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but it’s her eyes that have me feeling adrift. A color that doesn’t match Darby’s. A shade of blue I’m pretty sure doesn’t exist anywhere but right inside her irises.
“Don’t look at her. Look at me.” He listens, and I make sure he’s entirely focused on my face before I speak again. “I’m gonna ask you nicely to leave my store.” I press a little harder, and he gasps as he fights for air. “You’re never going to speak about her like that again. I don’t want to hear Dahlia’s name out of your mouth. If you continue to bother her, I’m gonna make sure I know about it, in which case, I’m going to be a lot less fucking polite. Are we understood?”
“I was thinking of something more like colorful. Bright. Resilient. Sprouting up in the places you least expect them and blowing away on the wind just as quickly.” That wicked smile morphs into a full grin. “Beautiful too, of course.”
“Dios mío, hijo. ¿Eres capaz de mantener una conversación con alguien que no consista en coquetear?”
Everett blushes slightly, eyes narrowing on his mother across the room. “Tranquila, mamá. Ahora mismo me estás arruinando el juego.”
Fuck. I want her to be jealous. I know it’s messed up, and I don’t know what it is about her that makes me feel this way, but I want to know she’s bothered by the thought of me with anyone else. Then, I want to tell her she has nothing to worry about because if she said the word right now, I’d be on my knees for her and her alone.
De repente tus brazos dejaron de funcionar? ¿Ya no eres capaz de ponerte tu propio protector solar?” Monica asks with a knowing tone. He rolls his eyes. “Mamá, ¿por qué tienes que seguir interviniendo? Sólo relájate.”
“Please be careful,” I say breathlessly. He flashes me an easy smile. “She’s safe with me, Wildflower. I promise.”
Fuck. The man is fluent in two romance languages?
“Bella, ti parlerò in qualunque lingua tu mi dica se questo ti farà continuare a guardarmi in quel modo.”
“If you change your mind, I want you to know that I’m not afraid of complicated, and I won’t hurt Lou. Ever.”
And fuck, if that doesn’t make me want to tear down her walls and show her she’s worthy of everything. It makes me want to cut through her armor and pull out the wildflower buried beneath it, waiting to bloom.
“Because I want to drown myself in you too, Wildflower.”
“Don’t stop having fun. Don’t stop chasing your good time. Just…maybe find someone you have a good time chasing over and over again.”
“You’ve got a crush on my sister-in-law, don’t you?” He chuckles. “I don’t think I’ve seen you have a crush since your obsession with Mr. Vardin in the eleventh grade.” “Dude. He was my bi-awakening. That’s a sensitive topic.”
She nods excitedly, and I lift my head to find her mother watching the two of us with a cautious, yet hopeful smile. It’s then that I realize loving the two of them may come far too easily.
“But you know what, Dahlia? Taking that kid out on a surfboard and watching her laugh, watching you laugh because of it,” he smiles to himself, “it certainly feels like the sun is shining after years of cloud cover.”
You, your sister, and your daughter, you are exactly what we’ve all been needing.”
As I enter my office, I remember for the first time in two weeks my monstera. Fully expecting a dead plant in the corner of the room, I instead find it thriving, long, swiss cheese looking leaves pointed toward the morning sun filtering through the window. “Everett watered it for you while you took that extra week off,”
Good luck on your first day. I know you’ll do great, Wildflower. P.S. don’t forget our lunch date. I’ll see you at noon. -Boyfriend
I look good in everything, Wildflower. But you in a cerulean dress that matches the color of your eyes? That’s enough to bring a man to his knees. Preferably me.
Stop flirting, Everett. You know it’s in my D.N.A., baby.
I realize I’m looking at her with a dropped-jaw, wide-eyes, and my heart beating out of my chest so hard, it’s likely leaving an imprint like one of those old cartoons.
Grief kind of feels like a bullet wound that never fully heals. Sometimes, it’s just a scar, and then other days, you wake up and feel like it tore right through you again, this gaping hole in the center of your chest sucking the life right out of you. You’re never entirely sure which days you’re going to find yourself bleeding out and which days you’ll feel patched up, but I’m always certain that on the anniversary of the loss, that hole is bigger than ever.
For some inexplicable reason, feeling Dahlia’s presence beside me makes it feel like the wound I woke up with this morning is shrinking, little by little.
Looking at her makes it hard to breathe, makes me feel like I need to clutch my chest and ensure I’m not dying.
I’ve met a lot of pretty people in my life, but never someone who makes me feel like that, like they could actually kill me just by existing. Like gazing upon her is such a goddamn privilege, I might as well end it now.
But I remember watching Dahlia run out of that bar and wanting nothing more than to have something—anything—to tie me to her again, only to find her standing in the center of my business, needing my help. I find out she lives with my brother, that she works for me, as if the universe took every tiny string and created a massive knot, placing me right at the center of it. I’m entirely caught up in her, entwined, and I don’t want to be untangled.
