Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 109299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
“And bouquets?” Noah asks, clearly amused, eyes straying toward the nearly weightless flowers in Banks’s arms.
“Training wheels,” Banks deadpans.
Noah nods to him. “Welcome to the Lavender Bliss team.”
“Thanks,” he says. Once we resume our path to the store a few feet ahead, he says, “You don’t have tractors.”
True. But do facts matter? “Are you a lavender farmer and a bodyguard?”
His gaze slides down to the pretty purple flowers in his arms, then back to The Slippery Dipper. “Evidently, I just became one.”
I head into the market, Banks next to me the whole time as I head toward Salma, who waits at the floral counter, a little impatiently. She’s always punctual in opening and closing her store and has been for the decade she’s been running it, so I know she likes me to be on time too. Her steady green eyes crinkle at the corners as she adjusts her hijab, making sure it’s snug, which it always is.
“I thought you were going to miss the delivery,” she says when I reach her.
“Me too. I’m sorry to leave you hanging,” I say genuinely.
“It’s fine. You made it.” She tips her chin toward the man by my side. “Who’s this?”
I could say he’s my new employee, maintaining the joke, but I think I’ll keep him on his toes. “My guard dog. Banks.”
Salma snorts. “Perhaps you need a collar then. Aisle ten is for pet supplies.”
And I’m forgiven for being late. She takes the bouquets and brings them to the front of the store.
When I catch Banks’s gaze, he’s rolling his eyes.
“Well, if the shoe fits,” I say.
His dark eyes level me. “Sweetheart, I’ve been called so much worse.”
And I guess we’re over the explanation phase. I tilt my head. I don’t blink as I say, “Guess your desire to explain didn’t last long.”
“No, I listened to you.”
Please. Like he’s the mature one. Like he’s the adult.
Two can play at his game. When we exit, I spot my bike right where Banks left it, resting in the bike rack.
Safe and unharmed. Like a beacon.
I don’t map out a plan. I just grab it from the rack. Like I’m escaping from a robbery, I hop on and pedal at the same time, then ride as fast as I can down the sidewalk and far away from my guard dog.
Take that.
11
THAT KIND OF FINE
BANKS
So this is how we’re doing it.
Fine by me. It’s not as if I can’t follow her easily on foot. Or, hey, by car. I did bring wheels, and I walk to them across the street.
But I let her get a head start so she can think she’s gotten the better of me. I’m sure a wicked thrill is rushing through Ripley’s veins right now as she looks right, then left, then rides across the street, the wind in her hair, clearly figuring she’s escaped me.
Resting my elbow on the roof of the car, I watch her, a smile tipping my lips. It’s so damn cute the way she thinks she’s lost me. Once her purple beach cruiser whizzes down the next block, I hop in my car, turn it on, and follow her.
People are creatures of habit. They like routine. They stick to the familiar.
Someone like Ripley, who runs a farm that’s a fixture in Darling Springs—a tourist destination at that—isn’t likely to ditch town, let alone work. Maybe she’ll visit a friend. Possibly she’ll ride out to the beach.
But I’ll take my chances. My gut tells me she’s heading to home base, so I drive slowly, letting her ride ahead. I follow the GPS directions there, passing the sign for the local university on the edge of town, and a few minutes later, I cut the engine outside Lavender Bliss Farms at the top of a hill. I take off my shades, smiling victoriously when I catch a glimpse of a woman in a white tank and jeans cutting across the gorgeous front lawn, teeming with purple flowers.
There’s a spring in her step. No, it’s more like a victory dance. But we’ll see how long that lasts.
I swing open the car door, then sigh deeply, breathing in the floral, powdery scent, letting it fill my lungs, before I shift into business mode. Peering around, I scan the expansive property for points of vulnerability.
I’ve researched this place online since it’ll be the site for a handful of movie scenes, so already I know it’s a six-acre flower farm, focusing on lavender of course. The land houses bees, too, for noncommercial honey production, so I’m guessing those wooden boxes stacked behind the cottage are where the honey-makers hang out. The white clapboard cottage at the top of the hill is a studio, while the farmhouse itself is large enough for a big family and can be used for renting out as an Airbnb. It has six bedrooms, a spacious kitchen, a living room, a den, an attic, and an attached garage. There’s a garden-level suite too. The property also has an alarm system; Tabitha checked on that and sent me the info, so that’s good. Between the two structures sits a shed, likely for tools and fertilizer. Finally, there’s the little shop with a wide-open door and one small room, plus windows everywhere.