Page 5

“Look,” Jett said, sighing as he rubbed the back of his neck.

There was vulnerability there, raw and unhidden, and it caught her off guard.

“I never listened to my mom growing up, and my dad was pretty much a loser, but the one thing she and my grandma said to me was that if I ever had a lady-friend come over to the house, I needed to make the ladies in my life feel special. So I keep some flowers waiting—just in case. I used to buy a bouquet every Sunday at the grocery, but they died really fast. I started ordering a small floral arrangement from a florist nearby, and they lasted a little longer, but considering my schedule and the fact that I haven’t dated much in the last few months, I switched to corsages because you can refrigerate them, and they stay nice for a while before I have to trash ‘em.”

She blinked, stunned. “You just… have flowers waiting… all the time?”

“Yeah, so? Don’t other guys do that?”

Her lips parted, no words coming out—just stunned silence.

“And now?” he added, his voice lighter as if he were trying to ease her nerves.

“I can get my little Wifey-Pooh a fresh bouquet anytime I want.” He winked at her, flashing that crooked smile—but then, just as quickly, his expression sobered.

“You don’t look happy. I thought flowers were supposed to make a woman happy to receive them.

If you don’t like orchids, what do you like?

Roses are so overdone by society, you know?

I like a little something with flavor and flair. Panache , you know?”

Karen’s knees nearly gave out. Emotion and confusion swirled inside her like a storm. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. She just stared at him, her lips trembling.

And then he moved.

Jett was at her side in an instant, his arm firm and steady around her, guiding her toward the small kitchen table like he’d done this a hundred times before. He pulled out a chair and gently sat her down, reaching for a bowl at the center.

“I get low blood sugar,” he said quickly, almost frantic, grabbing a few Hershey Kisses and offering them to her. “I keep these here for a reason—and my brother likes them. Eat a few, and I’ll…”

“I’m not having a low blood sugar moment,” she interrupted, lifting her gaze to meet his. His face was so close, too close, and she hated how aware she was of how warm his body felt beside her—how safe. “I’m just a little confused by all of this and you. You don’t act like other guys.”

His smile tilted into something softer, more sure.

“’Cause I’m your guy now,” he said, his voice rich with humor and certainty. “At least for a while. And we’re gonna be fine. You know? We’ll just roll with the punches and figure it out eventually.”

Karen’s breath caught. His words, so easy and light, landed with weight in the middle of her chest. She swallowed hard, hugging herself unconsciously. “You don’t need a plan?” she whispered, her voice almost lost in the hum of the refrigerator.

“Why? Plans have a way of going off the rails or changing – so you just kinda go with it.”

Her brows drew together. That wasn’t how she worked. That wasn’t how she survived. “But we need plans… I need plans,” she stressed softly, each word trembling at the edge of her fears. “I need to plan things out.”

He didn’t flinch. He just smiled, a slow curve that made her want to scream and sigh all at once. “Then go ahead,” he said easily, his smile widening. “I hear opposites attract, and we’re a little opposite – aren’t we?”

Karen’s lips parted with disbelief. “We’re a lot of opposites.”

His eyes darkened with a mischievous gleam as he leaned in a little closer, his voice dipping low and intimate. “And does that mean you are attracted to me?” he whispered. “Is it time to show your new husband those hidden garters?”

Her breath hitched, eyes widening in horror, and then—she moved.

Fast. Reflexive. Her fingers closed around the nearest thing on the counter—a half-full bowl of Hershey Kisses—and she shoved a handful into his mouth, foil and all, smacking his chin upward with sharp determination to get his mouth away from hers.

She wasn’t kissing him again. Not if he was going to be a disgusting twerp about it. The one when they said ‘I do’ was enough.

Her cheeks were flushed, and not just from embarrassment or surprise.

There was warmth behind it, an ache she hadn’t wanted to feel again.

Not so soon. Not after everything. Her hand, the one he’d barely brushed, trembled slightly as she let it fall back to her side.

One flower—no matter how delicate or thoughtful—didn’t erase the confusion.

It didn’t untangle the knots he’d left in her, didn’t undo the echo of that first, fleeting kiss when they said ‘I do.’

That kiss had startled her with its tenderness, and worse, it had made her hope for something. Something she wasn’t ready to name. Something she wasn’t ready to want .

Not yet, anyhow, a traitorous little voice whispered from some quiet, vulnerable corner of her mind.

With a sharp exhale, she turned away, breaking the moment like a snapped twig. She grabbed her notepad and pen from the table, flipping to a new page like she could start over, rewrite what had just happened, and organize the chaos swirling inside her.

Enough.

“Okay, enough with the funny business,” she said aloud, voice clipped and businesslike as she turned to face the table.

Her tone had shifted, sharp and authoritative, like the one she used when her classroom was getting out of hand.

Her pen poised in her hand like a weapon or a shield.

“What’s your full name again and where are you from – because I must have been crazy to have married a stranger,” she continued, eyes narrowing just slightly as she looked at him.

A line had been drawn.

Emotion was being folded neatly and set aside.

“So you and I are about to get acquainted, Mr. Acton. Now sit down, shush, and get ready to have your life dissected… by me.”

She wasn’t ready to remember that kiss, imagining its tenderness or how it made her feel. Not yet. But she was ready for answers and desperately clinging to the idea of forming some sort of plan to make sense of this.

Of him.