London hefted two forty-pound bags of black mulch over his right shoulder and headed toward Mrs. Brown’s truck. The little red Nissan was a familiar sight in the parking lot of his mother’s flower shop during the spring. The truck bed bounced, and the struts whined in protest of the added weight.

“Any chance you could follow me home and help me unload, too?” Coming from anyone else, that questions would have been suggestive and flirty. However, Mrs. Brown was two and a half times his age, and the only suggestion she’d tossed his way was a sample of her applesauce chocolate chip cookies.

He swiped theatrically at his brow. “Wish I could, but the boss is a slave driver.”

“You’re a sweet kid.” She patted his tummy, because that was the highest point she could reach. He had no doubt she’d pinch his cheeks if she could reach them.

“I’ll come by sometime soon and check your roses for mold, though.”

“I’d appreciate that. My peepers ain’t what they used to be.” She tapped her temple and climbed into the truck.

He hoped her peepers were good enough to drive. She managed to make it into traffic without a mishap, and he let out the breath he’d been holding. He ducked under the wooden archway and into the nursery proper. The “shop” was one giant tent equipped with fans and a cooling system. They weren’t trying to chill the place so much as they wanted to dampen the hottest month’s enthusiasm. Indoor plants were displayed here, as were pots of different shapes and sizes, herbs, garden gnomes, pink flamingos, a cooler for cut-flower orders, and a small gifts section.

He’d built the register counter out of shipping pallets, adapting a schematic he found online. It was high enough for a three-drawer filing cabinet underneath and short enough that his mom didn’t have to stand on her tiptoes to give change. There were two customers in line, but neither looked like they’d need help loading, so he headed out to “the yard” to spend some time with something green.

Low tables covered with flowers dotted the fenced area, creating a checkerboard effect. Chalkboard signs indicating perennials, annuals, shrubs, and trees hung off decorative hooks. Customers browsed, sometimes reaching out to rub a leaf or cup a blossom. Rarely did anyone run through here. He didn’t know why, couldn’t explain the way his thoughts came to order out here as if they were in neat little containers or labeled with chalk signs.

Lately, he only needed one container, and it was clearly labeled: Maia.

He unrolled a coiled hose and began watering the cannas. In the bright pink color, he could see the swirl of Maia’s dress. She’d grown up since their last talk. The parts of her that had been skinny were now elegant and graceful. She didn’t let that dress make her beautiful; she made the dress into so much more than silk and thread.

A small hand patted his shoulder blade and his mom came around to smile up at him. “You’re going to drown my cannas.”

He immediately jerked the hose over a new plant. “Sorry.”

She pressed her lips together, weighing her words. “You’ve been in your own world for a week now.” She scratched out her words. “Your father didn’t try to contact you again, did he?”

London hated when she used the words “your father.” He understood why she didn’t want to say his name—his name was associated with too many painful memories for her. But he didn’t like having that man labeled “father.”

He shook his head. Even if Reed had tried to contact London, there were measures in place to keep him from getting through.

“So what’s on your mind?” Mom took the hose from him, changing the attachment to the rain setting, and moved it from plant to plant.

London fingered a rubbery leaf. “I ran into Maia the other night.”

“Oh?” Mom turned partway to look at him and then went back to her chore.

“I can’t stop thinking about how things ended.” He paused. “Actually, I can’t stop thinking about how things started either.”

“Beginnings are always more fun than endings.”

“More flower pot wisdom?” he teased. Ever since she’d opened the nursery, The Flower Pot, Mom was a veritable fountain of advice on anything that grew: plants, grass, children, love. It was like she’d been in a seed all those years she was married to Sam and when she finally found a safe place to plant herself, her personality burst out like the petals on a peony. London was still getting used to this woman. He loved her, but he didn’t know her growing up.

Mom threatened him with the water, and he backed away quickly. She wasn’t really trying to soak him, just keeping the conversation light. He appreciated her efforts. “The beginning of a relationship is like planting a seed. There’s so much hope for that seed that any progress, no matter how small, is celebrated. Once the plant is full-grown, the fact that it blossoms is often taken for granted.”

“Hey, Mom. Why was Yoda such a good gardener?”

She poked him in the side. “Because he had a green thumb.”

“Yes.” He dropped his arm over her shoulder and chuckled.

“You should talk to her. You two planted a seed and never saw it grow.”

“I can’t call her. She’s super famous.”

