Four Weddings and a Werewolf

Chapter Six

The taxi turned off of Ballard Way and pulled into Floral and Fauna’s parking lot. The place was tiny and locally owned, and supplied almost all of the flowers for Veronica Vale Weddings. Veronica found the place through a wonderful recommendation given by a cousin a few years back, and had used Floral and Fauna since. She was probably keeping them in business.

But there was one matter of business to take care of before she entered the shop.

“Stop here,” she told the taxi, and watched as Logan’s truck bumbled around the corner and into the parking lot behind them. “What does he want?”

She paid the cab driver and got out of the car. When Logan spotted her walking up to his truck, he paled, looking as if he’d seen the Ghost of Girlfriends Past.

“Good morning,” he said, stepping out. “What a coincidence, meeting you like this. What are you doing here?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing.” She tucked her bag under her arm and planted her opposite hand on her hip. She wasn’t budging this time. There was nothing in this neighborhood for him—he was following her. The question was why.

“I’m, uh”—he scanned the buildings lining the lot—“here to go shopping.”

“At Cigars & Stuff?” Veronica rolled her eyes and stared at the obnoxious red-and-black advertisement plastered on the building beside them.

“Why not?”

“It’s, like, nine a.m.”

“I smoke with breakfast.”

He was such a liar. A hot liar, but still.

“Seriously, Logan. I watched you follow me here out the back window. What do you want?”

He paused, his gaze shifting from one of her eyes to the other. “I guess I might as well tell you now. I was going to make Jake tell you by the end of the day anyway.”

She froze. “Tell me what? If you have a disease or something, so help me—”

“No, oh God no.” His hands found her shoulders. “Nothing like that. It’s just…Jake hired me to protect you.”

Veronica felt her eyebrows pinch. “Protect me?”

“He wanted me to keep you safe.” He removed his hands as she gave him a death glare. “He hired me to be your bodyguard while he and Leah are in San Francisco.”

Wonderful. Just wonderful. First her lover, and then her neighbor, and then her bodyguard. What next? Her private waxer?

“Why would Jake worry about my safety? It’s not like I’m incapable of taking care of myself while Leah’s out of town.”

“Then call her,” Logan said, nodding to the bag clutched under her arm. “Maybe Jake’s told her everything by now.”

“Told her what?”

“Everything.”

“But I’m asking you.” She took a slow step forward. Surprisingly, Logan backed away. “Why does my future brother-in-law think I need a bodyguard?”

“Because that secret admirer you think you have isn’t what you think he is.”

The note she’d found in her mailbox this morning burned a hole through her bag and warmed against her side. “They told you about him?”

“Veronica, he’s taken a sharp turn into the stalker zone.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” She turned and headed toward Floral and Fauna. “You’re all being ridiculous. He’s sent me a few notes and flowers, and they’ve all been really sweet. I don’t need a bodyguard.”

Logan followed her around the building. “He sent you more than that, but Jake kept the whole thing quiet. He didn’t want to freak Leah out so she’d cancel her book tour, and if you found out, the first thing you’d do is call her. There’s more to it, but the bottom line is that Jake asked me to take care of things, and I am.”

She whirled around on him. “What did Jake keep quiet? What are you talking about?”

He seemed to pause at her words, as if contemplating whether he should be the one to tell her. But tell her what, exactly?

“I think it’s best if you hear it from him.”

“You know what Jake’s problem is? He’s overprotective and thinks that because he’s marrying my sister, he should have some say over my life. You can tell him he’s wrong.” Without thinking, she jerked the note from her admirer out of her bag and shook it in front of his face. “There’s nothing stalkerish about these notes. There’s nothing wrong with someone being honest about their feelings. In fact, in light of what happened last night, I find it refreshing.”

Logan’s face lost its color. “Is that from him?”

“It must’ve arrived in the mail yesterday. I found it this morning, and it’s lovely.”

“What’s it say?”

She smiled smugly, holding the note against her chest. “That I’m the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. He thinks about me constantly, even when we’re not together, and can’t tear his eyes away from me.”

“Does that mean he’s watching you now?”

“The note didn’t say he watches me every minute.” Shivers danced up Veronica’s arms. “The notes aren’t creepy. They’re sweet.”

“They’re only sweet if the guy makes a move. If he sits in the shadows watching you, it’s pervy.” Logan made a move for the note, but she jerked away. “What’s on the back? Is that…blood?”

“Oh, don’t get your panties in a wad.” She frowned, looking at the light-red smudges that marred the back. “The note was written in red ink. It’s not blood. It’s stains from the pen.”

“Unless he wrote the note in blood.”

“Listen to you! You’re crazy!”

He reached for the note again, so Veronica shoved it in her bag and zipped it closed.

God, she didn’t have time to go round and round with Logan, or call her sister to find out what Jake was keeping from her. She was going to be late for her appointment, and she was never late.

“I don’t have time for this,” she said, swinging the door open. “You need to leave.”

The door jingled, signaling their entrance. Logan followed on her heels, holding the door open for her. “Not that simple,” he said. “Jake hired me to do a job and it isn’t finished yet. Now more than ever, you need me.”

