I don’t have to set foot inside Caitlin’s shop to know that I like it.

Janet was right. I’ve walked past it a thousand times since taking over Caldwell Industries. What she didn’t know was that I took note when the previously grungy little brick building went through a stunning transformation. Decades of grime was removed from the bricks, the cracked windows were replaced, a pretty porch was added, and a cheerful yellow door was installed.

That must have been about two years ago. At the time, seeing the changes made me proud. Not only was I pleased that a new business was moving into the area, but also that the new owner seemed confident that the business would do well. I felt it had a lot to do with the way that my efforts with Caldwell Industries had helped improve this section of Denver.

Ever since then, I’ve always kept an eye on the little place.

Right now, the front porch is empty, the windows bare, but at Christmas time the porch sparkles with Christmas lights and poinsettias are lined up on the wooden benches. In the summer, huge, pretty hanging baskets are displayed. In the fall, heavy pumpkins and gourds spill out of artful cornucopias.

Despite how much I’ve always admired this place, this is the first time I’ve ever walked into it. A small, cheerful bell announces my presence as I push the door open. Hot, moist air that smells like flowers and potting soil blasts me, removing the faint chill I developed on my walk over from the Caldwell building.

I immediately spot Caitlin standing behind the front counter. Her head is the only part of her visible past the enormous clay pot and cactus she’s messing with. She’s freed her dark red hair from the ponytail, letting it fall loose around her shoulders, and at least half of her pea-green suit has been replaced by a long-sleeved T-shirt.

“I’m closing the place down in five minutes,” she calls out without looking up.

“That’s okay. I’m not interested in the plants, just the owner.”

“Oh.” Caitlin’s head snaps up. “Mr. Caldwell. I … thought. Nothing.”

“You thought what?”

Caitlin scoops a little more soil into the pot and pats it down. Her hands are protected by bright purple latex gloves.

“Nothing, it’s silly.”

Intrigued, I move closer. “I want to know.”

“When I didn’t hear from you at all today, I guess I assumed you’d found someone … I don’t know, more suitable, and decided to pretend our … discussion this morning never happened, that you decided to forget about me.”

Her voice is steady, the tone light, like the idea of me changing my mind isn’t a big deal. But I swear, something in her eyes shifts, a momentary flash of vulnerability that disappears almost instantly.

I pin my hopes on that flash, silently praying it means she’s considered my suggestion and doesn’t think it’s quite as insane as it sounds.

“One way or another, I’d let you know.” I shove my hands into my pockets and look around the shop. Plants and flowers cover every available surface. It reminds me of the business trip to Brazil that I just returned from. “Nice place you’ve got here.”

“Thank you.”

I wait a beat, hoping she’ll expand on the statement, give me something I can use to build a conversation, one that might help cut through the thick wall of tension that went up between us the second she recognized me.

“Do you run this place by yourself?” I finally ask, inwardly wincing at the awkwardness of the statement.

“For the most part.”

That’s it. I refuse to spend my entire evening standing here, trading polite, generic comments with her. Better to cut straight to the chase. “Would you have dinner with me? Give me a chance to discuss our…” I hunt for the right word. ‘Proposal’ is too romantic, too optimistic, but ‘business arrangement’ sounds so cold.

“Very strange adventure that you think I should take part in,” Caitlin picks up where my sentence trails off.

I grin. She has some spark in her. Good.

“Precisely.” I take a step closer to the counter. Caitlin raises her hands, placing one on either side of the pot the cactus is in. There’s something self-protective in the motion, like she’ll throw the plant at me if I make a single false move. Considering the sharp spines and the plant’s massive size, it’s a pretty good choice in weaponry.

“So, what do you say to dinner?”

Caitlin chews on her lower lip. “I’m not sure. This whole thing is just so … bizarre. And I don’t understand how I got sucked up into it.”

I can’t help noticing that for as much as she keeps commenting on how weird things are, she’s yet to give me a flat-out no, which most other women would.

“Tell you what. Come to dinner with me and hear my sales pitch. If by the end of the meal, I haven’t convinced you to say yes, we’ll go our separate ways. No harm, no foul.”

Her fingers tap a random rhythm against the clay pot. I can practically see the wheels turning in her head. “It’s been a while since I’ve eaten. And I may have forgotten to go to the grocery store.”

I remember from my college days how ‘forgot to get groceries’ is not-so-subtle code for ‘can’t afford to eat’. “I can promise you something hot and delicious.”

Caitlin’s gaze flicks from my suit to down at her own body. “I’m not dressed to go anywhere.”

There’s no way I’m letting her use such a flimsy excuse. “Don’t worry about it. It’s casual.”

She doesn’t look convinced, but her grip on the plant loosens, her hands falling to her side as she steps around the end of the counter.

Even in the cheap pea-green suit, she was attractive, but that was nothing compared to her in a pair of distressed jeans with potting soil stains on the knees and a heavy long-sleeved T-shirt with the name of a local band scrawled across the chest.

She’s a little leaner than I generally prefer, but based on the way her jeans sag around her hips, the leanness is new, probably brought on by stress and cutting back on calories in an attempt to save money. If she’ll let me, I’ll be more than willing to put some meat on those bones…

She’s wiped all the makeup from her face, which makes her not only seem more vulnerable, but also more approachable and prettier than she looked when we met at my building.

Caitlin’s eyes meet mine and her steps falter. She swallows. “Um, I just need to get my coat and purse.”

“No problem.”

I watch the gentle sway of her backside as she walks away from me and lets herself into a room marked employees only.

A second later she reappears and shrugs into a bright orange puffer jacket. She tugs her hair free of the collar before reaching for the zipper.

“Will those be warm enough?” I give her feet, encased in a pair of cheap canvas sneakers, a pointed glance.

She looks down and wiggles her toes against the canvas. “Depends on how far away your car is.”

“It’s nice out. I thought we could walk.”

This gets her attention. “You? Walking?”

“What’s so shocking about that?”

She shakes her head and hooks the long handle of her cheap leather purse over her shoulder. “Nothing. It just doesn’t seem like the kind of thing billionaire playboys do. I thought they took fast cars, jets, and I don’t know, hoverboards, whenever they need transportation.”

I love these brief flashes of humor. One way or another I’m going to figure out a way to cut through this tension, to put this weird marriage and baby deal behind us so she can lighten up and relaxe enough to let the real Caitlin come out and play.

“One, I’m a billionaire, but not a playboy. These days I’m too busy and getting too old for that kind of nonsense.”

“Uh huh.” Caitlin raises a skeptical brow and moves toward the door. “If you say so.”

I hustle to beat her across the space and hold the door open for her. “Plus, my hoverboard happens to be in the shop at the moment. Until my mechanic finishes with it, I’m stuck using my own two feet.”

“Too bad,” Caitlin says as she walks past me out into the cold. Snow has started falling, large, lazy flakes that catch in her red hair. For some reason the sight of the delicate, gleaming flakes on the silken strands makes me think of fairy princesses. “I’ve been looking forward to riding on a hoverboard for a long time. I was sure this was going to be my chance.”

I stand back, giving her space as she locks up. As soon as she tucks her keys into her purse, I reach out, catching her bare hand with my gloved one, and pull her close to my side. Something about having her so near, savoring the soft clasp of her hand around mine, feels perfectly natural.

“Looks like the only way you’re going to get that chance is by going out with me again.”