Chapter 1
Kaia
“If another bride asks me to dye roses blue, I’m changing careers,” I muttered, frantically dabbing at the flower dye staining my fingers. Twenty minutes until my blind date, and I looked like I’d murdered a Smurf. Perfect.
My best friend Laura had spent weeks convincing me that her colleague, some hotshot literature professor, was “absolutely perfect” for me. Apparently, we were both quiet, bookish types who could quote Shakespeare. In Laura’s mind, this made us soulmates.
I should have known better than to trust Laura’s matchmaking skills. Her track record was legendarily bad. There was the chef who spent our entire date talking about different types of mushrooms and ended up having a meltdown when I ordered chicken instead of his recommended fungi feast. Then came the accountant who spent the whole time talking about his ex, “She’s a better judge of character than I was.” And who could forget the aspiring circus performer who insisted on demonstrating his juggling skills with our breadsticks…
“At least he’ll be easy to spot,” I told my reflection, attempting to tame my hair into something presentable. “Look for tweed and glasses. Probably grading papers at the table.”
The text from Laura lit up my phone: “Grey shirt. Will be sitting alone. Table in the back. Don’t be late!”
I grabbed my purse. Valentine’s Day was always chaos at Blooming Good Flowers, but today had been exceptional. Three last-minute wedding orders, a funeral spray, and approximately five million red rose deliveries had left me with exactly twenty minutes to transform from harried florist to date-worthy human.
The Uber dropped me at La Petite Maison, one of those restaurants where the menu doesn’t list prices. Never a good sign. Through the window, I could see candlelit tables filled with couples gazing adoringly at each other. Great. Nothing like being surrounded by Valentine’s Day romance to remind you that your last date had been with a guy who could not stop checking other women’s asses out in the restaurant.
“You can do this,” I whispered, straightening my black dress. “Just find the quiet professor, make pleasant conversation about books, and then go back home for a good night’s sleep. Hopefully.”
I pushed open the heavy door, scanning the room for grey shirts and scholarly types. That’s when I saw him. Alone at a corner table, wearing a charcoal grey button-down.
Unless literature professors had started moonlighting as models, Laura had seriously undersold this guy’s looks.
“Well,” I thought, gathering my courage and walking toward his table, “at least Valentine’s Day won’t be boring.”
I approached his table, heart doing a little skip when he looked up. Those eyes, dear lord, those eyes were the kind of blue that belonged in fairy tales or on movie screens.
“Hi. Professor Matthews? I’m Kaia,” I said, sliding into the chair across from him. “Laura’s friend? Sorry, I’m late. Valentine’s Day at a flower shop is basically organized chaos with a side of thorns.”
He paused, wine glass halfway to his lips, and something flickered across his face. Surprise? Amusement? Not sure which. Then his mouth curved into a devastating smile.
“Flowers, huh? Just call me Daniel!” His voice was deep, with a hint of something that definitely wasn’t academic. “Dangerous business.”
I held up my blue-stained fingers as evidence. “Battle scars. Apparently, Mother Nature’s color palette isn’t good enough anymore. Everyone wants blue roses.”
“The pursuit of impossible things?” He leaned forward, “I can relate.”
A waiter materialized at our table, all crisp bow tie and knowing smile. “Can I get you something to drink, miss?”
“Gin and tonic,” I said quickly, because I needed something to do with my hands before I started fidgeting. “And maybe some bread?”
“Make that two G&Ts,” my date added, “and the chef’s Valentine’s special.”
I watched the waiter disappear, then turned back to find those blue eyes studying me with intense interest. This was not going according to plan. Laura had promised me someone predictable, safe. The kind of guy who got excited about Oxford commas and tweed elbow patches. Instead, I was sitting across from a man who looked like he’d walked off a runway.
“So,” I ventured, ”So you are a professor?"
He took another sip of wine, and was it my imagination, or was he fighting back a grin? “Actually, I…”
A commotion from a nearby table interrupted him as a group of college-aged guys started whispering and pointing in our direction. One of them was clutching what looked like a phone, practically vibrating with excitement.
“Your students?” I asked, nodding toward the group.
He glanced over his shoulder, then back at me, his expression now definitely amused. “Something like that. Tell me more about these blue roses.”
As I launched into an explanation of the horrors of flower dye, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was missing something obvious. But then our drinks arrived, and he smiled at me over the rim of his glass, and suddenly I didn’t care about anything except the way this very un-professor-like professor was looking at me.
This was either going to be the best Valentine’s Day ever, or a complete disaster. Possibly both.
