“Ohhh … nice. I’ll be here most of the day. Brady had to run to the office. Dex already left to pick up Jessa’s parents and Sam at the airport.” Silence fills the receiver. My stomach plummets with the memory of last night, thinking about those hands that explored with such precision, now on someone else.

“That’s nice. Okay, well, I better get back to work.” I’m eager to end the conversation.

“Chrissy?” Sadie draws my attention back. “Dex and Sam—they’re—” she starts, but the tears are already pricking behind my eyes.

“It’s fine, Sadie. Dex and I are just friends. I really have to go. I’ll see you tonight.” I hang up the phone before she has a chance to respond.

The small wheels slide on the wood floor when I push back on my chair. I walk quietly to the small bathroom and prop my hands on the sink counter, staring at myself in the mirror. My blonde hair needing a haircut, lack of make-up, and clothes that need updating. Who am I kidding? I’m nowhere near what Dex would want. Taking a deep breath, I leave the bathroom with no more self-assurance than when I entered and run smack into a muscled chest. “I’m sorry,” I murmur, and Ryland places his finger under my chin, lifting it up toward him.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and I blink twice before I can answer.

Burying all my emotions deep down, I gulp a swallow. “Jessa had the baby. It’s a girl.” I dig every ounce of excitement for Jessa and Grant I’m able, smacking a big ole smile on my face.

He claps his hands together. “That’s wonderful. Let’s send them a boutique of flowers.” He begins walking over to my desk, and I follow.

He stops short of my chair and sits down on the edge of my desk, swiveling my monitor so we can both see it. Hitting the internet, I begin searching the florist websites. Clicking on a few, Ryland shrugs not caring for any of the premade arrangements. “Hey, there’s a florist down the street, let’s go.” He stands up, his eyes gleam with excitement.

Since he’s my boss, I don’t have much of a choice, so I pull my purse out of the drawer. I walk around the desk, and Ryland, always the gentleman, raises his hand for me to lead the way. We exit the gallery, and he locks it up. The sidewalk is filled with people, families, and students enjoying a nice day with the sun shining down.

The smell of beautiful abounds from every angle when we step into the florist. Every flower imaginable sits in vases of water from tabletops to behind the glass. Balloons float in the air, anchored to teddy bears and baskets. I would love to work here, smiling is contagious from the moment you enter the room.

A lovely middle-aged woman greets us. “Ryland. How are you?” She puts her hand out, and he shakes it.

“It’s nice to see you, Lily.” He peers around the room, observing the array of floral and celebration items. “This is my temporary assistant, Christine Dawson.” He introduces me, and she bears a friendly smile, turning her attention to me.

“Hi! I’m Lily. So, am I to assume Jessa’s off on leave?” she excitedly questions, and I nod my head with just as much enthusiasm.

“She just had her baby today,” I inform Lily, and her face lights up like a Christmas tree.

“Oh, good for her and Grant. I couldn’t be happier for them. Is it a boy or a girl?” she asks, biting her lip.

“A girl. Adelaide Rose.”

“What a beautiful name.” She places her hand over her heart.

“Lily,” Ryland interrupts, and she shifts her concentration back to him. “We’d like to pick out a bouquet to send over to the hospital.

“Sure. Right.” She composes herself and glances around the shop. “Let’s start over here.” She motions for us to follow.

Ryland ushers me forward.

“Jessa doesn’t scream super girly, so maybe we mix it up and do pink, white, and purple?”

“Sure,” Ryland responds clearly disinterested. “Chrissy will take the lead on this.” He nods toward me.

Lily smiles, and then we discuss the difference of flowers. Since I’ve never received even a single rose let alone a bouquet, I have no idea how to mix them together. She grabs a vase, and before I figure out what we should do, there are magenta roses, white lilies, and small purple and white daisies pouring out of it. Reaching over, she grabs a ribbon and twists it into a bow to position right in the middle.

“Do you want a balloon?” she asks, and I glance over my shoulder to Ryland who just nods.

“Yes, please,” I say. Lily reaches below a shelf and moves over to the helium tank.

A huge Mylar balloon with ‘IT’S A GIRL’ outlined swells, and I can’t keep the smile off my face. “What an amazing job. You make people happy just by showing up at their door,” I remark, and Lily nods.

“It’s pretty great, but flowers aren’t always used for happy times. She points to the small cards stacked in the plastic holders by the counter. Get Well and Our Sympathy triggering her meaning immediately.

“Oh. That must be hard.” I empathize, and she nods in agreement.

“I remember my florist opened right after Grant’s mother, Mindy, passed. He and his dad came in here to pick out the flowers for his mother’s casket. Although I didn’t know Mindy, my heart broke for the little, blond-haired boy that didn’t speak when his dad asked him to pick out some flowers for his mommy.” She glances over to the back of the store and then back to me. “Now I get to send them to him and his wife in congratulations on their baby. I was there for him in one of his darkest moments and now I’m able to be there for one of his happiest. It’s nice.”

I wipe the few tears and stare in admiration at this woman. “That’s truly wonderful.” I’m otherwise speechless.

She reaches over and pats my hand in a mom mannerism. “Oh, sweetie, you make me feel like a miracle worker or something.” She giggles, bringing Ryland’s attention back to us.

“What did I miss?” he asks, putting his phone back in his pocket.

“Nothing.” I quickly disregard our moment as Lily rings up the order.

Ryland pulls his credit card out and slides it across the counter. “I’ll get it there this afternoon. Did you want to sign a card?” She points to a display I just observed a few moments ago. Ryland picks out a congratulations card and begins writing an inscription.

I peek over his shoulder after he’s finished and notice my name on the card. “Why did you put my name on there?”

“You’re part of Ryland Davis Gallery now,” he replies, and I guess he’s kind of right.

Lily says her goodbye, and I push back my urge to hug her, but instead follow Ryland’s weaving path through the overfilled display tables with different bouquets. After we hit the sidewalk, he turns to me. “Lunch?”

“That’s okay—” I politely decline.

“I wasn’t asking if you wanted to go. I was asking where you wanted to go,” he clarifies, and I bite my lip. Swimming in my own thoughts of whether this is crossing a business to personal line, I remain quiet. An impatient Ryland breaks the silence. “Okay, I’ll decide. Let’s go.” He nods for me to start walking. Always the gentleman.

WE END UP at a nice restaurant called Filgree’s about five minutes later. The minute we step through the doors, I straighten my blouse down and smooth out my black slacks, as though my hands could iron out the wrinkles. This is by far the fanciest restaurant I’ve ever eaten at. White linen tablecloths with silverware stuffed in linen napkins dress the tables and small plates to the left, two forks, a knife, and a spoon. I silently pray I can get through this meal without embarrassing myself.

The hostess leads us to a table overlooking the small river that runs through Western. Ryland pulls my chair out, and I take a deep inhale of nervous breath when he steps around to his seat across from me. Staring out at the water slowly rippling down the stream, I watch a few geese fly down to rest on the water and float along the low currents.