Birmingham Brothers

Chapter 2

Janiya

It was just past noon when I reached for the flowers in the front window, trying to freshen them up a bit. The mid-May sun was merciless, beating down hard, and the temperature had climbed. The best part about working in a flower shop – apart from being surrounded by beauty – was the need for a cool climate. Flowers wilt in the heat, and so do I. Our AC was always on full blast, keeping both the blooms and my body from turning into a sweaty mess.

The bell above the door jingled, signaling someone had stepped inside. With two buckets of flowers in each hand, my figure awkwardly bent over the arrangements, I couldn’t just turn and peek. So, I walked toward the counter, set the buckets down, and finally looked up – only to be greeted by the charming smile of the young man from yesterday.

I was pleasantly surprised.

"Hello again, young man! Back so soon? What can I do for you today?" I asked, with a teasing smile.

Surely he wasn’t here to buy more flowers for his late mother – not this soon.

“I was thinking about you yesterday,” he said, his smile twitching into something softer, more hesitant.

"You were?" I grinned, shameless as ever. "What did I do in your fantasies?"

Sometimes I really think – someone up there forgot to add "shame" to my personality. His smile widened just slightly, and he licked his lips. Oh my, oh my. Had I actually been in his dirty daydreams?

"I just felt we should’ve had a proper introduction. I'm Hugo," he said, flashing a smile that could sell cologne, and offered his hand.

"Hmm, Hugo… Boss," I purred, slipping my hand into his. "Well, you can boss me around all you want in those steamy shower fantasies of yours." His smile deepened, eyes gleaming with something more primal.

His hand was rough – clearly had touched more than just keyboards. I liked that. Soft, smooth hands have always annoyed me; they felt disconnected from real life and hard labor. But I liked my boys rough who were able to dig some dirt. And this boy? His grip was warm, worn, capable. I hummed inside.

Then he turned my hand gently and pressed a kiss to the back of it. The contrast of his white skin against mine felt like something out of a poem. This one knew his moves well, but I was not buying them.

"And you are?" he asked, voice low, eyes locked on mine, his thumb brushing lazy circles over my knuckles. The sensation caught me off-guard – it had been years since I’d felt this kind of touch. Years. Time really flies when you're emotionally dormant.

"I’m someone who doesn’t give her name to strangers," I said, fire in my tone but a flirtatious smile tugging at my lips. God bless the universe for not forcing name tags on me. My regular clients knew my name; the rest didn’t need to.

"Don’t make me beg for it, beautiful," he said, voice a delicious mix of playful and earnest.

Oh, this man pulled off se.x appeal so effortlessly it should be a crime.

"Well," I smirked, "I like my men on their knees… and between my thighs.”

He chuckled, eyes darkening just slightly. That little glint of desire? That was my prize. I only allowed myself this boldness with men I considered completely out of my league – the ones I knew wouldn’t stick around long enough, but still was a fine specimen that my female hormones and reptile brain appreciated much.

"Well," he said, a hint of restraint in his voice, "as much as I’d love to take you up on that offer, the gentleman in me insists on a proper date first. With a name attached."

"I doubt you’re gentle," I murmured, narrowing my eyes, teasing him. I pulled my hand back slowly, and he followed the movement with his gaze, his smile never wavering.

"If rough is your thing… I can adjust."

I laughed, folding my arms. "Please. I bet you've never dated a woman my size. And I doubt you ever will."

His eyes flicked over me then – slowly, appreciatively. I almost believed it.

"There’s a first time for everything. Doesn’t mean I’m not interested."

Ha! I knew it.

"Lies," I said flatly.

"Truth. I’m an open book. Read me all you like."

He gave me another one of those ridiculous, heart-melting smiles. I memorized it for later – something to sigh over while brushing my teeth, maybe.

I curled my finger, beckoning him closer. His eyes and body followed my hand, curious.

"In that case, I’d love to tear your pages one by one… strip off that polite gentleman act, and lick clean whatever’s left underneath."

His pupils dilated. I could practically hear his imagination running wild. His mouth parted slightly, then he swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing.

Then came the grin again.

"Great! So that means you're grabbing a coffee with me after work, right?"

"Nope."

I popped the "p" on purpose.

"Can’t do."

"What? Why not? All that flirting for nothing?" he asked, half-laughing, half-hoping I was kidding.

"Exactly. You're just a good sport, boy."

I winked and moved my plum as.s back to the counter. As I moved, I caught the way his smile faded – his brows furrowing like someone had just snatched away his favorite toy. Oh dear. This white boy liked flirting way too much to be this pouty about rejection.

"Anyway, what can I do for you? What kind of flowers do you need today?"

Hugo glanced around the shop like he’d only just remembered where he was. His fingers scratched at the back of his neck.

"Uh… I’ll take those three," he said, pointing toward a bunch of purple hydrangeas.

Interesting choice. Maybe a birthday gift for an aunt? Or a girl he was actually into? Eh, didn’t matter.

"Sure," I replied, selecting the freshest blooms and carrying them back to the counter.

"How would you like them – wrapped in paper? With a ribbon?"

"Maybe… just the ribbon."

I pulled out three shades of purple ribbon and held them up.

"This one okay?" I asked, already tying the darkest one around the stems.

"Yeah, that’s good."

He sounded slightly dazed, like the flirtation hangover had just hit him. Maybe ribbon selection wasn’t part of his usual vibe.

I tied a clean, simple bow and rang up the purchase. The transition from our earlier heated exchange to mundane customer service was jarring.

"Here you go," I said with my usual polite-shopgirl smile.

He accepted the flowers, eyes lingering on mine.

"Thank you."

He turned and began walking toward the door. I let my eyes trail after him, admiring his fine, well-shaped backside. I licked my lips, letting myself enjoy the view one last time.

And then – he stopped.

He turned back with that ridiculous, charming grin and walked straight back to the counter. Did he need something more? I thought puzzled.

"Mysterious flower lady," he said, "these are for you."

He held out the flowers. I blinked, surprised, and instinctively took them – though part of me wished I’d declined.

"I…"

"Shh," he said gently. "Consider it a promise that I’ll be back. Soon."

He winked, then walked out the door with a sway in his hips that I swear was intentional.

Do guys actually do that? Did he do that for me?

I looked down at the flowers in my hands and sighed. Well. I do like hydrangeas.

But I know better than to let it mean anything. I’ve been given flowers before. My ex-husband brought them for the first three dates – and then his romance dried out faster than the Sahara.

Still… they were pretty. Though they hinted trouble.