Mom laughed. “You’re super famous. Have your people call her people and you can do lunch—isn’t that how it’s done?”

“I have no idea,” he mused. He’d dated several recognizable women before, but none of them on Maia’s level of fame. She probably lived in a gated community with an armed guard at the front door and shaded windows to keep the paparazzi from looking in. “Anyway, I have the charity date tonight. I should focus on that.”

“Who’s the lucky lady?”

“Anna Cardoniva.”

“Pretty name.”

“Pretty lady.” She was a five-foot-seven blonde with eyelashes as thick as caterpillars. Normally, he’d be looking forward to showing her the town. He needed to get his head on straight. He kissed his mom on the top of the head. “Mind if I take off? I want to get a haircut.”

“Go. I don’t need you drowning my plants. Maybe this lady will take your mind off of Maia.”

“Maybe.” He pulled the green apron over his head and folded it up as he walked out back where his truck was parked. He climbed in, letting the heat soak into his muscles. Off-season workouts would start soon. He felt excellent. Strong. No player ever left a season feeling a hundred percent. They all had weak knees, sore ankles, tired shoulders, or muscle strain. He appreciated the time to let his body heal, but not being busy was messing with his head.

He stared down at the console and a memory clouded his vision. A happy memory, a planting memory. He was hiding behind the stage, way in the back where the old props were stored. The place was an accident waiting to happen with giant Easter Island heads toppling into Main Street River City building fronts. It was the perfect place to hide …

London leaned his head against the cold pipe, not even caring that no one had cleaned it for a decade. The dust and dirt rubbed into his forehead like sand stuck under his helmet.

The door creaked open and someone entered. It had to be a girl. No guy had such a light step. He peeked around the rack of circus costumes and watched Maia turn in a slow circle. She blew her bangs off her forehead and planted her hands on her hips.

He hadn’t spoken to her since the homecoming game. Not that he hadn’t noticed her in the hallway. Every day between fifth and sixth period, they crossed paths. She was surrounded by thespians and tailed by that guy who always had a ukulele. And London traveled with a pack of linemen. But their gazes would cross all of that and still connect for five whole seconds. He knew because he’d counted them one day—wondering if time slowed down, because that’s what it felt like when Maia looked at him, like he had all the time in the world to stare into her deep brown eyes.

He could use some of that time right now. Without thinking through the consequences, he stepped out of the shadows and whispered her name.

She screamed.

He put both hands in front of him. “It’s me. Relax.”

“What are you doing in here?” She pressed her hands against her chest. A vein right above her collarbone pulsed quickly.

He turned his face away, hiding his right eye in the shadows. “Hanging out.”

“More like hiding out.”

“Maybe.” He lifted a shoulder.

She moved her hands to her belly as if that’s where her courage came from and she was gathering it to talk to him. “Why?”

He closed his eyes for a minute. He was tired. So tired of hiding in plain sight. Just once, he wanted someone to see the truth. He couldn’t bring that to light—but this wasn’t that, and he refused to lie to Maia. The look in her eyes, when he’d dropped that kiss on her out of the clear blue sky, was a look he’d never seen before. It filled him up, inspired him to do better, be better, and still gave room for him to fall on his face.

He turned so she could have a better view of his shiner.

She gasped. “What happened?” In seconds she’d found a chair and brought it over for him, motioning for him to sit.

He did. “I was coming back from lunch and a couple guys from Skyview jumped me.”

“A couple?” she asked, disgusted.

“Three.”

She talked as she walked to the side of the stage, looking for something. “It took three guys to do that to you?”

“Yeah, but they look worse.” He smiled, which caused him to cringe as his cheek lifted.

She gave him a pointed look before returning to her quest.

“I didn’t start it, but I finished it.”

“Aha!” She tossed a small first-aid kit into the air and grinned, triumphant. “Is that why you’re hiding? Because they’re coming after you?” She eyed the side door.

“Naw. They’re long gone.” The thought of those guys coming anywhere near Maia made him hot all over. He’d do some major damage if they even tried. “I’m back here praying for a miracle.”

She brought over a stool, which put her at the exact same height as him.

He liked looking her in the eye. “You have beautiful eyes.”

She paused and dropped her gaze. “Thanks. So do you. I—I mean your eyes are nice. To look at. Into?”

He chuckled and placed his hand on her knee. A current passed between them. It was thick and gooey and sweet and bright and traveled straight up to his heart. Both of them stared at his hand on her knee.

