“Hello, it’s his company’s gimmick. He’s dialed in with everyone. He knows practically every person in Torrey Junction by name and address, and by what flowers they like.”
“He should run for city horticulturist.” And stop telling the world that I bought flowers for Sheridan.
Was it just last week that I was one of the most respected men in town?
All this started the minute she set foot in my office and threatened to sue me.
And yet … there was the whole dream thing. “Yes, I sent her flowers. Yes, I went to her parents’ anniversary party.”
“I heard she brought you home afterward, too. Are you dating the girl from your dream?”
“Not yet,” I said before thinking about it. Darn Carlton Cook had gotten into my head.
“Yet?”
“Not ever, I should say.” The tips of my ears got hot. My neck, too. “She has threatened more than once to sue me.”
“You’re charming her. To get her to back off.” Lola gave a sharp nod and then sipped soup from the side of the cup. “Sneaky.”
“No, not at all. Nothing like that.” But I couldn’t explain. “It’s … I …”
“Is she pretty? Are you into her, the real Sheridan, and not just the one from your sexy dream?”
“It wasn’t sexy.” Not that sexy, anyway. Just a kiss and a feeling.
Lola whipped out her phone and in zero seconds had looked up Sheridan Chandler online. “Is this the target?”
Target. Geez. I took the phone. Well, nice photo of Sheridan, I must say. “Her hair is a little longer now. Slightly more curly. And she doesn’t usually wear that much eye makeup. She’s more understated. But she’s prettiest in the morning when she …”
What on earth was I saying out loud? The concussion had disconnected my vocal filter. I coughed a little and bumped the table. My croutons scattered next to the tuft of alfalfa.
“Luke.” Lola’s brows rose like she had discovered all the secrets of my universe. “How are you seeing her in the mornings? You’re not …”
“No! I’m not!” Gah! “I haven’t even asked her out. I haven’t seen her in the morning.” Not in real life. “I’m—” I was what? Smitten with the imaginary interaction I had with her? “Look. I have a head wound, okay? I told you about my dream. It’s just … I’m going to forget the whole thing.” Probably.
“If you like her, ask her out. You’re a catch. At least go see her. If she’s definitely hostile toward you—which I could sort of see if she’s genuinely threatening to take you to court—then just do something nice for her. Besides sending her flowers.”
“Flowers don’t count as nice?”
“If you’re dating they do. If not, it’s just …”
“Just what?”
“Look here, she’s on social media asking who has a mechanic they like for oil changes. Help her out. Give her a solid recommendation, and see what happens.”
Oil change? “Who takes their car in for something like that?”
“Uh, most people?”
What a waste. “I don’t know, Lola.”
“You’re already showing up in her life a lot, what with the party crashing and the flowers and Marty’s gossip mill. What’s a little more?”
And Lola didn’t even know about the french fry visit.
“Do it, but gently, brother. A comment on a request for advice is gentle. Bombarding her with five-hundred-dollar bouquets of out-of-season flowers? Less gentle.”
So, that’s what she meant. “Fine.” If we’d been teenagers, I would have thrown a stray alfalfa sprout at her. “Lola, I can handle this. Thanks.”