Reluctantly In Love (Emerald Cove Romance Book 1) Page 3

  She bounced excitedly on her toes. “The Annual Sunflower Festival!”

  “But that's—I mean, that weekend is crazy busy for me!”

  Sheryl continued to grin at me like she'd just handed me a prize, not understanding the size of the bus she'd just thrown me under. The Annual Sunflower Festival was the culmination of the sunflower growing season. Sunflowers had been grown in the hinterland behind Emerald Cove for decades, and the Sunflower Festival was always held the first weekend of March, which usually coincided with the peak of the harvest. Since opening my florist four years ago, I'd immediately become an integral part of the festival. The farmers usually didn't need much assistance in displaying their wares, but it wasn't all buckets of sunflowers for sale. There was a Sunflower King and Queen to be awarded, sunflower seed cakes to be judged (among other baked goods), as well as sunflower bouquet judging. The last two years in the lead-up to the event, I'd run some very profitable classes on flower arranging, specifically with sunflowers. To say the competition was fierce was an understatement.

  “It gets better.”

  “Better?” I asked weakly, because frankly this was going to stretch even my epic powers of organisation.

  “Yes, the council have just agreed to move the festival to Main Street. They'll be shutting down the street from the Esplanade three blocks back to Jones. You'll be smack in the middle of the biggest street party Emerald Cove will have seen in years, decades even!”

  Was it hot in here? I felt myself coming over all faint.

  “Izzie?” Mum's cool hand touched my arm, grounding me.

  I could do this. I could totally pull this off. I got out my phone and started counting. “… Six, seven, eight. I have eight weeks to renovate and prepare for the opening and the Festival.”

  “Think you can handle it?” The deep voice made shivers dance down my spine. I turned slowly because I was really hoping my ears were deceiving me, but oh nope. No.

  Matt Carter was leaning against the door of my shop like he owned the place.

  Like he owned the place.

  My stomach fluttered and my skin felt suddenly tight.

  “Matthew!” Sheryl clapped her hands together in delight. “So glad you could make it.” She bustled forward and shook his hand. “This is Izzie Donovan, she's the new, well, almost the new proprietor of this space. We haven't quite gotten to signing the documents yet.”

  I was trying to force the logical connection between Matt's presence and Sheryl welcoming him but my mind, still racing from all the things I would need to get done in the next eight weeks, was struggling to switch gears.

  My mouth went dry and my ears were ringing again. My brain whirred into top gear and started throwing up other, more palatable possibilities. Maybe he was the handyman? Or maybe he was renting a space as well? An office space upstairs …

  No.

  I was being naive and I knew it. I just had to connect the dots, but I did not want to connect those dots.

  They were the dots of doom. I'd be seeing those damn dots in my nightmares.

  “Izzie,” Sheryl continued as if no one in the room was noticing my mini freak-out, and maybe they weren't, I was subtle. “This is Matthew Carter, the new owner and your soon to be new landlord.”

  No.

  Just, no.

  The pit in my stomach sank further, which was strange because the intense fluttering it shared space with seemed to elevate in a way that made me wonder whether I was going to be sick.

  I had two choices here. I could be professional, or I could bail. It wasn't really a choice, I'm not completely childish, and I wanted what I wanted.

  I stuck out my hand. “We've already met.”

  He took my hand in his, and things got weird.

  When his warm, dry hand closed itself around my hot, sweaty one, I didn’t so much feel a fissure of energy zing it’s way along my skin to create a pleasant tingling sensation of awareness like they suggest happens in romance novels.

  No.

  I swear I’m not joshing with you when I say it was not dissimilar to plugging my hand into an electrical socket. My back teeth jammed together, my shoulders tensed, and an involuntary gasp had me sucking in air like a chicken dunked one too many times in the family pond by the helpful toddler who wanted to teach it to swim (don’t ask).

  My eyes dropped to our clasped hands in shock, but when I lifted them back to meet his, he was watching me as if I’d told him I had the inside scoop on this season’s last episode of The Great British Bake Off. Yikes!

