Edge Of Darkness

24

Ember blushed to the roots of her hair. “No! No, nothing like that. These are from, er, my, uh, um—”

“Boyfriend?” he supplied helpfully.

Ember’s blush spread down her neck. “NO! He’s a customer! Just a customer!”

His brows rose. His gaze moved around the shop and he saw the handwritten sign Asher had taped to the side of the one of the rare book displays near the register as a joke. It read, “Don’t touch yourself. Ask the staff for help.” The delivery man’s gaze settled back on her and his knowing smile grew wider. Ember had the sudden horrible thought he might be wondering exactly what type of customer she’d been entertaining behind the shelves.

“Thanks again. We’re closing now. Good-bye.” She ushered him to the door, all the while avoiding his sideways glances and cocky grin, and locked it behind him. Once alone she crossed slowly back to the table that housed the ridiculous display of roses and stood staring at it in stupefied wonder.

Lavender roses—dozens and dozens—so silvery pale and silky they glimmered beneath the lights.

There was no card, no enclosure note saying Hi or Thinking of you or Sorry I blew you off, but as Ember stared at the massive display, she remembered something that made her heart first skip one beat, then two, then stop altogether.

Well-versed in the language of flowers, her mother had often recited to her all the meanings for the different colors of roses they’d grown in their garden at home. She’d had to coax them, of course, the heat and altitude of Taos was an unforgiving place to grow roses, but under her mother’s patient, intuitive care, they’d flourished. Their front yard was a riot of color and all kinds of plants, but the roses that lined the brick walkway to the front door were the piece de resistance, and not one bush was the same.

Red meant love, white meant purity, pink was grace and appreciation, yellow was friendship. Orange was desire. Peach was sincerity.

And lavender roses, rare and royal, the most beautiful of them all, meant love at first sight.

“Oh, boy,” whispered Ember, staring at the luscious blooms. “This is gonna get messy.”

“What happened to you last night?” Asher shrieked down the phone line. Ember winced and held it away from her ear. “You disappeared! I was worried sick!”

She’d been back in her flat just long enough to change from jeans to sweats before her cell phone rang. She pretended she wasn’t disappointed when she saw the number on the readout, but when he started yelling at her, Ember didn’t have to manufacture the anger that had her yelling right back.

“I told you I was leaving! You didn’t want to go!”

“What? You never said you were leaving!”

“I pointed to the exit!”

“I thought you had to go to the bathroom! I’d never let you wander around the city in the middle of the night by yourself, knucklehead! Do you have any idea how worried I was?”

That took the wind out of her sails. “Oh,” she said, much calmer. “Sorry. I thought I was being clear that I was leaving.”

Asher huffed indignantly. “No, I’m sorry! Your vague hand signals were anything but clear, a friggin’ mime would be more obvious! I thought I’d have a heart attack when you didn’t come back! I spent an hour trying to find you at the club until I finally gave up and came home. And lo and behold, there she was! Sleeping like Goldilocks—”

“Wait, I wasn’t in your bed. What are you talking about?”

There was a short silence. “I used the spare key you gave me to get into your apartment. I just needed to check and see if you were home. And yes, you were—snoring in blissful ignorance, I might add—so I didn’t have to take that extra Xanax—”

“Asher!” Ember stomped her foot, and immediately felt so ridiculous she was grateful there was no one there to see it. “You can’t just sneak in to my bedroom and watch me sleep! This isn’t Twilight, for God’s sake! Do we need to have a talk about boundaries?”

“I wasn’t watching you sleep, I was just checking on you! I just peeked in and then left! Sorry for caring!”

Uh-oh. She knew Seriously Cranky Asher when she heard him. This was a precursor to Arctic Cold Shoulder Asher, who could last an indefinite period of time, in which case she’d only have Dante, her stepmother, and the customers at the store to talk to. Keeping to yourself really had its drawbacks sometimes.

Reining in her temper, she blew out an exasperated breath. “Ash,” she said, in a soft, cajoling voice.

“No,” he said firmly, but she still detected the pout.

“C’mon, don’t be mad at me. I’m sorry I scared you. And I’m glad you care. You know you’re my only friend. Who else will put up with my crap? You said it yourself, you’re my fairy godmother, so you can’t stay pissed. I might need you to turn a pumpkin into a coach one of these days.”

There was a low, disgruntled, hmmpf, but nothing more.

“I’ll make it up to you. How about…” Inspiration hit. “How about if we watch Reservoir Dogs together tonight?” His favorite movies always involved a lot of macho gun-slinging, bromancing, and blood, so he adored anything involving Clint Eastwood, Charles Bronson, or Quentin Tarantino.

His response to her movie invitation was silence.