Page 15 of All This Time (Blossom Peak #1)

Spinning around, I come face-to-face with the man of my nightmares and fantasies, but at least he has a shirt on this time. “Um, I’m aware. Thank you.”

Fletcher grins. “Wow. That’s three thank-yous now.” I roll my eyes. “But I hope you still take those alerts seriously...”

“I’m alive, aren’t I?”

His brows draw together as he takes a step closer to me, pointing at my phone. “You have an app now, huh?”

His proximity is distracting, but I try to focus on the screen and not how good he smells. “Yeah, technology has come a long way in twelve years.”

He looks to my arm where I used to wear my glucose monitor. “Where’s the…”

“On my lower stomach now,” I say quietly, tapping the bulge underneath my tunic that conceals it.

He hums thoughtfully, which only confuses me more.

“Okay, Lucifer. Claudia is all ready for you,” Yvonne says as she approaches, interrupting this bizarre display of concern from Fletcher.

I’m thankful for the interruption because this exchange is just taking me back to so many conversations where I felt like he genuinely wanted to know about how I felt living with it, how my body didn’t work normally, and how I wondered if it would turn guys off to know that my glucose monitor would be a permanent fixture in my life.

Fletcher smiles as he spins to face her. “Awesome. I just want to make sure Laney eats something.”

I laugh, waving him off. “That’s really not necessary.”

His eyes meet mine again. “Where are your snacks?”

Yvonne clears her throat. “I’m sorry. Did I miss something?”

“Laney’s blood sugar is low, so she needs to eat,” Fletcher replies before I can speak for myself.

Yvonne smirks, crossing her arms over her chest. “I see. Well, boss, you heard the man. Let’s make sure you eat something.”

Rolling my eyes, I set my phone down at my station and then head to the break room to get myself a snack like the thirty-year-old woman that I am.

I grab a banana, and when I turn around, I find Fletcher leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest as he watches me.

I begin to peel the banana slowly and then take a bite out of it a tad too aggressively.

“There. You happy?” I mumble around my mouthful of fruit.

His punchable face spreads into a grin. “Very.”

I chomp off another bite of the banana. “You know, I’m not the same teenager you knew as Rhonan’s annoying little sister, Fletcher. I’m a grown woman, so I can manage my own blood sugar just fine without you hovering.”

He drops his arms and crosses the room slowly, each of his strides eating up the space between us until he’s just a few inches from me, holding my gaze so intensely that I pause my chewing.

His eyes—deep pools of blue with flecks of green and gold—still hold the same allure for me that they did back when I would stare at them for hours. His lips—still full and kissable—are moving but I don’t hear a word they’re saying.

Because being this close to him is only making me remember what it felt like to be close to him back then—back when we were friends and this display of concern would make me feel cared for instead of insulted.

And for one split second, I deliriously wonder if we could ever get back to that place.

“Laney?” Fletcher reaches up and cups the side of my face, pulling me right back to reality with one spark of electricity.

“Huh?”

“Fuck, you weren’t even listening to me, were you?”

I blink and take a step back, but Fletcher just follows me, his hand still on my face.

“I said, I know damn well that you’re a grown woman.

” His eyes dip down to my lips and back up as his jaw tightens.

“Believe me, I fucking noticed. But that’s not going to stop me from making sure you’re okay, especially when I’m around. ”

My voice drops to a whisper. “You—you haven’t been around in a long time, Fletcher.”

“But I’m here now.” His eyes dip down to my lips again, lingering there.

“Oh, Lucifer?” Claudia singsongs as she walks into the break room, catching us in this compromising position.

Fletcher mumbles something under his breath, drops his hand from my face, and spins to face her. “Yeah?”

“I’m ready for you,” she says, gaze flicking between us like she’s trying to piece together what she just walked into.

He nods. “Great. I’ll be right there.”

Claudia’s eyes meet mine, but I turn away quickly, trying to get a handle on my blood pressure.

What the hell is going on?

The way Fletcher was looking at me just now, I could have sworn he was thinking about kissing me.

He touched me like he was legitimately concerned, like.

..old Fletcher. The one who used to sneak through my window and hold space for all the things I never told anyone else.

For a second, it felt like we were still those people—the ones who hadn’t ruined everything yet.

“Laney.”

“Yeah?” I ask, looking over my shoulder at him.

“I made these appointments because I wanted to support your business,” he says, putting another crack in the wall around my heart.

“Why?”

“Because you’ve built something incredible here, and I’m proud of your success and wanted to see it firsthand.” I stand there in shock, trying to process what he’s telling me. He shoves his hands in his pocket, his boyish grin returning. “I just wanted to support my friend.”

God, I’ve never hated that word more than I do right now.

“I’ve never had a manicure in my life, but when in Rome, right?”

I nearly gasp as I laugh. “Pretty sure the Romans weren’t getting their cuticles buffed.”

