Page 6

Briar

“ B riar?”

I looked at Amy, bringing my champagne flute down from my lips. She provided the sweet relief of an exit from this conversation.

“Briar, a customer is here.”

I glanced at the man trailing Amy, his shoulders hunched and his eyes darting this way and that.

It looked like the last place he wanted to be was here.

But then, it was a few minutes before the official closing of the shop, and as much as the fire drew me in, helping a customer gave me the excuse I had been searching for.

I turned back to the man I was speaking with. “Excuse me, John. I’ll be back shortly.” I wouldn’t. We both knew I wouldn’t because I didn’t need to hear one more thing about his new girlfriend. Who wanted to hear about their ex’s new relationship?

John smiled at me. “Take your time. I want to wander around and see what new things you’ve gotten this year.”

“Check out the kangaroo paw we just got in. They are toward the back.”

“I will,” he said as he tilted his head and smiled. The last time I had seen him was at my mother’s funeral. It was kind of him to check that I was doing well, but did he have to show up? There were other friends I wanted to catch up with more.

“He needs a plant,” Amy said, pointing over her shoulder with her thumb as I approached her. The man behind her straightened to his full height and—oh. My. God. His gaze fell on me, and my heart raced.

“Certainly.” I drew the word out, heat building in my cheeks. I took a sip of my drink, smiling over the rim as it came to my lips, but my eyes never left those of the man who towered above me.

Under the soft lights strung across the pathway, when he wasn’t hunched down rubbing his hands over each other, the man was absolute perfection.

He was tall, over six feet, the outlines of his broad, well-defined chest just visible under the black T-shirt he wore, the sleeves hugging his proportioned biceps.

The fabric hung loosely over the top of well-fitting dark jeans, his Converse completing the effortless look.

His light brown hair—a shaggy, unkempt mass dropping almost to his shoulders—made him appear as though he spent hours on the beach surfing or playing volleyball, but his pale white skin told the opposite story.

His clean-shaven face had a defined jaw and high, pronounced cheekbones that guided my gaze to his most striking feature: his eyes.

Ocean-blue eyes, deep and pure as the waves hurtling toward the shore, dragged me in.

I lowered the glass just slightly so that when I drew in my next long breath through my partially open lips, the air mingled with the sharpness of the sparkling Shiraz.

I blinked once, a slow and deliberate act, coercing my mind out of its lustful yearning and back into that of the shopkeeper before I forced my voice to steady, lowering my glass.

“What can I help you with?” I knew what he could help me with.

He shrank down again at my words, and his eyes darted to those around us before they finally settled on me. “I’m here for some old man saltbush, both dried leaves and a plant, if possible.”

I dropped my chin. It was a rather strange request. “Old man saltbush? I don’t have the plant, but I can order it. I can check for the leaves.”

“That would be fine.”

“And what exactly do you plan to use that for?”

His eyebrow arched. “Is that something you need to know to fulfill my order?”

I ran my eyes from his head to his toes again, trying to figure this man out.

From how he spoke and the aura about him, he should have embraced a much more commanding presence, and he didn’t carry the traditional bohemian vibe of those usually interested in that plant.

He bristled at every noise around him, as though just being here was a chore.

I tightened my mouth. “Let’s just say you’re not the type we typically sell those to. ”

He chuckled, the sound more nervous than carefree. “And what’s the ‘type’ you normally sell them to?”

“Usually, our buyers have a more spiritual quality about them. And most opt for something a little less dangerous.”

Folding his arms across his chest, he smirked. “And how do you know that isn’t me in disguise?”

My mouth twitched at his smirk. I couldn’t deny I wanted to see that again.

What was he hiding under the charade of nervousness?

I bit my lip. There was only one way to find out.

“Touché. I’m Briar. Why don’t you come in, and I can get that order?

” I gestured to the door just past the folk singer sitting on a stool, strumming her guitar. “That’s my office right behind her.”

He followed me, close enough to feel his presence, a soothing heat that made my heart flutter, as we covered the short span between the firepit and the office.

“It is a lovely evening for a party, isn’t it?” He sounded as though he feared an awkward silence more than he feared speaking, his moment of confidence washed away.

I looked over my shoulder at him and shrugged, raising my voice to be heard over the singer’s amplifier. “This is all Amy. She put this whole thing together. I prefer more intimate gatherings. Please come in.”

I opened the door and flipped on the light. The ceiling fan also came on, pushing the air around the small space and chasing away any stuffiness. I took a deep breath, bathing in the warm, golden glow that appeared to flash as the fan spun. “So Mr.—?”

“Lorcan,” he answered, his gaze slowly traversing the room. “Lorcan O’Cillian.”

I nodded to the chairs in front of my desk for him to sit.

The name caught me off guard. It was familiar, like it was something I should know, but I couldn’t remember why.

I pushed it to the back of my mind. “Well, Lorcan, I assume you know how to use old man saltbush safely? Even a little too much can irreparably damage a person’s kidneys. ”

He nodded, giving me a small, reassuring smile that made my stomach do a quick flip. “I promise. I’ve been using it for years. The plant’s ability to purify blood is unsurpassed.”

Maybe he was just using it for the health benefits. “All right, then. Let me see what we have for you. As for the plant, how large of one are you looking for?”

