira!” Grandma clasped her hands together, a bunch of pink roses held within their grasp. “Such a sweet girl. And her apartment is rather large for the city. Plenty of room for a strapping young man such as yourself.”

He sighed, knowing he’d have to be direct if he wanted to get any answers out of her. “Gran, why didn’t you tell me Mo was a woman?”

“Did I not?” She shrugged, going back to her work, focusing on the flowers once again. “Ah well, it doesn’t really matter, does it? From what I’m to understand these days, men and women live together all the time. As friends, platonically, romantically.”

He didn’t like the way she said that last one. He wouldn’t put it past his grandmother to be trying to fix him up with Mo—wasn’t like she hadn’t tried to set him up a million times before. Something about wanting to see him happily settled or something. No, thank you. His dad and mom split up when he was a kid, their supposedly happy marriage tossed aside for a shiny new one. Much like their kid.

Half the people he knew were either divorced or separated, and the rest fought so much they might as well break it off. August hadn’t seen one happy, lasting relationship in his entire life.

His grandparents had been happily married for thirty-five years according to Gran, but Grandpa had died when he was just a baby, so he hadn’t witnessed any of their so-called bliss. Still, his grandmother kept trying to set him up, and he kept dodging that bullet like the future train wreck he knew it would be. And if she thought to hook him up with Mo, the woman who he was sharing an apartment with for the next six months, she had another think coming.

He couldn’t imagine a worse idea. And it wasn’t just because they were going to be living together. From what little he knew of the woman, they were complete opposites. Her sunshiny cheer made him want to crawl into a dark cave and stay there for a week. The chipper attitude was exhausting. Seriously, who had that much energy at the end of the day? Also, what kind of monster ate pineapple pizza?

“Mo and I are just roommates.” Thanks to her.

She shrugged, grabbing some yellow roses and adding them to the bunch. “For now, but Moira has a way about her. I’m sure you’ll be friends in no time, and who knows? In a while, maybe more.”

He had to stop this right now. In a childhood when he’d been shuffled back and forth between his mom’s place and his dad’s, Gran’s had been the only house that felt like home. While he was expected to keep track of his own schedule and possessions with his parents, Gran always made sure she was looking out for him, allowing him to be a kid for a few weeks a year. She was his safe space, comfort, and he hated to crush her dreams, but there was no way in hell he and Mo were even going to be a couple. Even friends was pushing it.

“Gammie,” he said softly, using the nickname he’d called his beloved grandmother as a boy. The one that always got her to listen. “You know I’m only here for a short time, right? Just long enough to sell the shop.”

Her gaze snapped up, the happy light now a cool burn as she put down the bouquet she’d been working on and pointed a stern finger in his direction. “August Lionel Porter. I have told you time and again I am not selling this place. My mother started this shop and passed it on to me. Your father wanted nothing to do with it, and that’s fine, but I had hoped you, with your love and skill to grow the most beautiful flowers this side of the Rockies, would one day take over.”

And he’d told her time and again he didn’t like the city and had no desire to live there. He needed fresh air, open spaces, and a plot to grow his own flowers. He loved the beauty of flowers, the ageless meaning behind each and every botanical, the way they could convey a million messages: condolences, friendship, well wishes, love. What August didn’t like was the day-to-day running of a shop. He wanted to grow, not sell.

People skills were not his forte. Flowers were.

Flowers were easy to care for, easy to understand. All they required was soil, sun, and water. They didn’t give away your dog because your new wife’s kid was allergic. Flowers didn’t shove you off on your dad when your new husband wanted to take the family to Hawaii for spring break. The family that included his kids, but not you.

Flowers were so much easier to deal with than people.

“I’ve told you before”—he reached out to grasp her hand in his—“I don’t want to run the shop.”

“Then I’ll have to continue to run it myself,” she huffed, pulling her hand away.

Stubborn determination also ran strong in the Porter family.

He sighed. “You shouldn’t be working so hard, Gran. You should be retired, enjoying yourself.”

“I do enjoy myself. Right here. In my flower shop.” A sneaky smile crossed her face. “But I could be persuaded to cut back on my hours if someone were to take over.”

Someone being him. Yeah, not going to happen.

“I have a life to get back to.” Sort of.

He’d quit his job working on one of the largest flower farms outside of Telluride, subleased his apartment, and sold a lot of his things. He didn’t plan to go back but instead had a different plan. A new dream. One that involved finding a small plot of land and starting his own flower farm. Nothing huge, just big enough to financially provide for himself and his grandmother. Give her a chance to finally retire, sell the shop, and take it easy without having to worry about endless days of filling customer orders and all the paperwork that came with running a business. A little piece of sweet-smelling heaven all their own.

He didn’t want to take over the shop, but he did want to take care of his grandmother, and the only way he knew to do that was by growing beautiful flowers…for other people to sell in their shops.

