He loves me not, p.1
He Loves me Not, page 1
Copyright
Text copyright © 2017 Shyla Colt
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the author, except for brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews are permitted.
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
For my Daddy who taught me about love, laughter, and quirkiness all those times we sat and watched classic films. I’m not sure Id’ be a romance writer now with you. I miss you daily. Glory to the Father who wired my overactive, very crowded brain just the right way to allow me to be a writer.
And last but never least to my Colts who continue to follow me on new adventures. I hope you enjoy this frolic in the world of Romantic Comedy as much as I did. A special thanks to Rosie J. <3
He Loves me Not
Shyla Colt
Step one: Pitch the Deal & Tell the Folks
Petunia
The jingle of the bells above the door drew her attention from the white roses she was currently de-thorning. The floral shop scaled back work hours during the winter season to keep Bunch-a-Blooms profiting, and as the owner, Mildred “Petunia” Lambert often found herself in the role of cashier and designer. She placed the white towel onto the table and wiped her hands off on her green apron with a bouquet of wildflowers on the right-hand corner. Stepping away from the table, she exited the back area of the store, prepared to help her new customer.
“Petunia.”
The rich baritone was a catalyst for a smile. She walked faster, and emerged to find herself greeted by a lean blond with hair that framed his angular face, a well-maintained goatee, and bright blue eyes that never failed to get her into trouble. He flashed her a blinding smile, and she knew instantly he was about to present her with another one of his schemes. Best friend since the cradle, she knew Mason Patten all too well.
“Hey, Mas. What are you doing here?”
“What, I can’t stop by and see my bestie?” he asked, mocking offense.
She snickered. “Oh, you can, but you normally don’t. I can see right through your con, Mas. Just give it to me straight.”
Sighing, he ran a hand through his chin-length blond locks. “It’s kind of complicated.”
She smirked. So dramatic. “It always is with you.”
“Oh come on. Are you still mad at me about that blind date?”
Pursing her lips, she narrowed her gaze. She’d let him coax her into a double date with the woman he’d been seeing at the time and her brother.
“It’ll be fun you said. He’s really cool, Flower. I know the two of you will have a good time.” She lowered her voice and mimicked him.
“How was I supposed to know he’d turn into a bumbling idiot the minute he met you? It’s not my fault you made the poor man tongue-tied.”
She rolled her eyes. “That night was painful, Mas.”
“I know, and I’m really sorry. I swear, I’ll apologize for it for the rest of my life if it makes you happy. This is completely different.” He stood straight, and his voice took on a serious tone she didn’t hear often.
“What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure yet.” He peered up at her through his thick golden lashes and her belly flipped. As much as she’d like to pretend to be unaffected by her gorgeous friend, that wasn’t the truth. He still pulled a visceral reaction from her after all these years. She’d been attracted to him since she hit puberty, and deep down—where she’d hidden it like a buried treasure—a tiny crush remained. The uncertainty she saw in him was at odds with the overly confident man she knew. Alarms whooped in her head. Concerned, she offered her support.
“What do you want me to do?” It was never a question of if she could help, only how. They’d weathered heartbreak, disappointments, college theses, and the trials of growing up together. You didn’t get closer than that.
“Hear me out and not slap me.” He shrugged and gave a small laugh.
“Start talking, Patten.” An uneasy feeling crept into her gut. It took a lot to make her upset when it came to him.
“I may have told my parents I was seeing someone seriously.”
She scoffed. This is the emergency? “Dude, you had me worried. Why would you even tell them that? I can’t remember the last time you kept a girl around for longer than six months, and we both know that’s being generous.” It was no secret Mason liked to play the field.
“I know. It was stupid. I panicked. This was the only thing I could think of on short notice to shock my father into seeing me in a new light. My dad thinks my single status is a sign I’m still living a bachelor’s life. I’m trying to prove I’m ready to run my own store. He’s planning on opening a brand new one, and it’s got my name written all over it. Hell, I have the money to buy in as a partner if he’d prefer that. He’s the obstacle standing in my way. He still thinks I’m the same irresponsible twenty-something. I’m pushing thirty-one in a few months, and I’m damn good at my job. Despite his opinions of me, numbers don’t lie. Our location always pulls in the biggest profit every quarter. Tyler and Channing might be ‘settled family men’,” he used air quotes, “but they don’t have my knack for selling or relationship building. Repeat customers are a jeweler’s bread and butter. I know he wants us to earn the businesses we’ve run, but I think I’ve done that and then some. Even when I was dicking around, I never let it affect my work.” She mentally cringed at the mention of his older brothers. He was the black sheep, and they never let him forget it. Coming from an extremely conservative, and old-fashioned family, her progressive and modern friend had always stuck out like a sore thumb.
“Mas, you don’t have to sales pitch me. I know you’re an excellent general manager.”
“I know you do. I just … I need you to understand why I’m asking what I am.”