  “To answer your question, yes, of course I can handle it.”

  I yanked my hand out of his, but he released it so I looked like a fool pulling my hand away too quickly. Suppressing a growl of annoyance, I turned and prepared to ask Sheryl for the papers to sign. The sooner I got out of here the better.

  “I'm Sue, Izzie's Mum. You're Joy and Mick’s son, aren't you?”

  Matt gave Mum a charming smile and held out his hand. “I am; it’s nice to meet you.”

  “Sheryl, got those papers handy?”

  Her grin wavered at my tone, but she was professional if nothing else. She pulled the papers out of the folder, handed me a pen and indicated I was to sign on all the points marked with a sticker saying “Sign here“.

  I signed as if my life depended on it. And I was starting to think it might. I could hear my mum chatting away and flirting with Matt as if she wasn't happily married to my stepdad (who was awesome, by the way).

  Matt’s presence was like a weird energy, pulling at the threads of my concentration, making my skin itch. The palm he'd zapped with his weird sexy energy still tingled unnaturally, and the belly flutters were not subsiding. I didn't see good things.

  I signed the last page with such urgency I practically tore it.

  “Here.” I shoved them at Sheryl who gave me a funny look.

  “A bit nervous? Understandable, it's always a bit daunting when one embarks on a new adventure.”

  I gave her a tight smile and couldn't stop my eyes shooting a glance at Matt who had his hands in his pockets and was gazing around at the space.

  I noticed he didn't seem the worse for wear after the zapping incident.

  “I want to talk to you about your ideas for the space. If you've got a few minutes to spare?” Matt turned his sapphire eyes on me. Damn, they floored me every time.

  “Um, sure, it's just Mum and I are going for breakfast, so—”

  “Oh, don't be silly,” she butted in. “I can wait half an hour. I'm fortified with coffee. I'll go get us a table. See you soon.”

  She moved towards me and pulled me in for a quick hug. I stiffened. It’s not that we weren’t huggers, but the determined glee on her face had me clenching my bum cheeks in fear.

  “Holy eyes of sapphire, Batman!” she whispered in my ear. “He's super cute, get his number.” She pulled back and winked at me, turned and with a twinkle of her fingers, left.

  My back to the room, I rolled my eyes. My mother, sheesh.

  “Well, I best be getting these over to scan into the computer. Izzie, I’ll have your copies ready by lunch time. You’re welcome to pick them up, or I can drop them over later in the week?”

  “I can pick them up.”

  “Great! I'm going to catch your mother for a quick coffee. Toodle-oo!” She gave us both brilliant grins, leaving as quickly as Mum had. With a wink aimed at me, she pulled the door closed behind her.

  Something in the air smelt an awful lot like matchmaking and it stank. I wrinkled my nose in distaste.

  “Tell me about your plans for this place.”

  His voice was deeper than it had been moments ago, and it sent a shiver down my spine. With a fortifying breath, I reminded myself that my dream was to open this new store. It would be a destination store, people would come far and wide to enjoy the beautiful bouquets, take a class on flower arranging, maybe aim for hens parties or birthdays—before I could turn around and give him an answer, my phone pinged with a c
lient asking about a part of the business plan I wanted her to revise. I couldn’t forget I had my consulting side business as well.

  “Everything okay?”

  I spun but avoided his eyes so he couldn’t muddle me again. “Yes, just a client.”

  “You have orders after you open?”

  “No, yes, I mean, yes I have several standing orders and wedding contracts but the standing contracts are being fulfilled by a florist in Byron Bay while I'm on hiatus, and only two weddings during the reno time I couldn't contract out but my friend in Byron Bay is letting me use her facilities to prep everything.” Running my fingers through my hair, I looked around at the empty space. “But that was a client for my online consulting business.”

  “You run two businesses?” There was a note of something in his voice I didn't understand because I didn't know him, but when I met his eyes I realised it was respect.