He’d been socking away money for years, and he finally had enough to start his own flower-growing business. Now all he had to do was find a place for this new venture. A place outside the city. How could anyone grow anything in a concrete jungle?

“You could have a life here, August.”

He made his way around the counter, guiding his grandmother to sit on the wooden stool by the register. The hard wooden stool. He made another mental note to get her a stool that at least had a soft cushion on it. Though if he had his way, she wouldn’t need a new stool because she’d sell the dang shop. But he knew his grandmother. He was in for a fight on this one. He had her best interests at heart, even if she didn’t see it that way.

“Sit down, Gran. You’ve been on your feet too long.”

“Oh, this is rich.” She chuckled but sat as he requested. “You trying to take care of me. Wasn’t too long ago I was putting bandages on your scraped knees and making sure you ate all your veggies.”

He grinned. “Yes, but you also gave me a cookie as a bribe to eat the vegetables.”

“I’m a grandma.” She lifted her chin. “We get to spoil the little ones. It’s the right we earn as grandparents.”

And he was grateful for it, because his childhood would have been a lot bleaker without the doting love of his grandmother. Which was why this need burned within him to take care of her. He didn’t want her working her fingers to the bone. He wanted to provide for her, make sure she was comfortable and able to pursue whatever activities she wanted. She took care of him. Now it was his turn to return the favor.

“I’m not a city kind of guy.” He tried another tactic.

She shook her head. “You haven’t even given the place a try, August.”

True, but he spent a few weeks in the summers here as a kid. Granted, that had been a while ago, but he hadn’t liked the noisy, busy place then. Staying with Gran had been great, but the city reminded him too much of home. What could have changed over the years to alter his opinion?

“Let’s make a deal,” his grandmother said.

“I eat all my vegetables before my cookies now, Gran. There’s no need to bribe me to be healthy anymore.”

“Don’t be smart, boy,” she admonished him, but she said it with a loving smile on her face. “Now, I propose—hand me that ribbon, please.”

He dutifully passed over the silky white ribbon laying on the countertop by his hand. Chuckling to himself, he watched his grandmother wrap the piece of cloth around the finished flower bundle, completing her task while focusing all her mental energy on him. A move that reminded him so much of the happy times he’d spent in this shop as a young boy; it made his chest ache. Honestly, it did hurt him to sell the place, but he couldn’t see any other option. Grandma couldn’t run it forever, and he just couldn’t see himself living in the city.

What else could he do?

“I think you should give Denver a fair shot,” she said, placing the finished bouquet in a glass vase by the register. “Give the shop a fair shot.”

She placed a small, wrinkled hand on his chest, directly over his heart. “Maybe even give the idea of opening yourself up to love a fair shot.”

The woman was asking for the moon.

“If you still feel the same in six months, we can discuss, in earnest, selling the shop.”

Wow. He hadn’t expected his grandmother to agree so quickly. Tentatively agree, he reminded himself. Granted, she probably thought a few months in the city, working at the flower shop, living with a beautiful but ridiculous woman would change his life’s plan. She was wrong. Nothing could steer August from the course he’d set out.

“Okay, Gammie.” He placed his hand over hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’ll give it six months, but then we talk. For real.”

“So sure you’re right, Auggie.” She smiled, using her childhood nickname for him.

He grinned, giving her a pointed look. “It’s a family trait.”

“Oh, you.” She slid off the stool and gave him a hug before pulling away and shooing him to the back. “Now go get me more ribbon. I’m almost out, and I need to make three more bouquets for this wedding tomorrow. Mo is coming by first thing in the morning to get them. Perhaps you could ride over with her.”

“I have my own car.” He waved, ignoring his grandmother’s attempts to match make him and his new roommate as he headed to the tiny back storage area where he knew she kept her floral supplies.

He riffled through the shelves of floral tape, wire, foam blocks, vases, and other items until he came to the drawer with the ribbons. Warmth spread in his chest as he glanced around the room that was constantly changing but somehow always the same. Gran was forever reorganizing her stock room, but it always held the same supplies. A constant comfort he could rely on.

And he was here to destroy it.

Guilt tried to gnaw away at his gut, but he pushed it aside. He didn’t want to destroy his grandmother’s shop. All he wanted to do was help her sell so she could retire and, if he had his wish, come live by him. But he knew she didn’t see it that way. He’d just have to convince her of his logic while at the same time ignoring her wild fantasies of him staying in the city, running the shop, and falling in love with his messy, flighty roommate.

A snort of laughter escaped him as he grabbed a spool of white ribbon. A more outlandish idea he couldn’t even imagine. Sure, Mo was beautiful and seemed nice enough, but the woman was the exact antithesis to everything August was. He couldn’t imagine she’d want to start anything romantic with him, either. He’d probably bore her to death.