“Mas.” Worry swept through her without warning like a flash flood.
“I told them I was in a serious relationship and looking to settle down. I all but said we were close to the engagement period.”
“And what? You want me to help you find a mail-order fiancée?” She shook her head, exasperated by his latest shenanigans.
“No, I want you.”
She blinked as the words hit like a blow to the gut. “Say what now?” To wait a lifetime to hear those three words, only to have them delivered completely out of context, was pure torture.
“Come on. It’s not a stretch of the imagination. We’re always together. I trust you with everything I own, and we have valid reasons for keeping us hushed. We wanted to make sure we had time to see if things would work out before we brought all our family and friends into it.”
“Into what exactly, Mas?” She narrowed her eyes.
“You haven’t guessed yet?” He grinned. “Our marriage. I want you to marry me, Petunia.”
The blood rushed to her head and the room spun. She swayed.
“Whoa.” Reaching out, he caught her by the forearms. “You okay?”
She blinked, unable to answer around the knot clogging up her throat.
“It’s the perfect plan. We’ll tie the knot. You can have the money I know you need to keep the shop running, make upgrades, and relax. You’ve been working yourself into oblivion trying to handle everything. You’re stubborn as hell, so I know if I try to give it to you, because you know I would, you’d shut me down. This way, we both win. A few years down the line, we can say we mistook the love of a good friend for something more. No harm, no foul. In the meantime, we’d have a blast. Remember how much fun it was sharing an apartment when we were in college?”
She opened her mouth and closed it, unable to talk as she attempted to process his words. Did he really think this would be the same thing? She loved living with him from their sophomore year until they graduated. They’d learned to be adults together. It was the perfect safety net to fall back on that wasn’t their parents when things got rough. She also came to understand how deep the still waters ran between them. Can I come out of this with my heart intact?
“I know it’s a lot to think about. I don’t want to put you on the spot.” He cleared his throat. “Except, I might have promised to bring my mystery woman around to family dinner Sunday.”
“Mas, you idiot,” she exploded into action, punching his arm with a quick jab.
“Ow.” He rubbed the area. “It’s a foolproof plan.”
“Foolproof?” She threw her hands up in the air. “Like the time we pulled a senior prank that almost got us suspended?”
“That was different. I didn’t calculate the chemistry correctly.”
“Uh huh. What about the time we got in trouble for selling lemonade?” she asked dryly. Her butt still stung from the switch her parents had taken to her legs. They’d disappeared for hours, selling lemonade. They were only at the park around the corner from their house, but their parents didn’t know that. Until they scoured the neighborhood frantically searching for their wayward children.
“In hindsight, we should’ve told our parents where we were going and what we planned on doing first. We spent all that time decorating lemonade stand signs. I don’t know how they were so oblivious.”
“Mas.” She snapped her fingers, and he blinked, refocusing his attention on her.
He cleared his throat. “We both need this.” He gr
ipped her shoulders. “I know I’ve lead you astray in the past. You know it was never intentional. You’re my best friend, Petunia. I can’t imagine marrying anyone else. You’re an honorary Patten as it is. This will just make it official. It’s not an ideal fix to our problems, but it’s an easy one.”
She bowed her head. He had never been more right or more wrong for completely different reasons.
In a town known as the sweetheart of Ohio, you’d think a flower shop would be a shoo-in for success. Especially one with a history like theirs. She’d inherited the shop from her namesake, Mildred Lambert. The tiny shop had been around for over forty years. They’d weathered economic downturns, a savage storm—which literally blew part of the roof off—and the competition that came from flower franchises that delivered, had online ordering, and a slew of staff who could whip up an order at the snap of a finger. The one thing they couldn’t tackle was the need for repairs, upgrades, and helping pay the hospital bills for her father, along with the nursing home fees for her grandparents at the same time.
“Marriage is supposed to be sacred.”
“I thought it was the union of best friends.”
“Really?” she asked dryly.
He gave her the little boy grin that always managed to sway her. “Come on, Petunia. If anyone could pull this off and actually co-exist happily, it’s us.”
“This is more than playing house. We’d be expected to be intimate …”
He scanned her body, licked his lips, and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him. “We both know that won’t be a problem. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten—”
“Mas!”
She tried to calm her racing heart. Those months spent exploring each other’s bodies were etched into her brain. Goosebumps broke out on her flesh as she recalled the feel and smell of him. They’d been college roomies who foolishly thought they’d be able to keep sex and friendship separate. In the end, he had, and she’d struggled. Though she never told him. Instead, she latched on to a boy who was interested in her in class and ended their tryst on the grounds that she was now dating, and it wouldn’t be fair to Bryan.
“I—” The bell above the door jangled, and she said a prayer of thanks. “Can’t continue this conversation right now.”
He sighed. “Tonight?”