  I felt myself colour. “Um, yes, but I had the consulting one first, sort of a side project.” His respect felt good, especially as it was about my ability to run two (hopefully successful) businesses, but I reminded myself I didn't want to need it.

  I clapped my hands together to break the moment. I didn't need to get all gooey over this man.

  Mum was wrong. He wasn't cute, he was dangerous, and I needed to remind myself of my goals.

  “So, you wanted to know my ideas for this place? Did you see my proposal?”

  He nodded once. “Yes, and I was … impressed, but I'd like to hear it from you.”

  I grinned wryly. “To make sure you haven't signed one of your coveted locations away to a nut?”

  He smiled but it wasn't like mine.. No, his was open, honest and curious. Warmth flooded my chest. It was unnerving.

  “Okay, well, over here I've got a beautiful counter for the till area, and behind it I have another workbench for whoever is front of house to prepare bouquets and do any necessary work—”

  “No,” he cut me off, and I turned to face him. “I don't mean the nitty gritty of how you're going to set up the store; we'll get to that. I mean what your vision is for this new premises. From your proposal, I had the impression you want to grow this into something new.”

  Oh, oh right.

  My mouth went dry.

  Putting my ideas down on a piece of paper was one thing, but telling my hopes and dreams to someone, anyone, let alone the landlord of my new premises whose mere presence was making me feel freaky about my passion?

  I cleared my throat.

  “Well. I-I want to create a d-destination florist.” Nervous energy tripped up my tongue. “Like the ones you see on Instagram or Pinterest in Sydney, France or the UK. Not all of them are in big cities; they just have to have a reasonable tourist trade. We do—and its only growing.” I warmed to my speech as he nodded.

  “I want it to be overflowing with flowers, colour and scent oozing from the windows and doors so people can't help but be drawn in. I want my bouquets to be something really special, but also affordable. My online store will have seasonal bouquets on a sliding scale. I've worked out we can ship as far north as the Sunshine Coast or down to Sydney in a timely and economical manner. For the first time, I'm going to stock gifts as well. High quality stuff—homewares, books, local jewelry, some organic skincare products from a small business I work with through my accounting business.”

  I was getting carried away but I didn't care. He wanted to know, and if he didn't buy into my dream—well, it was too late now; I'd already signed the contract.

  “I'm going to run classes for flower arranging that can be booked individually or for parties, like birthdays and bachelorettes. I've already talked to Andy and Luke – you remember them from school?” he nodded, “well they've agreed to help me work out the licensing so they can serve meals and alcohol here while we run the workshops. And I've had a few friends and clients express interest in using the space to run their own workshops in jewelry making, knitting and sewing. I love the idea of this being a sort of craft haven in Emerald Cove.”

  I paused, wondering if I'd gone too far. A destination florist in coastal Australia? I'd had more than one person raise their brows at the idea.

  Taking another fortifying breath—it seemed I needed extra oxygen a lot lately—and lifted my eyes to his.

  He was a blank slate.

  He was literally giving me nothing.

  “Sounds great, and you think you can be up and running by mid-March?”

  Wait, what? He wasn’t going to say anything about my ideas? “Yeeeees.” I slowly dipped my chin in affirmation.

  He eyed the door like he couldn't wait to get away. “Well, I suppose you read in the contract noting I'll be around if you have any questions about the building for your renovations. But I'll add that, as you may have noticed, I'm pretty handy with a hammer. If you want some help with the work you need done, just let me know. I'm happy to help.” He spoke as he inched towards the door, my patience retreating with each step of his feet.

  I mean, what the hell?

  He met my eyes for the first time since I'd poured out my heart and soul.

  “What?” Oh shit, I’d said that out loud. Oh well, in for a penny.

  “What the hell,” I repeated, “do you think you're doing?”

  He looked to the door and back, clearly indicating I was insane, his hands going to his pockets. “Leaving.”