“So the bride actually threatened to sue because the roses weren’t ‘Avatar blue’?” He leaned back in his chair, looking far too entertained by my workplace drama. “What did you do?”
“Told her James Cameron doesn’t own the color blue and offered her white roses with blue ribbon.” I took another sip of my gin and tonic, feeling pleasantly warm. “She took the ribbons.”
The restaurant had gotten busier, a steady hum of conversation and clinking glasses filling the air. Every few minutes, I caught people glancing our way, but I chalked it up to my date’s obvious good looks. No professor had any business being this attractive.
My phone buzzed. A text from Laura: “How’s it going with Professor Matthews?”
I frowned at the screen. But before I could answer, my date reached across the table and caught my blue-stained hand in his.
“You missed a spot,” he said, his thumb brushing over my wrist in a way that short-circuited my brain. “Right here.”
“Oh,” I managed, trying to remember how to form complete sentences. “It’s, um, occupational hazard.”
The waiter returned with our appetizers. Something French that involved truffle oil and possibly gold leaf. “Can I get you anything else, Mr. Stau…”
“We’re good,” my date cut in smoothly, giving the waiter a look I couldn’t quite interpret. “Thanks.”
Mr. Stau… What? The nagging feeling that something was off grew stronger, but then he started asking me about my flower shop, and his genuine interest made me forget my suspicions.
“So you own it?” he asked.
“Three years now. It’s small, but it’s mine.” I smiled, thinking of my little store. “Blooming Good Flowers on Maple Street. We specialize in wedding arrangements and custom designs, though lately it’s been mostly ‘make these roses a color that doesn’t exist in nature.’”
He chuckled a rich sound that did funny things to my stomach. “Sounds like you need a drink after work most days.”
“Hence the gin and tonic.” I raised my nearly empty glass. “Though I usually don’t drink with handsome professors on Valentine’s Day.”
“Handsome?” His blue eyes sparkled with mischief. “So do you think I’m handsome?”
I felt my cheeks flush. “Well, when Laura mentioned a professor, I assumed…”
“Never assume anything… especially on Valentine’s Day,” he said, signaling for another round. “Sometimes the best things happen when plans go wrong.”
Another group of people walked past our table, phones not-so-subtly pointed in our direction. One girl actually squealed before her friend hustled her away.
“Your students seem... enthusiastic,” I observed.
He took a long drink of wine. “You could say that. Though I prefer to think of them as... fans of the subject matter.”
“What exactly do you teach? It’s not literature?” I asked, suddenly realizing I had no idea.
His smile turned enigmatic. “Let’s just say it’s a very... physical education.”
Something about the way he said it made me reach for my fresh gin and tonic. Whatever was happening here was not what I thought Laura had told me to expect, but as I watched him laugh at another one of my flower shop stories, I found myself not caring at all.
The main course arrived. Something involving perfectly seared scallops. I was halfway through explaining the difference between ranunculus and peonies when my phone buzzed again but I decided not to look at it.
Another group of people walked by, phones out, whispering excitedly. One guy was wearing what looked like a sports jersey, but before I could make out the name on it, Daniel shifted in his chair, blocking my view.
“You must be very popular at school,” I said.
“To tell you the truth, I don’t try at all… But it comes with the profession I guess.”
His answering smile should have come with a warning label. “Are you ready to order some dessert?”
“I don’t know if I can eat anything else.”
“I’m sure you can. Because I know the chef and his chocolate soufflé is worth it.”
As if on cue, a waiter appeared with two perfect soufflés, steam rising from their dark centers.
“That looks good.” I said as I picked up my spoon, “This is delicious. I’m glad you ordered it. I probably wouldn’t have had it otherwise.”
“I’m good at reading the play,” he said cryptically. Then, watching me take another bite: “Worth stuffing yourself over?”
The chocolate melted on my tongue, rich and decadent. “Maybe.”
“Maybe is good enough for now.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping lower. “So, Kaia who fights with brides and makes flowers blue, what are your thoughts on penthouse views?”
I nearly choked on my soufflé. “That’s a bit too soon, isn’t it?”
“Just offering to show you what the city looks like from above,” he said innocently, though his eyes suggested nothing innocent at all. “Unless you’d rather call it a night?”
I should call it a night. I should thank him for dinner, call an Uber, and go home to my cat and my Netflix queue. That would be the sensible thing to do.
Instead, I heard myself say, “Does this penthouse have a good view of the moon?"
His smile was positively wicked. “Ready to find out?”
As he signaled for the check, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was missing something important about this man. But with chocolate on my tongue and gin and tonic making me feel funny things, I really didn’t care. Besides, what could possibly go wrong?
***
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