Somebody to Love (Gideon's Cove #3)(52)

She hoped Lavinia would let her do Maggie’s wedding bouquet. Maggie had been so nice to her, so welcoming. Parker had gotten an invitation to the wedding, even. And Malone had smiled at her the other night. Maybe. It was sort of hard to tell, but Parker had a bit of a soft spot for him, as he was the first resident she’d met. She liked looking out for his boat each night, knowing he was safely back home and on his way to Nice Maggie.

“You’d think I’d be cynical,” Parker said aloud to Beauty as she swept the floor. “But I’m not. I love love. Gross, huh?”

Beauty’s tail swished in agreement, her eyes never leaving Parker.

It was too bad they couldn’t keep the cottage as a summer place. It was hard not to fall in love with this town.

Well. Maybe someday.

The bell over the door rang, and Parker looked up to see who it was. An older man in a suit, not someone she’d met before. Beauty fled to her hiding spot under the worktable behind the counter.

“Hello,” Parker said. “How can I help you?”

“I’d like a potted plant for my mother,” he answered.

“Sure. Take a look around. Is it a special occasion?”

“Well, we had to put her in a nursing home, poor thing.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“And I don’t make it up here too often.” He gave her a once-over. “I live in Winter Haven. Ever been?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

He reminded her of Harry; his suit was expensive, and his leather briefcase gleamed. Parker would bet he drove a German car and lived in a house on the water. He glanced dismissively at the Boston ferns and African violets, the jade plant and the cheerful yellow primrose. “Got anything else? Something a bit more…”

“Exotic?” Parker supplied.

“Exactly,” he answered, smiling. “You read my mind.” Another glance at her chest. In a way, flattering that he was checking her out, as she was filthy from cleaning and dressed in a once-white T-shirt and jeans. On the other hand, he exuded that entitled vibe—I can look at your boobs because I’m rich, and you’re a serving wench as far as I’m concerned.

“Well, what you see is pretty much it,” she said.

“What’s in the greenhouse?”

“Right. Um, we have some rare plants back there.”

“Would you mind showing me those?”

Parker hesitated; it really was Vinnie’s domain. Then again, her cousin grew them to sell, ostensibly.

“I don’t mind paying extra,” the guy said. “My mom deserves the best.”

And Vin could use the money. “Sure. Let me get the key. We have some orchids. Does your mom like those?”

“Doesn’t everyone?” he answered. “They’re almost as pretty as you. Dan Jacobs, by the way.”

Yep. A Harry. Dan Jacobs had to be sixty-five if he was a day, complete with wedding ring, but it seemed that once a man passed forty, he suffered some kind of acute stroke that affected his mathematical abilities, encouraging him to hit on women young enough to be his daughter. The Hugh Hefner School of Nasty.

“And you are?” he asked.

“Parker. Nice to meet you.”

“Very nice to meet you.”

Beauty growled, very softly. Indeed, sweetie. “Let’s see what we have,” Parker said, her voice brisk. She took Vin’s key from the drawer, opened the padlocked door and pushed it open.

She hadn’t been in here yet. There were orchids, all right. About ten of them were in rather sparse bloom, a couple of blossoms here and there, but nothing really striking. More of the orchids were dormant—unremarkable, rubbery green leaves in pots. But the other plants, maybe fifty in all, looked like houseplants—densely growing, delicate leaves, almost like a miniature green Japanese maple. Some of them had fluffy white flowers akin to something Dr. Seuss might’ve drawn. They were very pretty, though Parker had no idea what they were.

“I like those,” Dan Jacobs said. “Are they orchids, too?”

“I don’t think so,” Parker said. She checked one or two of the pots for an identifying plastic stick. Nothing. No sticker on the bottom, either.

“Well, I’ll take one,” the guy said. “Wrap it up with some pretty foil, if you would.”

“Sure.” Parker could find no price tag…well, she’d charge him seventy-five dollars. Looked as if he could afford it.

As she wrapped the pot and tied some ribbon around it, Dan Jacobs leaned forward, the thick smell of his cologne enveloping her. “So I wonder if a beautiful woman like you would like to have dinner with me,” he said, showing a whitened grin.

“I’m pretty sure your wife wouldn’t like that,” Parker answered, smiling to soften the blow.

“My wife has nothing to do with this,” he said.

The guy was just like her dad. Hey, what did marriage mean when you could bang a younger woman, right?

“No thank you,” Parker answered. “You’re a few decades too old for me. That’ll be seventy-five dollars, please.”

“Bitch,” he muttered, very softly. He put down four twenties and walked out of the store without waiting for change.

“You’re disgusting,” Parker sang out once he was out of sight. Well, at least it was a good sale. Vin would be pleased; the African violets were six bucks apiece.