“Here,” I murmured, stepping into his space. Instead of moving out of the way, I swear, he actually leaned closer. Ignoring his heat as best I could, I rearranged the flowers a little so that the amaryllis blossoms spread out a bit more and surrounded the two callas.
“Perfection.” Monroe’s breath gusted across my cheek. I didn’t turn to look at him, but I knew I was smiling.
Monroe produced a pair of scissors from his pocket and started snipping the straws down to size. I jumped in, too, wrapping the stems together with floral tape so no water leaked out to make the cake gross and inedible. It took only a few minutes, and then we had several bunches, like big boutonnieres, ready to be placed in the cake.