Page 7 of Falling for the Sheriff

The familiar, crisp scent of greenery and sweet blooms fills the air of the shop, a perfume I’ll never tire of. Sunlight streams through the front window, catching on motes of dust dancing above buckets of fresh flowers. It’s a quiet Tuesday morning, the kind of peaceful calm I savor.

Humming softly, I gather a handful of deep red carnations, their ruffled petals soft against my fingers. I’m bundling them together with sprigs of deep green leatherleaf, my movements practiced and easy, when a flicker of suspicion cuts through my contentment.

I pause, my hands stilling on the stems. Gently, I set the half-finished arrangement down and reach for the order slip tucked into the plastic pick on the bucket.

A relieved sigh escapes me when I see an unexpected name, and I can’t help the silly smile that touches my lips. I have to double-check now. It’s a habit born of necessity, thanks to the two rascals in my life.

Atlas and Luke have developed a truly infuriating—and utterly adorable—habit of placing orders for bouquets with me, having me carefully arrange my own gifts.

Atlas started it on our six-month anniversary, a dozen different colored carnations with a note that read, “You said they were your favorite. Now they’re mine, too.

” Luke, not to be outdone by his father, had “helped” him order a tiny bundle of bright yellow daisies for me on Mother’s Day, his little name scrawled on the order form.

Not that a holiday is near, but there’s no telling with those two. Atlas might decide it’s “Tuesday I Love You” day, and Luke is always eager to be his partner in crime, especially if it involves “surprising Mama.”

Satisfied that this arrangement is, in fact, for a real customer and not my sheriff hiding behind a poorly chosen alias again, I finish the bundle, tying it with a simple twine bow. As I carry it to the front counter, my gaze drifts to the cash register.

Two people stand on the other side of the counter.

A beautiful blonde with a sorrowful look on her face and a guy with similar features.

Alina—the beauty I only know through my boss’s connection with the fire department, offers me a weak smile.

Next to her, it must be her brother. Cameron, was it?

He’s covered in grime, wearing a shirt that makes him look like he belongs in a garage.

“What brings you two in?” Putting my longing for Atlas to the side, I take in the prearranged flowers right alongside them.

Working here, it’s easy to tell which flowers are meant for celebratory reasons and which aren’t. Something tells me this arrangement will be for someone injured or no longer with us.

Cameron scowls at my friendliness, but he bites his tongue. With furrowed brows, he doesn’t linger long to give the answer, opting to leave the shop instead.

“Sorry about him. It’s just…Dad’s anniversary is today, and he always takes it rough. I wanted to get fresh flowers, and he just wants to get this over with.” She lets out a forced laugh and shrugs her shoulders. “He’s not usually that grouchy.”

I nod my head, hardly taking offense at it. I’ve dealt with worse.

Helping her pick out an arrangement of pink roses and white lilies, I wish her good luck before I sigh softly under my breath.

It’s things like that which make me appreciate having those in my life and dread the day that’ll come in the far future.

Shaking my head before any depressing thoughts can plant deep, I turn my attention to the clock on the wall and praise the realization that my shift is almost done. Just a couple more hours and I’ll get to help close the shop.

When the time finally comes, my two favorite faces are waiting for me.

Jumping around the bed of the truck, the four-year-old lights up like a beacon when he spots me. Waving his arm, I’m all but running over to join them.

I don’t even say hello to Atlas first. I go straight to him, rise on my toes, and press a firm, loving kiss to his lips, tasting the familiar comfort of home. He smiles against my mouth, his hand coming to rest on my waist for a brief, steadying moment.

Then I turn to the truck bed. “You’re next, little man.”

I laugh, reaching in to pluck a wriggling Luke from his attempt to shake the entire vehicle.

I hug him tight, his small arms locking around my neck, and he smells of sunshine, dirt, and the faint, sweet scent of the baby shampoo I still buy.

I love them both so much it’s like a physical ache in my chest.

“You hungry, sweetheart?” Atlas asks, his voice warm with amusement.

I take a deep, exaggerated sniff. “I can smell the Skyline Sliders from here. Did you get extra cheese?”

“Would I dare show up without it?” he counters with a grin. He nods toward Luke, who is now happily playing with a strand of my hair. “Get that rascal strapped in his seat so we can go to the park and enjoy dinner before it gets cold.”

“Happy to,” I say, meaning it with my whole soul.

I buckle our giggling son into his car seat, planting a raspberry on his cheek that sends him into a fit of laughter.

I slide into the truck beside Atlas, and as he pulls away from the curb, his hand finds mine, his thumb drawing a slow, absent circle on my palm.

I look from his profile to our son in the rearview mirror, my heart so full I think it might just burst.

There’s nothing more that I can ask for. This is everything. This is mine.