The Things I Can't Do To You

Eight Flowers

Jake arrived at The Fox and Chance twenty-three minutes before six. He told himself it was because Friday evenings became busy and he preferred choosing his own table. His wolf knew better. He had barely slept all week.

Every morning he had woken with Amelia still occupying his thoughts. Every evening he had driven home wondering whether he should return to the pub. By Thursday, even he had admitted to himself that he wasn't going back for a drink. He was going back because of her.

The realisation should have embarrassed him. Instead, it had brought an unexpected sense of relief.

He had spent six days trying to ignore instincts that had only grown stronger with every passing hour. Fighting them had achieved nothing except leaving him distracted and irritable. His mother had watched the entire process with barely concealed amusement.

"You'll go," she had said over breakfast.

"I won't."

"You already know what time."

"I don't."

"You've checked your watch three times."

"I have meetings."

"You've also changed your shirt twice."

Jake had muttered something about impossible women before leaving the house. She had laughed all the way to the front door. Now, standing inside the familiar pub once again, he accepted that she'd been right. He wanted to see Amelia. Not because he expected anything but simply because not seeing her all week had felt strangely wrong.

The pub looked much the same as it had seven days earlier. Groups of friends gathered around polished wooden tables while couples settled into quieter corners. Glasses clinked together and easy conversation drifted through the warm room. Jake deliberately chose a table where he could see the entrance without making it obvious.

He ordered a pint and then he waited.

At six-fifteen he began to wonder whether she had changed her routine. At six-twenty he told himself he would leave after finishing his drink. At six-twenty-four the door opened.

His wolf went perfectly still.

Amelia.

She stepped inside wearing fitted jeans, ankle boots and a cream jumper that somehow made her look even softer than she had the previous week. Her hair fell loosely over her shoulders and she paused just inside the entrance, glancing around the room with the faint uncertainty of someone questioning whether they had made the right decision.

Jake smiled before he could stop himself. She had come back. His first instinct was to walk straight over. His second was much wiser. She had spent the previous Friday being cornered by a man who refused to leave her alone. The last thing she needed was another stranger appearing beside her the moment she walked through the door.

Instead, he watched her choose the same table near the window before sitting down with a quiet sigh. She reached into her bag, pulled out the same paperback and opened it.

His smile widened. Some things, apparently, hadn't changed.

"Another pint?"

Jake looked up. Mark, the barman, stood beside his table.

"Not yet, thanks."

Mark followed his gaze.

"The lady with the book?"

Jake looked back a little too quickly.

"What about her?"

Mark grinned.

"You've looked over there about twelve times."

Jake cleared his throat.

"Have I?"

"Closer to twenty."

"I wasn't counting."

"I was."

Jake laughed despite himself.

"I know her."

"Good."

Mark leaned closer.

"Because last week I spent half the evening wondering whether I should intervene with that bloke."

Jake's expression darkened.

"You noticed?"

"Eventually."

Mark grimaced.

"Hard thing about this job. Sometimes you can't tell whether someone's having an awkward conversation or whether they actually know each other."

Jake nodded.

"By the time I realised she looked uncomfortable, you'd already stepped in."

"I'm glad I did."

"So is she, I'd imagine."

Jake looked across the room again. Amelia had managed exactly one page in the last five minutes. She wasn't reading, she was pretending to. Every few moments her eyes lifted towards the entrance, then around the room and then back to the book.

Hope stirred unexpectedly inside him.

Was she...

No.

Don't assume.

His mother would tell him off for jumping to conclusions.

"What?" Mark asked.

Jake looked back.

"I'd like to send her something."

Mark raised an eyebrow.

"A drink?"

Jake considered it.

"No."

"Smart."

"I don't want her feeling as though she owes me conversation."

Mark smiled approvingly.

"What did you have in mind?"

Jake's eyes drifted towards the large arrangement of fresh flowers decorating the end of the bar. An idea formed almost instantly.

"Is there a florist still open nearby?"

"Three doors down."

Jake stood.

"I'll be back in ten minutes."