“Since it’s now Friday, yes, tonight. And don’t think you got away with waiting to the last minute to ask me about this. I know you.” She pointed her finger. “Now get out of here and let me do my job.” As best as I can after that proposition. Or proposal. Jesus Christ, Mason Patten just asked me to marry him.
“How are you doing today, ma’am,” she inquired, smiling at the middle-aged woman with curly brown hair and kind dark blue eyes.
“I just thought I’d have a look. I’m thinking of doing a centerpiece for Thanksgiving.”
“I can definitely help you with that. Do you want to see some samples of centerpieces we’ve done previously?”
“That would be great. But what about him?” She glanced at Mason, who stood a few feet away, with his hands shoved into his pockets.
“Oh, he was just leaving. Right, Mas?”
“Yep. I’ll see you later on tonight.”
She kept the smile pasted on and beat back the urge to strangle him. He had a way of bringing out the best—or the worst—in her, depending on the day. “I’m Petunia by the way.”
“I’m Mary. This is the first holiday where all the kids are coming back home, and I want to go the extra mile.”
“Floral arrangements have a way of adding a finished touch to decorations, don’t they?”
“Yes, exactly,” Mary exclaimed. Her smile grew, and she became animated as she spoke with her hands.
Petunia left the puzzle Mason had laid at her feet behind as she focused her attention on her customer. There were so many things flowers did. They improved mood, set tone, and added an extra something to events. For her, the phrase, ‘Say it with flowers’ was a very real thing. Growing up, she’d often been outdoors in the garden, picking vegetables, weeding flowers beds, and cooking with the produce the land had yielded. Some of her favorite memories from childhood happened in the kitchen with her mother and grandmother, or out on their land before they moved the plants for the store into the then new greenhouse that supplied a majority of the inventory they used. It cut down on cost and added a personal touch.
Before this year, the family always managed to keep their head above water. The thought of closing broke her heart. It was more than a store; it was a family legacy. How could she let it close when she had the means to save it? I can’t. The decision was made before she had time to talk herself out of it.
***
Mason
He scanned the living room with a critical eye. From experience, he knew Ms. Petunia Lambert ran a tight ship. She’d never let him shirk his duties around the house they’d rented in college. He had his cleaning and laundry days, as well as nights he cooked for them. It had been refreshing being held accountable to such mundane tasks. His mother had let him and his brothers get away with murder growing up, and once he left the house, he realized that attitude had yielded a heavy sense of entitlement and a lack of domestic skill. He cringed at the thought of his first incident with the washing machine. Pink T-shirts were not his thing. Petunia had laughed her ass off, and then she’d walked him through it step by step. She was always doing that—teaching, challenging, and helping him grow.
Born in the same hospital, a day apart thanks to my birth after midnight, to parents who’d met in Lamaze classes, they’d been destined to be friends. There wasn’t a time in his life where he didn’t have his smart-mouthed, intelligent, moral compass. He’d gone through a self-destructive, self-involved period that earned him a reputation he didn’t seem to be able to shake. Many had turned their backs on him, but she’d stayed. She never watered down her opinions on his ill-advised choices, but she stood by him. A man didn’t forget something like that.
Thoughts of his longest-held friend and one-time lover led to mixed emotions. She was like an appendage—necessary to function normally and remain happy. Every relationship she’d entered had filled him with fear. Once she married and had children, he wasn’t sure where they’d stand. It made him sick to his stomach. It was selfish, but he never claimed to be a saint. At least this way he’d have more time with her. It was their last hoorah before they officially grew up and everything changed. The future made his stomach ache. Life without easy access to Petunia would be gray. He never let on to how dependent he’d become on her presence, or how any woman he dated never measured up to their months of bliss. Young and stupid, he hadn’t understood what he had until it slipped through his fingers and she was dating someone else. The sight of her caramel brown skin glistening with sweat, and sated from his loving was seared onto his brain.
The knock on the door saved him from another round of arguments with himself. He hurried to the main room and opened the front door. Petunia stood in front of him still clad in her work clothes; a pair of black slacks and a crisp white button up. She’d taken her hair down, and the dark brown strands framed her heart-shaped face. She sucked on the bottom of her full lips, and her upturned chocolate brown eyes were filled with apprehension. Tension radiated from her in invisible waves.
His stomach lurched. She’s going to say no.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” she said quietly.
Stepping back, he let her come in, scared to say the wrong thing and make the situation worse. She’d never responded to his charm like other women, so he opted to remain silent as he locked the door and followed her into the living room. She sank onto the couch, and he followed, sitting beside her with his body angled toward her.
“If we do this, you have to agree to some terms.”
“Okay,” he said as hope soared in his chest like a bird.
“I pay you back everything you loan me.”
“What? No. I’m not going to do that to my wife.”
“I won’t budge on this, Mas. It’s not your job to save me. I’m not a damsel in distress waiting in a tower.”
“No one said you were. We all need help every now and then, Petunia. There’s no shame in that.”
