Thorn in My Side (Bunch-A-Blooms 2)

“I’m just checking in—”

“And it’s one of the reasons I adore you. I can afford it, and you deserve to be worshiped like the goddess you are, so you need to get used to it.”

His pretty words are starting to get to me. He delivers them so smoothly and sincerely.

“I know I have to prove myself to you, Olive. I’m only asking that you give me that opportunity. Now, open your present. I think you’ll appreciate it.”

There’s a boyish excitement to his words. I take the scissors and cut the string bow wrapped around the beige wrapping paper. I cut away and find a box of my favorite Davenport assorted truffles and an envelope. He really listens to me.

I groan. “You’re going to make me fat.”

“There’d simply be more of you to worship. Open the card.”

I pull a card with the words, You Color my world and giggle. The Color is done in capital letters with bold colors, and the O is a globe full of colored confetti.

“I thought it was appropriate. You’ve changed my world more than you know in the time I’ve known you.”

I open the card. Roses are Red; Violets are blue. The candy is sweet, but not compared to you in his personal writing. I giggle. “Thank you. You’ve got a sensitive streak a mile long.”

“Only for a select few.”

I believe him. “Thank you, Luka. Can I send you something?”

“If you’d like. You have my address.”

“It’s not much, but. It made me think of you.” I’d enlisted the help of Asher to make him something from scratch.

“I look forward to it.”

“How was your day?” I ask setting the items on my nightstand as I settle in.

“Long. Negotiations are a slow torturous process, but I think I see the light at the end of the tunnel.”

“Do you think you’ll get to come home early?”

“Missing me already?”

“Fishing for compliments, Luka? So unlike you.”

He chuckles. “Don’t worry. The feeling is mutual. I still have the work on the new product line, so I doubt I’ll be able to adjust my schedule. I wish I could if that counts for anything.”

“It does. Tell me about England. I’ve never been, but it’s on my bucket list.”

“Well it’s wet, and the blokes all talk funny.”

“Luka!”

“I’m kidding.” He launches into a description of his favorite places, and I’m transported to a different place. He has a voice made for books. A warm, rich, baritone that paints crisp pictures with is descriptive working. It’s like he’s reading a Dicken’s novel to me. I’m saddened when we have to say goodbye.

“Goodnight, Luk.”

“Aaah, there it is.”

“What?” I ask.

“The best gift you could give me. My nickname. Sweet dreams, Olive.”

“Sweet dreams when you go, Luk.”