The bell above the door of 'Fleurs de Mai' chimed, a sound Julia had come to associate with the end of her day. She was already sliding the lock into place when she heard his voice, low and unmistakable, from the other side of the glass.
"Miss? Am I too late?"
Her pulse jumped. She knew that voice, hadn't heard it in a month. She turned to find Ryker Doyle standing there, his broad shoulders blocking out the fading Miami sunset. He wasn't in his usual severe suit. Dark denim hugged his legs, and a simple black t-shirt stretched across a chest that was all disciplined muscle. He was still intimidating, a statue carved from shadow and silence, but the casual clothes made him seem... approachable. Almost.
"For a bouquet?" she asked, her own voice sounding too bright, too young. "I'm afraid I'm all out of lilies."
"No." His steel-grey eyes held hers, unblinking. "I'm not here for flowers. I'm here for you. Our date was a disaster. My fault. I'd like to try again. Somewhere... less formal."
A flicker of surprise, then amusement, warmed her. "You left me with a half-eaten crème brûlée and a bill."
"I'll buy you a new one. A better one." His expression was, as always, utterly unreadable. "Right now."
An hour later, they were seated on the terrace of a luxurious hotel suite, the city lights beginning to glitter like scattered diamonds below them. A room service cart sat between them, laden with desserts. The air was warm, smelling of salt and sugar and the intoxicating scent of the night-blooming jasmine climbing the balcony.
Julia took a small spoonful of the honey-drizzled baklava. "This is certainly better than a stuffy restaurant."
Ryker watched her, his gaze intense. "You're not what I expected."
"What did you expect?"
"Someone... less vibrant." He leaned forward, and for the first time, she saw a crack in his armor. A flicker of something in those cool eyes. "You see me every day, covered in dirt, talking to plants. And you still agreed to a blind date with the grim reaper of the florist shop."
A laugh escaped her, light and genuine. "You are not grim. You are... serious. And you have excellent taste in flowers." She gestured with her spoon. "And apparently, in desserts. Though you haven't tried any."
"I'm enjoying the view," he said, and his voice had dropped an octave, the meaning shifting. He wasn't looking at the city.
