Four Weddings and a Werewolf (Entangled Covet) by Kristin Miller Page B

peonies, Asiatic lilies, orchids, lisianthus, and a different variation of orchids. P-A-O-L-O.”
    The idea was out of left field, and very, undeniably brilliant. Veronica stared so long, her eyes dried. She blinked quickly. “What—where…?”
    Where’d that come from? was what she’d wanted to say. Instead, she gibbered.
    “I think the bride might actually go for that,” Patsy said, snapping Veronica out of her haze. “Where did you learn that?”
    Logan stood and disappeared behind the counter. He came back with a fistful of tissues that he smashed against his ruddy nose. “I’ve been around a while and learned a lot.”
    “I’ll say.” Patsy gave her the scoop-him-up-before-he-disappears eye. “I’m going to give the bride a call right now, tell her your suggestion, and see if we can get moving.”
    “I should probably—” Veronica began, but Patsy put a hand on the table, stopping her.
    “No, sweetheart. You stay here with this handsome gentleman.” She winked at him. “I’ll be back in a jiff.”
    When she strode to the back, Veronica returned her iPad to her bag and fished out her phone. Anything not to have to look directly at Logan. “I think that’s actually going to work,” she said. “Thanks for the suggestion.”
    “I was just hoping it’d get us out of here faster.”
    “There is no ‘us,’ Logan.” But there was more to his floral suggestion than simply wanting them to hurry the decision-making along. Call it curiosity; Veronica couldn’t help but ask… “If you ever get married, is that what you’d want your bride to do for you?”
    “ My bride ?” He shook his head and laughed. “Remember my one-night rules? I won’t ever have a bride.”
    “But if you did?”
    He leaned close, covering the space over the tiny table. The air in the shop rocketed from cool to sizzling. “If I did get married, I’d want a woman who understood that the actual wedding doesn’t matter. It’s one day and one night. That’s all.” He flicked a picture in the binder. “I’d want a woman who had a sense of humor and wouldn’t be afraid to make a bouquet out of pussy willow. Lots and lots of pussy willow.”
    Veronica laughed as Logan emphasized the first part of the word. But by the second time it escaped his lips, heat tingled up her neck.
    “I don’t think that’d make a very pretty bouquet,” she said, crossing her legs.
    “I think pussy willow would be a great addition to any kind of arrangement.” He licked his lips slowly, as though he was savoring certain flavors that might’ve lingered there. “What’s wrong, Veronica? Am I making you uncomfortable?”
    “Of course not.” She shuddered, but tried to play off that she was cold. She brushed her hands over her arms and stared outside. “I wonder what’s taking Patsy so long?”
    “Maybe she’s trying to convince the bride to add pussy willow to her arrangement.”
    Veronica shot to her feet. “Would you quit saying that word! No bride would put that in her bouquet—it’s dirty.”
    “Oh, come on, it’s funny. People take this stuff too seriously. I mean, if you were my bride, for example—not that I’d ever let that happen—and you made your bouquet out of pussy willow, I’d make my boutonniere out of”—he turned a page in the binder and laughed—“ cocks comb.” Looking thoroughly pleased with himself, Logan leaned back, pushed his hips forward and kicked his foot up on his opposite leg. Why couldn’t she take her eyes off his crotch? Did he have to display himself like that? With his hips pushed out and a very obvious bulge in his pants? “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the word pussy willow,” he said. “In fact, I think you should say it.”
    What would it prove? That she could say the word “pussy”? She was twenty-seven years old and could say the word whenever she pleased…but not if it meant pleasing him. She wouldn’t give him the gratification.
    “You’re