When Wildflowers Bloom by Ashley Manley

Author:Ashley Manley [Manley, Ashley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wildflower Books, LLC
Published: 2024-09-17T00:00:00+00:00

“Seriously?” I look through the windshield and frown at the familiar neon sign. “I skipped my Friday night ritual for Libby’s?”

He looks at me like he’s offended. “They have the best triple sec in town. I thought you’d be happy.”

I roll my eyes. “Funny.”

He gets out, circles the Jeep at a jog, and opens the door for me before I’m even unbuckled. Standing there, it’s like I’m seeing him for the first time all over again.

When I opened the door at my house and saw him, my heart stuttered. He looks the same as he always does in jeans, fitted T-shirt, face that makes me want to confess all my sins, and body that makes me want to commit new ones—but something is different. Like this date is a step across a threshold and there’s no turning back.

When his eyes burned a path down my body as I stood in the doorway, I squirmed, panicked, and acted like I had forgotten my sweater. Which is why I’m now wearing a granny cardigan over my once-sexy outfit.

“Where’s your toothpick?” I ask him as we walk across the parking lot.

He shrugs, salacious smile curling his lips as he opens the door. “I thought I’d keep my mouth available tonight.”

My chest tightens, eyes widen, but before I can say anything, his hand is on the small of my back, guiding me inside.

It’s crowded—way busier than the last time we were here. Music comes from big speakers, and bodies are everywhere. It’s loud and lively—a vibe. Without hesitating, his hand slips from my back to my hand, leading me across the room to the bar. Libby’s there, pouring liquor from a bottle, red lips smiling. “Pam Beesly from the Rockies!” she cries happily.

The dim lighting of the bar is a blessed thing for hiding the mortified blush that I know has swallowed my face. “Believe it or not, that’s not actually my name.” I laugh through my humility. “It’s Birdie.”

Her smile somehow widens.

“Birdie suits you,” she says, nodding toward my chest. “Nice ink.”

I don’t know why, but I look at Bo with the comment. His lips pull to one side in a half smile, and he squeezes my hand.

“So what are y’all drinking tonight? Beer, Bo?”

He nods. “You know it. Birdie? Water?” He looks at me.

I know alcohol is bad for the body—I read a study once that connected even just occasional drinking with an increased risk of cancer. I also know Bo doesn’t care whether I drink or not. I know all of these things, but for whatever reason, I answer with, “I’d like a cocktail.” Then to Libby, “Not triple sec with an olive.”

She laughs. “Okay, well Bo has already told me you don’t really drink, so what kind of flavor do you want? Do you like cranberry juice? Or pineapple?”

I look at him—he’s told her about me?

He nods, like he’s taken up residency in my brain. Which he has.

“Either of those are fine.”

Another smile, then she’s scooping ice and pouring vodka and cranberry juice—that’s surprisingly organic.

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