The florist was quiet when he entered. The scent hit him first. His wolf sense of smell meant he could pick out each indiviudal note. Fresh roses, lilies, eucalyptus.

An older woman appeared from the back room carrying a watering can.

"Good evening."

"Evening."

"What can I help you with?"

Jake looked around the shop.

"I need a bouquet."

"Any occasion?"

He smiled faintly.

"I honestly don't know yet."

She laughed.

"Those are my favourite kind."

Jake wandered between the displays. Every arrangement looked beautiful yet none felt quite right. Then an idea occurred to him.

"Could you make something unusual?"

"I can try."

"I'd like eight different flowers."

She tilted her head.

"Any reason?"

He hesitated.

"It's been... eight days."

"Since?"

"I met someone."

Understanding softened her expression.

"And she likes flowers?"

"I've no idea."

"Then we'll make sure she does."

For the next several minutes they chose each stem together. White roses, pink tulips, lavender, freesias, white lisianthus, peach carnations, chamomile and a single sunflower at the centre.

"It needs one more thing," Jake said.

"What?"

He reached into his wallet and removed a business card. Turning it over, he borrowed her pen. His handwriting was neat.

I hope this doesn't seem strange.

I realised I never properly introduced myself.

Jake.

Beneath his name he added his mobile number. Then, after several seconds of hesitation, one final sentence.

No pressure. I just hoped I'd see you again.

The florist smiled as she tucked the card between the flowers.

"I think she'll call."

Jake laughed.

"I admire your confidence."

"It's not confidence."

She nodded towards the bouquet.

"It's experience."

Back at the pub, Mark accepted the flowers with an appreciative whistle.

"You're making the rest of us look bad."

"I'm really not."

"What do I tell her?"

Jake thought for a moment.

"Just that someone asked you to give them to her."

"You don't want to watch?"

Jake hesitated. Every instinct screamed yes. Instead, he shook his head.

"If she feels uncomfortable, I'd rather she never knew I was here."

Mark studied him for a second before nodding.

"I can respect that."

Jake picked up his jacket. He walked towards the door before stopping beside the window. From there he could see Amelia without being seen himself. Mark approached her table carrying the bouquet.

Amelia looked up in confusion. Her eyes widened. She actually glanced over her shoulder to check he hadn't mistaken the recipient. Mark laughed and pointed directly at her. Slowly, almost cautiously, she accepted the flowers. Jake saw surprise melt into disbelief and then something warmer. Her fingers found the small card tucked between the stems.

She read it once. Then again. A smile spread across her face so slowly it stole the breath from his lungs. It wasn't a polite smile or the nervous smile she had worn a week earlier. It reached her eyes. She looked around the pub, searching. Jake stepped back instinctively into the shadow beside the doorway. After a few moments she stopped looking.

Instead, she lowered her head and laughed quietly to herself before gently touching the sunflower with her fingertips. She picked up her phone. Jake's own phone vibrated before she had even finished typing.

He stared at the unfamiliar number. His heart hammered absurdly hard as he opened the message.

Unknown:

I think these might be the most beautiful flowers I've ever received.

Thank you.

There was another pause.

Then another message arrived.

Unknown:

Also... I'm glad you hoped you'd see me again.

Because I was rather hoping I'd see you too.

Jake smiled and his wolf practically purred.

He typed carefully.

Jake:

I didn't want to interrupt your evening.

Amelia:

You haven't.

A moment later...

Amelia:

Are you here?

Jake looked through the window. She was already glancing around the room again. He considered lying.

Instead, he smiled.

Jake:

I was.

I wanted to make sure you received the flowers.

Her reply came almost instantly.

Amelia:

So you've left already?

Jake:

I thought you might prefer the choice of whether to see me.

Several long seconds passed. He wondered if he had made a mistake. Then his phone buzzed one final time.

Amelia:

Then I'm choosing.

Please come back.

Jake looked up.

Inside the pub, Amelia was still holding the bouquet against her chest, her eyes fixed hopefully on the entrance. Without even realising he had started moving, Jake turned towards the door. For the second Friday in a row, fate appeared determined to bring them back to the same table.