“I don’t need anyone. Especially you.” As a round woman wearing a green apron and a wide smile emerged from the back, Veronica laughed. “I’m sure you can leave. It’s not like Patsy is my secret admirer.”

Ignoring Logan’s presence completely, Veronica pulled her iPad out of her bag, set it on a small oval table near the front window, and took a seat. Logan sat beside her, sneezed, then gave his nose a hard rub.

“You okay?” she asked, glaring at him. “Any harder and you’re going to rub your nose off.”

“I’m allergic to flowers.” He sneezed.

“Then leave.”

“I can’t.”

“Then,” she said, channeling her best Donald Trump with an arching brow, “you’re fired. Now go home.”

He smirked. “Cute, but you’re not the one who hired me.”

Why wouldn’t he leave? Every time she looked at him she thought about his body over hers, his muscles covered with a thin sheen of sweat, the way his jaw clenched right before he was about to—

“Fine. Stay here and sneeze.” If he didn’t want to leave, Veronica wanted Logan itchy, sneezy, and uncomfortable. Nothing too serious, just enough to drive him nuts. Maybe then he’d know what it felt like.

“Good morning, darlin’!” Patsy said, coming around the counter. “What brings you to me first thing this morning?”

Patsy had thinning blond hair, pudgy cheeks, dirt lining her nail beds, and glasses that were permanently placed on the edge of her nose. She was the best florist in the area. Hands down. The shop was small without being cramped, flowery without being overwhelming. Well, Veronica corrected, it wasn’t overwhelming for her, but she wasn’t the one with allergies.

“Heather called, and said there was an issue with the Sanchez flowers?”

Patsy leaned back against the counter. “It’s a simple problem with a simple solution. The bride wants flowering branches and narcissus, but we can’t get them. Well, we can, but the ones that show up are marginal at best and three times the price. I wouldn’t feel comfortable making an arrangement of such poor quality.”

Logan sneezed and Veronica did a mental victory dance. Cha-cha-cha-sneeze.

“That’s not going to work anyway,” Veronica said, making a note on her iPad. “Mr. Sanchez is on a tight budget. We’ve already asked him to bend in a few other places, and he’s adamant that the budget stay in place. Guess that’s what happens when you drop twenty grand on one night. He wouldn’t pay the hefty increase, even if his bride insisted on those flowers. Bless you, Logan.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” He wiped his nose, and rubbed his eyes.

“I told Heather that the bride will have to pick another flower for her bouquet and filler for her centerpieces,” Patsy said simply. “We’ve got leafy, bushy branches like ornamental pear or camellia to take the place of the flowering branches, and a wide variety to choose from in the bouquet department. I haven’t heard back from Heather on which adjustments to make. Would you like to see a book?”

“I would, thanks.” Veronica’s face itched. She glanced at Logan. His nose had turned red from near-constant rubbing. The more he swiped his hand over his nose, the more hers itched. She scrunched her face, but didn’t touch it. “Let’s go with the leafy branches for the centerpieces. I think that’s the easiest call to make. I really don’t think she’s going to notice the difference.”

The only reason Veronica knew the difference was because she’d seen Patsy do amazing flower arrangements with both varieties in the past. They were different, but beautiful in their own ways. The bridal bouquets, however, were entirely personal, and a decision that the bride would have to make herself. She would take notes and pictures, and narrow the options for the bride, then report back to Patsy by the end of the day.

The florist disappeared into the stockroom and came back with a large three-ring binder full of flower choices separated by season. Veronica flipped to summer as Logan sneezed again. And again.

“There are tissues on my desk,” Patsy said, her eyebrows pinching in concern. “Feel free to grab some if you need it.”

“No. I’m good.” Logan sniffled. And stared out the window at the street. Was he looking for her stalker? Leah and Jake were overreacting, Veronica was sure of it. As soon as she left here, she was calling her sister and finding out what the hell was going on.

“Here.” Veronica pointed to a lovely bouquet tied off with a black satin ribbon. It was simple. Pink roses. White calla lilies. Deep-purple hydrangea. “This is pretty.”

“I thought you’d like that. Your taste is classically elegant without a lot of fuss.” Patsy leaned close, and out of the corner of her eye, Veronica caught Logan’s gaze shifting to her. “But the bride insisted no hydrangea.”

“How about daisies?”

“She nixed those, too.”

“Peonies?”

Patsy folded her arms and shook her head. “This bride is very pleasant to work with.”

“I’ll say.”

Logan cleared his throat. “Maybe she’s waiting for something to strike her, some sort of meaning, like the bouquets that the Victorians used to make.”

“Excuse me?” Veronica tried not to sound shocked that he’d spoken up.

“Nineteenth-century Victorians used to choose herbs and flowers that spelled out the first letters of the groom’s name.” He leaned over the book, pointing to the flowers as he spoke. “In this case, for Paolo, use peonies, Asiatic lilies, orchids, lisianthus, and a different variation of orchids. P-A-O-L-O.”

The idea was out of left field, and very, undeniably brilliant. Veronica stared so long, her eyes dried. She blinked quickly. “What—where…?”

Where’d that come from? was what she’d wanted to say. Instead, she gibbered.