  I resisted the urge to splutter. Hands on hips, I collected my thoughts then let him have them. “You just asked me to tell you my vision for this place, and I gave it to you. I put myself and my passion out there, and all you give me is a Sounds great? No smile, no frown, no questions. Just Sounds great?” I shook my head. “No way, uh-huh. You asked for it. Some kind of feedback or response is expected. You can't just Sounds great me. Clearly you have business prowess—I'm your tenant after all, not the other way around. So I want some constructive criticism.” I folded my arms across my chest. “Please.”

  One hand still in his pocket, he rubbed at his chin with the other. I worried for a moment I'd gone a little too far, but he gave me a small smile. “Honestly?”

  I nodded because I'd asked for it, so I guess I had to take it.

  “I thought it was a crazy idea when I saw it on paper.”

  My insides deflated like a popped balloon, but I didn't let it show.

  “There weren't many other applications for the space that I thought would fit with the vision I have for the location. I know destination florists are a thing, and to be honest, if it works it'll be perfect. I just don't think you'll have the clientele in Emerald Cove to maintain your business. You'll have to do some savvy marketing, and even then it could be touch and go.” He shook his head while I struggled to free my frozen lungs. “But Sheryl convinced me the girl who runs the Little Flower Shop was someone I could happily invest in, so I agreed to your application, going against my gut.”

  “Right—” I began, badly wanting this tête-à-tête to be over so I could scoop my dignity off the floor in private.

  “But,” he spoke over me, “after meeting you and hearing the passion and energy you have invested in this, I'm inclined to think if anyone could pull it off, it'll probably be you.”

  I opened and closed my mouth, shock and pleasure coursing through my veins. ”Thank you,” I finally managed.

  He shrugged, both hands back in his pockets.

  The awkward silence stretched on a moment until we both spoke at once.

  “Well, I'd better be going—”

  “I promise I'll be a model tenant—”

  We paused. I bit my lip, and he gestured for me to continue. “I just want you to know I'm a great tenant. You'll never even hear from me unless you need to, of course, or I have a question. But you know what I mean.”

  He nodded, his gaze turning inwards. After a pause, he pulled out his wallet from his back pocket and removed a business card.

  He held it out to me, and I took it.

  “Now you have my personal number
, and you know where I live. You're welcome to call me or drop around any time.”

  I lifted my stunned eyes to his, which were back to a smoulder but with a hint of wariness, like he was putting his head in the mouth of a lion but had been assured it was the friendliest lion in the world. In other words, he wanted to do it but he was afraid he was going to get bitten.

  Not wanting to throw his benevolence back at him, I was faced with only one possible response. ”Thank you.”

  Wary eyes searched mine a moment longer. He nodded and made for the door. ”See you round,. Congratulations on the new place.”

  He left, my eyes helplessly glued to his very nice bum.

  Chapter 4

  I'm not sure whose idea it was to have a champagne brunch to make our plan of attack for the renovations but it was—as usual when Camille, Tash and I got together—a good one.

  Being me, I already had a rudimentary “To Do” list sketched out in my diary, so the planning brunch wasn’t so much a meeting as a celebration, but if we did a little work it was considered a tax deduction. Over eggs benedict and pancakes, I divided the list between Camille and myself, giving Tash a smaller list since the school year would be starting in a week, and she needed to start planning and prepping for her new students.

  Jake, the owner of the Grape, where we were currently enjoying our breakfast on the sunny deck, arrived with a tray of coffees and mimosas.

  He placed Camille’s second cup of coffee on the table in front of her.

  Camille gave him a smile. “Merci beaucoup.” Being the sensible one, she was still on her first mimosa and had no intention of getting a morning buzz going. Tash and I, on the other hand, had just ordered our third mimosas and first cups of coffee.

  “De rien, mademoiselle.” Jake was tall, built and hot with kind brown eyes. He'd spent most of his late teens and twenties studying and working in the UK in some high-pressured financial job before chucking it all in and moving home when his mum got sick. He bought the dodgy old Emerald Cove hotel, gutted it, added the deck and renamed it the Grape after the pub of the same name in London, where he'd apparently spent much of his time when he wasn't making deals with ridiculous amounts of money.