Page 26 of They Love Me Knot (Starsfalls Omegaverse #2)

Daphne

I t’s a new day at the flower shop, but once again, some of the floral scents are overwhelming the rest. Today, it’s the peonies and dahlias.

I might need to go to the doctor and see if there’s something up with my nose.

I brace myself against a nearby table. Heaven forbid I become allergic to the thing I love most and that I’ve made a career of.

A few deep breaths don’t clear out the scent of the chocolate dahlias and sunshiny peonies, but it does calm me down.

I comfort myself with the thought that there are shots to cure pollen allergies. If the problem I made up in my head is even real, it’s fixable, so everything’s fine.

And it’s not like I find the smell of these flowers to be objectionable.

I’ve always loved the scent of peonies, which is probably why I hunted down Flourist’s desserts so obsessively, and the smell has grown on me even more in the past week.

Probably because I was denied more of the sweet desserts, never able to relish in them again after running out of Flourist.

And now the dahlias are just as strong, and I don’t understand why I can’t smell anything else.

I carry the flowers up to restock the front of the store. Even with all the promposal orders, we have enough florals for our usual sales.

It’s always so cute seeing our regulars buy flowers for their partners each week. Poppy said some of them have been coming in as long as she’s worked here.

A clatter comes from the other side of the store, but I ignore it as I arrange the flowers since Poppy is around and she’s always eager to assist the customers.

I go back and forth restocking the other buckets that are low, humming to myself while I work.

More rustling and indistinct murmurs drift over.

“Do you think the customers over there need help? Did they say they wanted to browse on their own?” Poppy pops up beside me to ask.

I accidentally drop the stems back in the bucket, water splashing on my apron.

“Oh, uh, I don’t know. I thought you were helping them. I can go check, it did sound like they were having trouble,” I say, embarrassed.

“It’s no problem, I’ll do it! I just didn’t know if you had already tried to help them,” she says.

“I’ve got it. I’m just finishing up here. You can watch the register in case anyone else comes in,” I say.

I dab as much water off me as I can and hurry through the rows of flowers. I feel responsible for these customers since I was ignoring them when it sounded like they were struggling .

I follow the noises to the tropical flower section, where the scent of dahlias and peonies oddly gets stronger.

Whispering cuts off abruptly as I round the corner.

“Oh,” I say, pulling up short.

I recognize the alpha from Flourist.

Of course I remember him, I sat on his lap.

But even without that, I’ll never forget him.

He’s more striking now, with his hair loose and draped around him like a cape, long enough that it reaches his waist. It’s so pale I still can’t tell if it’s blonde or white, seeming to shift with the lighting, and his eyes are the same soft green.

The baker looks just as good out of an apron, in a white button-down shirt and tight black pants, in contrast to the colorful metal tin in his hand.

Despite his brazenness that day, he still doesn’t seem threatening. If another alpha (or anyone at all, really) had pulled me into their lap when we just met, I would’ve yelled at them. But for some reason I had no desire to do that with this alpha.

He has another alpha with him, broader than the baker, though they’re both on the slimmer side for alphas.

The new alpha has shoulder-length black hair, curling lightly at the ends, and dark blue eyes.

His long fingers are covered with silver rings, matching the silver earrings in his ears.

The left ear has a long, dangly one and a few stud earrings, while the other just has a few studs.

Like his companion, he’s on the willowy side for an alpha, and with all his jewelry he’s just as flashy as his silver-haired friend.

He’s wearing a nice shirt and pants too, and I wonder what event they’re dressed up for that has the baker skipping out in the middle of a workday.

The alphas straighten up when they see me, though the baker’s shoulders are turned in and he fidgets when he sees me looking.

The other alpha is tense, staring at me without blinking.

It could be seen as unsettling, but it reminds me of the focused look people get when admiring art in a museum, taking in every stroke and tiny detail, not wanting to blink in case they miss something.

I blush and look away.

I don’t know this alpha, so I don’t know that’s what that expression means. It could just as easily be the look he gets before he hunts someone down in the woods.

I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. I’m not sure I would mind him chasing me around though.

Dampness slides down my thighs, and I clench them together. I adjust my apron to make sure it’s covering the damp spot, but realize it’s the water that splashed on me earlier seeping through to my pants, not slick escaping my special omega underwear.