At least then she might sit still for two seconds.

After finishing things up at the shop, he headed back to his new temporary apartment with a mission. The pod with his stuff was coming tomorrow, and he needed to make sure the place was clean before he started unpacking his things.

After searching through every cabinet he could see, August finally caved. This place needed a cleaning. No, scratch that, he desperately needed to clean this place. Deep clean. Preferably with a hazmat suit, but he’d go with a bottle of bleach if he could just find one.

“Moira, where are the cleaning supplies?”

His new roommate glanced up from the couch where she was watching some superhero movie, and oh god, was she eating cereal straight from the box? There were perfectly good bowls thirty feet away in the kitchen. And how had that crap not given her a million cavities yet? It was pure sugar and starch.

“Cleaning supplies?” Her nose wrinkled, head tilting as if she never heard the words before.

He believed it.

“Yeah, disinfectant, window cleaning, bleach…soap?”

Her brows rose, climbing up her forehead as she stared at him. “Soap?”

She could not be serious.

“Come on, August.” She plopped the cereal box on the coffee table, laughter spilling out of her lips. “I’m just messing with you. Of course I have cleaning supplies…somewhere.”

Her smile did nothing to reassure him. Though it was a beautiful smile, lit up her whole face. Not that he was paying attention to that. He had cleaning to do. Not muse about his roommate’s luminous smile and how it made his lips twitch with the urge to follow suit.

“Let’s see.” She stood, brushing crumbs off her shirt.

August tried not to groan as the flakes of dusty cereal particles fell to the floor. Vacuuming was already on the list anyway.

“I think Lilly left me some stuff in the hall closet.”

He followed her down the hallway, knowing he’d already checked that closet but hoping against hope he’d missed the holy grail of sanitation materials. At this point, he’d settle for a wet wipe and some hand sanitizer.

“Okay,” Mo said as she opened the closet door. “I think they’re here…somewhere.”

She lifted up on her toes to scan the top shelf. August shook his head. The woman was so short, she’d need a stepladder to see the top shelf. Even he had to lift up to see. Which he’d done earlier. No cleaning supplies.

“I can’t find any up there.”

“Can you even see that high?”

Mo glanced at him over her shoulder. “Why, August Porter, did you just make a joke?”

He shrugged. “It’s been known to happen.”

She turned to face him, playfully punching his shoulder with her tiny fist. The spot where her skin connected with his burned, like being shocked with a livewire. He clenched his hands into fists to stop himself from rubbing his arm. How did this woman have such a weird effect on him? What was this?

Nothing he wanted to admit to, that was for sure.

“Look at you being secretly funny.”

She turned, unaware of the inner turmoil her slight touch had caused within him. She crept down, ass in the air as she dug through the coats, hats, scarves, and other piles of crap on the closet floor. He’d shifted that stuff around with his foot but hadn’t dug in like Mo was doing, for fear he might come across something weeks old and covered in mold.

Her heart-shaped butt wiggled as she dug around. August averted his eyes, staring at the light in the closet, wishing the bright bulb would burn the image of that sweet, luscious posterior out of his brain. His roommate had a great ass. Something he should never, ever think about.

“Aha!”

Mo popped out of the pile of junk. An old sock was stuck to the top of her head, the sight so ridiculous he felt his lip twitch. She held up a small bucket filled with a few spray bottles and a pathetic-looking duster that was missing half its feathers.

“The broom and mop are down there, too.” She stood, glancing at the pile with a slight frown. “Must have fallen at some point and gotten buried.”

“Vacuum?” he asked, because he could not deal with the fact that she hadn’t swept or mopped in so long that she hadn’t noticed the missing cleaning supplies until now.

“Ooooh.” She winced. “I might have, kind of, broken the one Lilly left. To be fair, it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t realize you couldn’t vacuum up glass and—”

“Why did you need to clean up glass?” His jaw dropped in horror at the thought.

“It’s better if you don’t know.”

She was probably right. “How do you live like this?”

She laughed, pushing the bucket of cleaning supplies into his hands and heading toward the living room. “I grew up with four brothers. If you think this place is messy, you should have seen my house growing up.”

He shuddered at the thought.

“But don’t worry about the vacuum. The building has one residents can borrow in the clubhouse. I’ll go check it out and help you clean up.”

He very much doubted her assistance cleaning would be of any help, but he did appreciate the retrieval of the vacuum. She might be an utter mess, but she was a hot mess, and he couldn’t deny Mo was kind and had a wicked sense of humor. Despite his reluctance to this situation, he found himself drawn to the woman. There was just something so infectious about her. Just as infectious as the grime he intended to clean off every surface of this apartment.

Too bad he couldn’t do the same with these weird lustful urges his roommate inspired in him.