The corner of his mouth lifts higher. “Yeah, well, when in Blossom Peak.” He turns around and walks out of the break room, leaving me reeling and feeling way more unsteady than I care to admit.

***

“How are your online reviews?” Fletcher asks as he hands me his credit card.

I tap it on the machine and hand it back to him. “Pretty solid. They’ve been helping bring in tourists.”

“I’m not surprised.” He shoves his wallet back in his pocket and readjusts his backwards baseball cap.

“I mean, Yvonne’s hands are so magical, I think she unknotted something in my soul.

And Claudia may have turned me into a manicure kind of guy.

” He fans his hands in front of him, admiring his nails.

Fighting to contain my laughter, I hand him his receipt. “Well, feel free to brag to the entire internet that Blossom Beauty has changed your life.”

“Don’t worry. I will.” He rocks back on his heels. “We should probably work out some sort of schedule, right?”

“Schedule?”

“Yeah, I mean, for the wedding stuff. I’m free tonight if you want to get started.”

The ball of anxiety that’s been hanging out in my chest starts to bounce around again, but I know he’s right. If we don’t figure out a schedule, things are going to get done at the last minute and that’s going to stress me out even more.

“Look, you don’t have to pretend to be interested in this stuff. I can handle it all and just say that you helped…”

He scowls. “Fuck no. Elliot is one of my best friends, and he picked me to be his best man. Granted, it was luck of the draw…”

“What do you mean?”

“The boys and I agreed that each of us would get to do it once in the event we ever got married. Elliot chose my name first, so this is my only shot to be a best man, and I don’t take that lightly.

Besides, he wanted us to work together, and you know this would go a lot smoother if you’d just let me help. ”

“I don’t need your help…”

“Well, too fucking bad, Laney. You’re getting it.

” He taps the reception counter between us.

“I’m only here for the wedding and a few days after, so I’m going to make each day count.

” His face relaxes and then his voice softens too.

“Besides, it’s been a long time since we’ve spent time together, just the two of us. ”

I huff out a laugh as I mutter, “Yeah, well, that’s been intentional.”

“Care to explain why?” he fires back.

I don’t answer him because now is not the time nor the place to get into our history, and I can’t deny that his little speech was endearing.

He truly cares about this, so I need to put aside my own issues and commit to what I signed on for.

“You know what, fine. Come over to my place tomorrow since tonight I have plans, and we can work on the favors if you’re insistent on helping. ”

He licks his lips, but there’s still a pinch in his forehead. “I’ll be there.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

We stand there awkwardly until Glenn comes racing up to us. “Mr. Adams!”

Fletcher’s face changes drastically from analytical to grateful. “Just Fletcher, please.”

Glenn sighs. “I like Mr. Adams. It’s more authoritative, and I’m all about following authority.

” He winks and I close my eyes, warding off the secondhand embarrassment.

“Anyhow, can you sign this please?” He holds out a Carolina Thunder calendar, one that I recognize because I may have flipped through the pages when I was at the general store a few weeks ago, just inspecting the layout, of course.

It wasn’t because I wanted to see the picture of Fletcher in his uniform, which didn’t do much to hide the bulge in his pants.

“Sure, Glenn. I’d be happy to.” He takes the calendar and sharpie from Glenn and flips to the month of April, signing across the page under his picture. “There you go, man.”

“Gah. Thank you!”

“Why on earth do you have that calendar? You don’t even watch football,” I say.

Glenn laughs. “Oh girl, the pictures alone are enough spank bank material for me. Plus, when I heard that Lucifer was coming, I had to get something for him to sign.”

“Hey, Glenn?” Fletcher asks.

“Yes, Mr. Adams?”

He looks directly at me while he speaks. “Why do y’all call me Lucifer?”

“No reason,” I interject, but Glenn literally hip checks me out of the way and leans over the counter, staring straight at Fletcher.

He flicks his eyes over to me and then back to Fletcher. “We aren’t allowed to say your name in the salon because Laney thinks bad things will happen. If we do, we have to put a dollar in the jar.”

I grind my teeth together as Fletcher grins in my direction. “Is that so?”

“Glenn, you’re fired,” I say.

Glenn waves me off. “Honey, if I had a dollar for the number of times you’ve fired me, I could retire early.” He winks at Fletcher. “Thanks again, Mr. Adams.”

Fletcher waits for him to leave before turning to me, crossing his arms over his chest. “So, I’ll be at your place at six tomorrow with food, and then you’re going to tell me why you hate me so much.”

Shaking my head, I say, “You can come over at seven, food isn’t necessary, and we won’t be talking about anything except wedding stuff.” Walking backwards, he grins before reaching for the door. “Laney, it appears you’ve forgotten how persuasive I can be. See you at seven.”

With that, he’s gone.

Standing frozen in place, adrenaline races through me, thinking about being alone with him tomorrow in my house with no one else as a buffer and very little space I can put between us.

Yup. It’s official. This man will be the death of me.