His gaze shifted to the corner, lingering on objects as though he was committing them to memory or assessing them for a hidden meaning.

I smiled to myself, wondering what meaning he found in the antique mortar and pestle and a skull tucked behind the vines of a wisteria plant.

For someone so composed, he looked cautious, as if he were both drawn in and wary.

He turned his gaze toward me, his eyes glowing with mischief.

“How large do you think you can manage?”

My heart skipped a beat. Was he flirting with me?

“Well, usually the larger the better.”

His gaze lingered, playful and unapologetic. “Yes, well…” He cleared his throat. “Will the size of the roots affect how long it needs to acclimate, or is it only the trunk? And how long will it take?”

I walked around my desk, sat down, opened the drawer to my left, and retrieved my laptop that I had hidden away.

“Usually about one year.” I found a space and turned it on.

“I think eight inches should be large enough.” Heat rose to my cheeks.

“I mean, twenty centimeters. I think you would like a plant that is twenty centimeters.” I closed my eyes and exhaled, my embarrassment sharp and complete.

“Are you sure it shouldn’t be bigger?” He idled a finger across the front of the desk, his voice low, that smirk back on his lips.

Without giving me a chance to respond, he pulled his hand back and shifted in his chair.

“I’ll take your recommendation. I presume that should give me a sufficient harvest by the time it is acclimated? ”

And just like that, we returned to normal. Had I imagined the entire exchange?

I tilted my chin, watching him. There was a careful precision to him.

Without other people around, he carried himself with an ease that felt rehearsed, like a man who had long ago mastered the art of appearing comfortable in places he’d rather not be, every action deliberate and calculated.

Beneath his guarded demeanor, I could sense something else—an effortless confidence that belonged to someone who had lived through far more than he let on.

“Will you be able to supply me with enough loose leaf until I can harvest my own?” His deep voice was steady, making my insides thrum, and I had to focus on what he’d asked me instead of wondering what it would sound like in bed after I told him exactly how to take me.

He flinched as muffled laughter exploded through the closed door, shattering the quiet between us.

“I’m sorry for the noise,” I said. “Sometimes I wish I could hide away in here, even when the only people here are my friends. I love groups of people, but they can be so exhausting.”

Lorcan’s shoulders softened. “I used to love parties, but it has been a while. These days, I prefer to keep to myself.” His gaze held mine, the warmth returning to his eyes.

I hesitated, reluctant to let the moment slip away, but I finally smiled and pulled in a breath, hoping my tone didn’t betray too much. “Let me see what I have by way of the tea. Of course, I can always order more if necessary.”

I cleared my throat and crossed the short distance to the shelves next to the window facing the house, which held jars of dried herbs, some harvested from the garden center.

“Old man saltbush…” I traced my finger along the jars, finally landing on the right one. “Here we are.” I took the jar down, appraising its contents. I sneaked a glance at him, and my heart fluttered. “I believe I have about 500 grams, but we’ll have to weigh it to be sure.”

He dragged his gaze away from me to the jar. “That’ll work.”

I reached for a paper bag tucked into the end of the shelf and began filling it after placing it on the scale on the corner shelf.

“What are you hosting tonight?” he asked, his voice uncertain.

“It’s a charity event Amy convinced me to do,” I said, focused on the leaves falling into the bag. “We’re raising money for a new holistic garden at the Children’s Center. The money will pay for the plants, beds, and upkeep. It’s a great cause. You should stay.”

With the leaves weighed out, I looked up at him in time to see hesitation ghost through his eyes. He held my gaze for a moment before shaking his head.

“No, no. You don’t want me here. It’s hard enough for me just to speak to you. I don’t do well in crowds.” He shifted in his seat, tension tightening his posture.

I folded over the top of the bag and placed it on my desk, disappointment washing through me. “No one here is going to bite, I promise.”

He raised his eyebrows and twisted his lips into a crooked smile. “And how do you know that?”

The mischief was back in his eyes, making them dance.

“Maybe I don’t.” I laughed, fidgeting with the top of the bag. My stomach fluttered with a curiosity I hadn’t felt in a long time. I yearned to keep him here just a little longer. “Could I get you a drink? It’s a free bar.”

Lorcan exhaled slowly, his tone polite. “Thank you for inviting me, but I promise—I wouldn’t be much fun. The last time I was at a party was ages ago.”

A knock echoed through the office, and a look of relief washed over Lorcan. We both turned to the door. I forced out the air from my lungs in a resigned sigh. “Come in.”

Amy poked her head in. “Hey, Briar. The bartenders out in the greenhouse need help. Something about finding power for the ice machine.”

“You couldn’t help them?”

Amy shook her head. “No, it’s just—maybe the greenhouse was a bad idea and the plants… There’s no power. And Hugh’s just got here.”

I blinked hard. “Okay. I’ll be there in a minute. Let me just finish with Mr. O’Cillian’s order.”

His voice was soft as he glanced between Amy and me. “Is there anything I can help with?”

My spirits rose. “I don’t know. Did you want to come and see? If not, at least there’s a bar there, and I can get you a drink.”

He smiled, making his eyes crinkle. “Sure, I’d love to see more of your place.”

Amy’s eyes twinkled as I walked past her, obviously happy at the turn of events. I wondered what had made Lorcan change his mind about staying.