All she has to do is exist, and I feel like I’m going to be alright.
“But why are the parents at Lou’s school being bitches to me, then? I didn’t steal anyone’s surfer boy wet dream.” Leo snickers. “No, just their tattooed, motorcycle Hercules one.”
I savor this moment because I love the way he feels. He touches me like he’s cherishing me, and God knows I’m fucking starved for it.
“I don’t discriminate, baby,” he murmurs against my jaw before pulling away. “Plus,” he says louder, clearing his throat, as if just realizing we’re in public. A children’s soccer game, no less. “I don’t have a type. Well,” he pauses, and it’s almost like I can feel the smile I can’t see as I stand in front of him, “at least not until I met you.”
“I don’t want you to ever feel that way again. You’ll always have a way out, an escape route. You’ll always have me to call.”
I know then that I’d do anything she asked of me. I’d go to the ends of the Earth for her—for her daughter. I’m lost to her storm, and I belong to her sea.
“What?” she’d asked, feigning innocence. “I thought this was what you wanted?” “Everything I’ve ever wanted,” I found myself saying without much thought.
I want to clean candy up off the ground with her. I want to help her do the dishes, to watch her dance around the kitchen with her daughter. I want to hear them laugh together and be the reason for their smiles.
I have to show her that this isn’t an arrangement for me. This isn’t fake. She may be mine for show, but I’m hers for real. All I’ve got to do is prove it.
“I got the violets on this hand to make up for the other one. They’re her favorite flowers, and purple is her favorite color. Plus, Violet is her pen name. So, I got this done the first time she became a bestseller. She has a matching design that runs down one of her arms but ends at the wrist. Mine starts there, so that connects us too.”
“You’re so beautiful, Dal. All the time. When you’re done up and when you’re dressed down. In the middle of the night and in the light of day. God,” he laughs breathlessly, “you’re fucking stunning, including when you’re coming. I’ve been blessed to see it, so trust me when I say that.”
“You want me to fuck myself, Dahlia? Tell you how I dream of you when I close my eyes? Pretend it’s your mouth instead of my hand? Or how I imagine I’m fucking your tight, wet pussy again?”
“Dahlia,” he rasps, eyes meeting mine. “I speak three fucking languages—three—and when I tell you that there is not one word in any of them to describe the way you look right now. You’re beyond beauty. You’re beyond comparison to anything in this plane of existence. You’re something beyond comprehension. Unreal.”
“Me moriría de sed por ahogarme en ti,”
“Oh shit, what are those?” “Fuck no. Those are min—” I reach out to grab the plate, but not before he swipes a donut and spins, barreling out of the kitchen doorway and back into the living room. He places the pastry between his teeth and gives me a salute then flips his middle finger at me before turning the corner. “He’s insufferable,” I mutter. “You’re the one who brought him home,” Mom agrees. “I heard that!”
“Right. Just like I’m sure it was a joke that Colin’s grandmother called me after that date I set Dahlia up on and told me that she left him high and dry at the bar, running off with some,” she holds her hands out to make air quotes, “‘big, tattooed, motorcycle club member.’” She puffs. “I asked her what bar he took you to, and oddly enough, it happened to be Emilio’s. The bar owned by one of my son’s friends.” She flicks her wrist, referencing me. “My big, tattooed, motorcycle-riding child.”
“It’s not Luce, like short for Lucille. It’s Luz. L-U-Z. It means light in Spanish.” Both of the girls turn their heads to me, surprise on their faces. I only smile wider. “Because you’re like a burst of light, all bright and warm. You’re la luz.”
“She’s the light, and you’re all the colors, Wildflower.”
“While I’m here, can I go ahead and add a couple of people to her pick-up list as well? You should have Darby Andrews and Monica Ramos already listed.” “We do,” Tana responds without looking up from the computer. “Who would you like to add?” “Everett Ramos and Leo Graham.”
As I turn back toward the doors, Everett calls out, “Oh, and Tana—whoever bet on forever is going to win the pot.” “Nobody bet on forever,” she chimes back. He laughs under his breath. “Guess you’re all losers, then.”
“I’m always here, Wildflower, for whatever you need. But I hope you know,” he lifts his hand, taking my necklace between his fingers and sliding his thumb across the metal, “that there is no place I’d rather be, and nobody I’d rather be spending my time with than the two of you. It’s not a chore to me. It’s what I want to be doing.”
“Nobody has ever done that for me before.” “What?” she whispers. “Stood up for me.” My voice turns rough as I add, “Seen my value.” She slowly lifts a hand, wrapping it around the nape of my neck. My body shudders beneath her touch as she brushes her thumb against my skin. “You’re invaluable, Everett.”
