When I Was Theirs

8. Ben

8

Ben

E mmy raises one eyebrow when I wander in through the door. I glance around with interest. “I’ve never been to a flower shop before.”

I lasted until lunchtime.

Four hours without her, and it was too much. Too much of realizing exactly how empty my life is. I’ve had a small taste of Emmy, and I’m already addicted.

You’re losing your mind.

Emmy hides her smile beneath a frown. I watch as she twines flowers into a complicated-looking bouquet. Her fingers move effortlessly, twisting and bending before she pauses to look up at me.

Her hair is tied back into a short, high ponytail. With what I’m realizing are her trademark black boots on her feet, and in her yellow tea-dress with a green apron thrown on over the top, she looks edible .

“Can I help you with anything, sir?” she asks a little tartly, and I grin.

“I brought you some lunch.” I place the bag of pastries from a bakery down the road on the counter, watching the way her mouth makes a little ‘o’ of surprise and her cheeks flush. “And maybe I want to place an order.”

She clears her throat. “You do?”

I nod, turning to survey the wall. Dozens of buckets line it, flowers of every kind creating bursts of color. “How do you get all of these?”

“Angelo goes to the market and collects them each morning.” The flush of her cheeks deepens. “I normally go with him….,”

But I kept her in bed.

A deeper voice interrupts our conversation. “Is this him?”

At the demanding tone, Emmy flushes all over. “Angelo!”

I turn, taking in the diminutive, gray-haired man who stalks toward me. Hands on hips, he frowns as he looks me up and down. “So, you’re the one who has Emilia tied up in knots this morning.”

“ Angelo .” Emmy’s hissed whisper is full of mortification behind me.

Not sure how to approach, I hold out my hand awkwardly. “Ben Bennett.”

“Angelo.” He doesn’t offer a second name as he begrudgingly leans forward, shaking my hand. He eyes me again. “Pretty.”

Now I’m flushing. Emmy makes a sound that might be a laugh behind me. “Um. Thank you?”

His look is withering as he gestures to the bouquet in Emmy’s hands. “I was talking about the flowers.”

Help me.

Emmy is definitely laughing at me now, her words teasing. “I agree. On both counts.”

She slides out from the table strewn with paper, twine and various other tools, pulling her apron over her head. “Am I okay to take my lunch now, Angelo?”

He nods, inspecting her bouquet more closely. “Very good.”

The words are begrudging, even as he glares at me over Emmy’s shoulder.

I grab her hand in mine, the lunch bag in the other, and make a swift getaway.

“He’s all bark and no bite. And he’s been very good to me.” Emmy bites into a pastry as we walk down toward the pier. The sky is overcast today, but it’s warm enough not to wear a jacket. She makes a delighted sound, her hand over her mouth. “These are delicious.”

Grabbing another pastry from the bag, I pop it into my mouth. “So good.”

“So,” she murmurs. Strands of hair, pulled away from her ponytail, whip around her face. “You walk me home, you buy me lunch….,”

The pastry turns to dust in my mouth.

“I know,” she says quietly. Her eyes are on my face. “Casual only, right?”

Slowly, I nod.

Casual only.