I relax, relieved they won’t see the effect they’re having on me, before remembering I have a job to do.

And that job does not entail ogling alphas.

“Is there something I can help you with?” I ask them.

“Yes,” the new alpha says immediately.

“No,” the baker says almost as fast.

I raise an eyebrow and look between them. Neither seems inclined to change their answer.

“Okayyy,” I say, drawing out the word slightly more than is professional.

I’m not going to hang around mindlessly while these alphas figure out what they want. I did that for too many years already.

“I’ll just come back in a few minutes and give you guys some time to look around.”

They both agree to that, the baker nodding eagerly .

I walk to the next aisle so I can eavesdrop to see what they’re up to.

Sure enough, low whispers filter through the flower rack. Except, no matter how much I press my ear to the flowers, I can’t make out what they’re saying (the alphas, not the flowers).

When the whispering stops, I press even closer, getting my nose stuck in a scentless lily.

“We could use some help now, if you have a moment,” the dark-haired alpha says from behind me, not on the other aisle where he’s supposed to be.

I inhale sharply and then sputter, trying to get the petals out of my mouth. I make sure my best customer service smile is securely in place before turning to face them.

The alpha who spoke is closest to me, with the baker standing behind him.

“What can I do for you?” I say, super calm and collected.

Earring guy smiles crookedly and says, “We want to get the best bouquet you have for our date. Could you help us make a custom one using the flowers you like best?”

My eye twitches. They’re getting flowers for their partner when one of them had me sitting on his lap less than a week ago?

I barely keep my smile in place without letting it fall into a snarl. My lips may be curled slightly more than they were a second ago, but I still think anyone would call this a smile. Even if I’m showing teeth. Like a lot of teeth. Most of my teeth.

Whatever, it’s not my business anyway. They could be in an open relationship, or they’re not serious yet with whoever they’re buying this bouquet for. Totally fine.

I have no right or reason to be mad at all. And I’m not. At all.

“Of course, sir,” I clip out. “Right this way. I’ll show you some of our most eye-catching blooms.”

I’m not usually so formal with customers, but I’m too annoyed to be casual, afraid I’ll let my true thoughts slip out about how cruel it is to tease everyone you come across and get them to sit on your lap when you’re not even going to ask them out.

The alpha twitches, I assume bristling at my tone. He must have expected me to fawn over him being such a good partner, getting flowers for their mate.

He’ll have to look elsewhere for someone to shower him with praise.

I barely hold in a harrumph.

I turn on my heel and leave them to follow me to the front, where we have some of our most popular flowers. The roses and lisianthus, along with the usual fillers like baby’s breath and feverfew.

Flower preferences are so individual it doesn’t make sense for me to make the bouquet I would want, like the alphas requested.

I’ll help them make a base with the classics and add a few focal flowers so it’s unique and custom.

That’s usually a safe choice when someone doesn’t know what type of flowers the recipient likes or loathes.

I grab a flower bag and stop in front of the buckets, throwing my arm wide like I’m a showgirl showing off our wares.

I just can’t figure out how to act normal around men these days.

“These are our most popular flowers. I’ll let you choose some of these and then we’ll add in a few unique flowers,” I tell them.

“Uh, um,” the baker says, clutching the little box to his chest so hard that it makes that tinny clanging noise as he bends the metal. “We wanted you to pick out your favorites. Please.”

“Just because I like certain flowers doesn’t mean everyone will. We’ll put together a mix of classic and unique flowers that your special someone will love, don’t worry,” I say more kindly.

I can’t stay mad at the baker, he’s too endearing, like a little bunny you just want to protect and take care of with his soft eyes and silky hair, except he’s also a bunny man you would fuck.

I think that analogy got away from me a little bit.

The alphas glance at each other so quickly I almost think I imagined it, derailing my bunny cosplay thoughts.

“You seem like you have great taste though, so we really want to know what you like. If you’d be willing to tell us some of your favorites, we can put the bouquet together ourselves,” the dark-haired alpha says.

He moves closer, lowering his voice. “I’m Kieran, by the way.” His eyes wander over my neck and the top of my exposed shoulder.