“I think the bride might actually go for that,” Patsy said, snapping Veronica out of her haze. “Where did you learn that?”

Logan stood and disappeared behind the counter. He came back with a fistful of tissues that he smashed against his ruddy nose. “I’ve been around a while and learned a lot.”

“I’ll say.” Patsy gave her the scoop-him-up-before-he-disappears eye. “I’m going to give the bride a call right now, tell her your suggestion, and see if we can get moving.”

“I should probably—” Veronica began, but Patsy put a hand on the table, stopping her.

“No, sweetheart. You stay here with this handsome gentleman.” She winked at him. “I’ll be back in a jiff.”

When she strode to the back, Veronica returned her iPad to her bag and fished out her phone. Anything not to have to look directly at Logan. “I think that’s actually going to work,” she said. “Thanks for the suggestion.”

“I was just hoping it’d get us out of here faster.”

“There is no ‘us,’ Logan.” But there was more to his floral suggestion than simply wanting them to hurry the decision-making along. Call it curiosity; Veronica couldn’t help but ask… “If you ever get married, is that what you’d want your bride to do for you?”

“My bride?” He shook his head and laughed. “Remember my one-night rules? I won’t ever have a bride.”

“But if you did?”

He leaned close, covering the space over the tiny table. The air in the shop rocketed from cool to sizzling. “If I did get married, I’d want a woman who understood that the actual wedding doesn’t matter. It’s one day and one night. That’s all.” He flicked a picture in the binder. “I’d want a woman who had a sense of humor and wouldn’t be afraid to make a bouquet out of pussy willow. Lots and lots of pussy willow.”

Veronica laughed as Logan emphasized the first part of the word. But by the second time it escaped his lips, heat tingled up her neck.

“I don’t think that’d make a very pretty bouquet,” she said, crossing her legs.

“I think pussy willow would be a great addition to any kind of arrangement.” He licked his lips slowly, as though he was savoring certain flavors that might’ve lingered there. “What’s wrong, Veronica? Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“Of course not.” She shuddered, but tried to play off that she was cold. She brushed her hands over her arms and stared outside. “I wonder what’s taking Patsy so long?”

“Maybe she’s trying to convince the bride to add pussy willow to her arrangement.”

Veronica shot to her feet. “Would you quit saying that word! No bride would put that in her bouquet—it’s dirty.”

“Oh, come on, it’s funny. People take this stuff too seriously. I mean, if you were my bride, for example—not that I’d ever let that happen—and you made your bouquet out of pussy willow, I’d make my boutonniere out of”—he turned a page in the binder and laughed—“cockscomb.” Looking thoroughly pleased with himself, Logan leaned back, pushed his hips forward and kicked his foot up on his opposite leg. Why couldn’t she take her eyes off his crotch? Did he have to display himself like that? With his hips pushed out and a very obvious bulge in his pants? “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the word pussy willow,” he said. “In fact, I think you should say it.”

What would it prove? That she could say the word “pussy”? She was twenty-seven years old and could say the word whenever she pleased…but not if it meant pleasing him. She wouldn’t give him the gratification.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And I’ve got a twisted sense of humor. Say it and I’ll drop it. It’s just a word. A word that is said and forgotten. Pussy willow. Come on, V. Are you really that uptight?”

No, she was really that stubborn.

Veronica gritted her teeth together, nearly tripped on her way to the counter, and tapped quickly. “Patsy?” her voice squeaked. She couldn’t think about any pussy being on Logan’s lips. “Are you back there? Patsy?”

“Pussy willow,” he whispered over her shoulder.

She spun around and sucked in a clipped breath. Logan was close. Inches away. His body radiated heat, drenching her in tingly warmth. He looked down at her with those smoky gray eyes, making her forget that stupid word and the way he was pressuring her to say it like some teenage boy daring her to flash him at a party. She was overcome with the desire to press her hands down his abs and lean against him. Every time he said the name of that stupid flower, her will loosened. She couldn’t forget the way his lips had moved against hers last night. The way the pressure of his body had felt heavy and right. Fighting the urge taking over her body, Veronica rested her back on the counter and gripped the pointy ledge.

“Sweet, sweet”—he leaned down as if he was going to kiss her—“pussy willow.”

Veronica was going to break apart from the pressure. Explode into thousands of tiny, turned-on pieces. She had to regain composure. Logan didn’t want her. If he did, he would’ve finished what he started last night. This was a game, a stupid, stupid game, and he was going to laugh at her when it was finished. But she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t find the strength to push him away.

“Fine!” she yelled. “Pussy! Pussy! Pussy! You happy now?”

The humor in his eyes died down. He looked…hungry.

“Veronica?” Patsy said from behind her. “Everything all right out here?”

She deflated. And spun around. “Yes. Everything’s fine. The bouquet?”

“The bride approved it.”

“Thank you, Pussy.” Veronica’s stomach flipped. “I mean Patsy. Thank you, Patsy.”

Smacking her forehead, Veronica snatched her bag off the floor and stormed out the door. She didn’t look back. But when an allergic symphony of sneezing and groaning rang out behind her, Veronica knew Logan had followed her out.