The Groom's Revenge

She continued to wait as he set some wind chimes moving, then listened to the tinkling sounds. He dipped a finger into the recirculating pond that kept the moisture content of the room high, the bubbles more soothing than music. He sniffed a few of the potted plants, studied the markers, printed with the plant name and care instructions, that were jammed into each pot.

She didn’t want to hurry him, but she was more than a little curious about why he was there. Well, technically she was flabbergasted. But she was really, really curious. If this were a fairy tale, he’d be pulling a glass slipper out of his pocket about now and trying it on her foot—and it would fit.

“It’s a nice shop,” he said at last. “You’re also a wedding planner.”

“How do you know that?”

He pointed to the left. “There’s a sign in your window.” “Oh.” She smiled, feeling a little sheepish. She’d thought maybe he was her soul mate, after all—that he could read her mind.

“If you call yourself a consultant, not only would you be following the current market trend, you could probably charge a higher fee.”

“Why would I want to do that? My fees are reasonable. Anyway, I’m just getting started. You know the Fortune family, right? I’ve heard them speak of you.”

He returned to her side, his expression impassive. “You’re friends with the Fortunes?”

He stood so close she could touch him if she wanted. His clean, soapy scent made her nose twitch. “My good friend Kelly married Mac Fortune, and I pulled the event together for them. Then I was invited to do Mac’s sister Chloe’s wedding to Mason Chandler in a few months. One of those fairy-tale-princess weddings, with all the trimmings.”

“The kind of wedding you’d like for yourself?”

She shrugged. “It’s fun to plan.”

“But?”

“It wouldn’t be in my budget.”

Matter-of-fact words, Gray noted. “Your parents wouldn’t help?” he asked, surprised at her candor. People didn’t usually open up so easily to him. It was the magic of this shop, he decided. And this fairy-sprite woman.

“My father’s been gone since before I was born. My mother passed away late last year.”

She crouched in front of a flowering plant, seeming to inspect it for insects or dead leaves or something. He zeroed in on the scarf she’d tucked into her pocket, then was distracted by the distinctly feminine curve of her rear.

He lifted his gaze in a flash when her words registered. Been gone? What did that mean? Did she think her father was dead? “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. Now,” she glanced up at him. “What can I do for you, Mr. McGuire?”

“First, you can call me Gray. I’m a little surprised you know me.”

She fussed with another plant. “The Fortunes have spoken of you.”

“But you recognized my face.”

“I told you. I saw you on the news yesterday.”

“Hey, Mol! Sorry I’m late.”

A young man swooped into the shop, Minnesota Twins cap on his head, baseball glove tucked under his arm. He was sixteen or seventeen, Gray decided, and into body building.

“What a game! Man, we destroyed ’em.” His gaze landed on Gray. “Hey, you’re that guy—”

“Gray McGuire,” Mollie said instantly, moving to stand between them, putting her back to Gray.

“Yeah, I know. He’s—”

“In town,” she interrupted. “Say hello, then get to the deliveries, okay, Tony?”

He knows who I am, too? Confused, Gray eyed the back of Mollie’s head. This was getting weird. Computers must be a passion of hers. Why else would she know of him?

Tony frowned. “What about the stuff you wanted me to move?”

“Later.” She grabbed his arm, pulling him along with her to a refrigerated case, housing cut flowers. “Those two boxes and the mixed bouquet there.”

“Okay.” As he took the items from the refrigerator, he spoke over his shoulder to Gray. “I’ve been trying to convince her to get with the times, you know? Get a computer? Maybe you can talk her into it.”

“I thought you liked working here,” Mollie said, exasperation in her voice.

He grinned. “All bark,” he said to Gray, then he headed out the door, his arms full.

Gray was more confused than ever. “Your business isn’t computerized?” he asked her when they were alone.

“No.” She moved around the counter, leaving a trail of scent Something subtle. Elusive. A four-leaf clover—

“Computers terrify me,” she said.

“You’d get comfortable soon enough.”

She crossed her arms. “They crash. They lose crucial information. They make people tear out their hair. Why would I put myself through that?”

“Convenience.”

Mollie smiled at his droll tone.

“Top of the mornin’ to ye!”

The leprechaun’s shriek brought a return of normalcy to Mollie’s afternoon. Yarg shouted a greeting every twenty minutes, which meant that Gray McGuire had been in her shop for that long, and she still didn’t know why.

“I’m assuming Computerphobics Anonymous didn’t send you my way,” she said to him. “What brings you to Every Bloomin’ Thing?”

“I have a proposition for you.”

Mollie felt her face heat at the images his simple statement conjured up. A proposition? One involving getting naked? Her dreams about him were romantic, not sexual—declarations of his undying devotion and a chaste, pure love. Certainly nothing physical...even if he did have a body that made her take more than a second glance.

“I hope I’m misunderstanding your meaning.” Shocked at herself, she felt a flush spread across her face Of all the stupid things to say to him. Of course he wasn’t interested in her—not in that way. How foolish could she be?

“Strictly business,” he said gently, making her feel even worse. He must think her so naive.

“Oh, Mollie, dear!”

Mollie stifled a groan as a tiny, white-haired woman marched past the leprechaun doorman and into the shop, her heels clicking on the linoleum floor. She nodded at Gray.