“Not yet. Describe it to me, Lucy.” Felix can say my name a thousand different ways. A Lucy that vibrates in the back of his throat, gritty with desire. A Lucy that sounds like sun showers. A Lucy of smug amusement. A Lucy that’s more a sigh of relief than a name. A Lucy that’s all awe and wonder. This Lucy is a gentle command. In one breath, it all comes back to me. The thing I’ve secretly wanted for so long—a cut flower farm.
