SadieFox26
Hey
- Joined
- Jul 19, 2026
- Posts
- 31
The bride’s father had mentioned one of his friends to me. Very successful. Beautiful estate. The kind of client who could turn into a serious account.
So when Mr. Jones called and asked me to come by, of course I said yes.
I expected flowers.
I did not expect Mr. Jones.
He opened the door and the first thing I noticed was his size. Tall. Broad shoulders. Athletic. African American. The kind of man who seems to fill a doorway without trying. And his hands were enormous.
The second thing I noticed was the way he looked at me.
Not a quick glance.
A slow one.
I was wearing jean shorts, sandals and a cute fitted top. Nothing outrageous. But before I’d even made it completely through the door, I knew exactly what kind of afternoon this was going to be.
And apparently, so did he.
We started walking through the house while he explained what he wanted. Fresh arrangements. Seasonal pieces. Containers outside. I took notes and asked questions, doing my best professional-florist routine.
Meanwhile, Mr. Jones was doing a terrible job pretending he wasn’t checking me out.
My legs when I walked ahead of him.
My shorts when I bent slightly to look at a table.
My neckline when I leaned over my notebook.
Every time I caught him, he’d bring his eyes back to mine.
But unlike the bride’s father, Mr. Jones didn’t seem particularly embarrassed about getting caught.
That was new.
And I liked it.
Outside, we walked the property together, stopping at several enormous containers near the patio. I crouched beside one to inspect it and could practically feel his eyes on me.
I stood and turned around.
Caught him.
Again.
This time I smiled.
“You’re not very subtle, Mr. Jones.”
For half a second, neither of us said anything.
Then he smiled.
“Wasn’t really trying to be.”
Well.
Okay then.
Suddenly my little game had a player on the other side of the board.
We continued around the property, but everything felt different. I became intensely aware of him walking beside me. Of his size. His voice. Those ridiculous hands.
And I became equally aware that I was enjoying his attention.
Probably too much.
When we went back inside, he stood closer while I showed him something in my notes. Close enough that I could feel his presence beside me.
Then, as we moved past each other, one of those huge hands briefly settled against my lower back.
Just for a moment.
Long enough that there was absolutely no mistaking it.
I froze.
He looked at me.
I looked at him.
That invisible little line we’d been dancing around suddenly felt very, very real.
I should have stepped away immediately.
Instead, I held his eyes for an extra second.
Then I calmly went back to discussing flowers.
Apparently I have developed quite a talent for discussing begonias while my brain is thinking about something else entirely.
When it was finally time to leave, Mr. Jones walked me to the door.
“I’m glad he sent you,” he said.
I smiled.
“So am I.”
And that was it.
Nothing else happened.
But walking back to my car, I realized something.
Tuesday with the bride’s father suddenly wasn’t the only appointment I was looking forward to.
And Mr. Jones?
Something tells me those enormous hands are going to be trouble.
To be continued…
So when Mr. Jones called and asked me to come by, of course I said yes.
I expected flowers.
I did not expect Mr. Jones.
He opened the door and the first thing I noticed was his size. Tall. Broad shoulders. Athletic. African American. The kind of man who seems to fill a doorway without trying. And his hands were enormous.
The second thing I noticed was the way he looked at me.
Not a quick glance.
A slow one.
I was wearing jean shorts, sandals and a cute fitted top. Nothing outrageous. But before I’d even made it completely through the door, I knew exactly what kind of afternoon this was going to be.
And apparently, so did he.
We started walking through the house while he explained what he wanted. Fresh arrangements. Seasonal pieces. Containers outside. I took notes and asked questions, doing my best professional-florist routine.
Meanwhile, Mr. Jones was doing a terrible job pretending he wasn’t checking me out.
My legs when I walked ahead of him.
My shorts when I bent slightly to look at a table.
My neckline when I leaned over my notebook.
Every time I caught him, he’d bring his eyes back to mine.
But unlike the bride’s father, Mr. Jones didn’t seem particularly embarrassed about getting caught.
That was new.
And I liked it.
Outside, we walked the property together, stopping at several enormous containers near the patio. I crouched beside one to inspect it and could practically feel his eyes on me.
I stood and turned around.
Caught him.
Again.
This time I smiled.
“You’re not very subtle, Mr. Jones.”
For half a second, neither of us said anything.
Then he smiled.
“Wasn’t really trying to be.”
Well.
Okay then.
Suddenly my little game had a player on the other side of the board.
We continued around the property, but everything felt different. I became intensely aware of him walking beside me. Of his size. His voice. Those ridiculous hands.
And I became equally aware that I was enjoying his attention.
Probably too much.
When we went back inside, he stood closer while I showed him something in my notes. Close enough that I could feel his presence beside me.
Then, as we moved past each other, one of those huge hands briefly settled against my lower back.
Just for a moment.
Long enough that there was absolutely no mistaking it.
I froze.
He looked at me.
I looked at him.
That invisible little line we’d been dancing around suddenly felt very, very real.
I should have stepped away immediately.
Instead, I held his eyes for an extra second.
Then I calmly went back to discussing flowers.
Apparently I have developed quite a talent for discussing begonias while my brain is thinking about something else entirely.
When it was finally time to leave, Mr. Jones walked me to the door.
“I’m glad he sent you,” he said.
I smiled.
“So am I.”
And that was it.
Nothing else happened.
But walking back to my car, I realized something.
Tuesday with the bride’s father suddenly wasn’t the only appointment I was looking forward to.
And Mr. Jones?
Something tells me those enormous hands are going to be trouble.
To be continued…