“Did you feel that?” she whispered.

“Yeah.” He licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry.

She cleared her throat and dropped her gaze to the first aid kit, jolting as if she’d forgotten it was there. “Let’s clean you up as best we can.”

He left his hand there because it felt right. She didn’t seem to mind. She even placed her hand on his shoulder. It was small and light, like having a robin sit there. Her long hair fell forward and brushed his arm.

“You were telling me why you were hiding.” She focused on tearing open antiseptic wipes.

“Oh, uh.”

She cupped his chin and turned his face away from her, dabbing the bruised and swollen skin around his eye.

“Coach has a no-tolerance policy on fighting. Doesn’t matter if we don’t start it—we’re off the team.” Her ministrations were slow and comforting. He’d been patched together more times than he wanted to know and had never enjoyed the experience. He hated people touching him. On the field, he got to fight back, and most of the time he was the one sending the other guy to the ground. His teammates knew better than to smack him on the back in the hallway or pretend to punch him; he didn’t have to tell any of them twice to keep their hands off. And he only ever put up with medical attention because he had to. This was so different. Every brush of Maia’s fingers was warm and inviting. He continued talking, not wanting her to stop. “If he finds out, he’ll cut first and ask questions later—probably after my dad comes in and chews his butt.”

Maia smiled. “It’s nice that your dad has your back.”

That turned his tongue off. “Yeah.” He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she cracked an ice pack and placed it on the side of his face. Her other hand went to his uninjured cheek to remind him to hold still.

His eyes dropped to her lips. She had great lips. The top one arched without a dip in the middle. Everyone had a dip, but not Maia. She was different in so many good ways. He wondered if he’d notice a difference in her lips if he kissed her. He shouldn’t be thinking those things. Not about a girl like Maia. She was … smart and driven and … waiting for him to say something. “You sing pretty. Your song, it was really pretty.”

She smiled shyly. “Thanks for helping me. I don’t think I would have made it out there if it wasn’t for you.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

Her bottom lip pouted out. He thought about what he’d said and his hand tightened on her knee. She was so small and delicate to touch, but the fire inside made her appear much bigger.

“I didn’t mean that the kiss didn’t mean anything to me; I meant that I was happy to do it,” he blurted. His neck warmed and he rolled his eyes at himself. “I—I didn’t mean. I mean—”

She giggled. “That’s good to know.”

Girls giggled around him all the time. They had high-pitched squeals and covered their mouths to hide their real laughter. Maia’s giggle was low, throaty, attractive, and it stirred all sorts of enjoyable feelings inside of him.

He placed his large hand over the top of her hand, resting on his cheek. “Do you ever wish you were someone else?”

Her cheeks colored and she glanced away. He couldn’t tell if it was his touch or his question that produced her blush. “I used to, when I was little.”

“I do all the time.”

Her right eyebrow quirked. “Why?”

There wasn’t much he could say. To the outside world, he had it all—the talent, the college scouts sending emails, a father who cheered him on, and a mom who smiled through it all. He couldn’t break the carnival mirror, and so he said, “Because if I were anyone else, I’d kiss you right now.”

A small gasp escaped her lips, and her hand began to tremble under his. She stared deep into his eyes, deeper than anyone had ever looked. No one dove past his size, his abilities, or his grades. No one except Maia. She’d done the same dive in the tunnel, and it had touched a part of his soul he’d kept locked away for a long time. Despite his better judgment, he let her in, allowed all the darkest parts of himself to reflect in his gaze.

And she took it all in. Every last bit of him.

The ugly, the pain, the triumphs, the hopes, all of it.

He was the one short on breath now. She slowly lowered the ice pack and it ker-plopped to the floor. “What if I don’t want to kiss someone else? What if I want to kiss you?”

He brushed her hair over her shoulder, searching her face for some sign that she was joking, toying with him to see how far she could push before yanking away. She stared at him with an openness that spoke of safety and a love unlike any he’d ever known.

He tugged her off the stool, wrapping his arm around her lower back. Even through all their clothing, he could feel her warmth, like lying on a heated massage table. Only there would be no painful kneading of muscle or stretching of sinew with Maia. Maia was the promise of all things desirable.

With the sweet scent of her peppermint gum filling his senses, he brushed his lips against hers. A slow one-two-three count, and then he broke contact. With other girls, he might have gone for more, but with Maia, he wanted to savor the journey.