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  JESSA

  Peony Pointe Series

  Book 1

  By Elsie James

  Copyright © 2020 by Elsie James

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Portions of this book are works of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblances to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover by Ella Barnard

  authorelsiejames.com

  Table of Contents

  JESSA

  Copyright © 2020 by Elsie James

  Chapter 1: Michael

  Chapter 2: Jessa

  Chapter 3: Michael

  Chapter 4: Jessa

  Chapter 5: Michael

  Chapter 6: Jessa

  Epilogue: Jessa One Year Later

  Chapter 1: Ainsley

  Chapter 1: Michael

  “I get it. You’re sick. It was bound to happen sometime. Look, I don’t mind covering, it’s good for me to make deliveries myself from time to time. You know, build my relationships with the shops. Get back in touch with what is happening at GB Nursery. Just get better. I have a baseball game next Tuesday that I don’t plan on missing.”

  I hang up with Sierra just in time to see three new texts on my thread with the team. A pic of me and the guys in our uniforms standing on home plate before the game. A close up of my best friend Shane and Colton’s sweaty faces holding our trophy above their heads. The twelve of us in a selfie at Trixie’s Tavern holding our beers high in victory.

  Shane and I originally assembled our baseball team when we found ourselves back in Peony Pointe after college. Neither of us knew that a decade later, we would still be taking rec league baseball so seriously. But, we love it. The arid climate of California’s wine country allows us to play outside nearly all year. Week after week, we take time away from our careers to meet at the Sandy Diamond.

  I pull onto the narrow Main Street of our tiny town, following my navigation. In typical Peony Pointe fashion, entitled tourists wander casually in front of my huge white truck and just assume that I will see them and stop in time. I don’t know if they’re just drunk from all the wine tastings or if they are so rich that they think even an F-250 can’t stop them.

  Growing up in this town, I spend a lot of time and money trying to preserve its culture. The way they ransack it makes me sick. That’s why I built my business around preserving it’s charm.

  I stop in front of my next delivery location, Petals. I look down at my grimy baseball uniform—a pair of tight, grass-stained white baseball pants and an old team shirt with the sleeves cut off. If I were one of my employees, I would fire myself for making a delivery looking like this. Especially to a newer client.

  But, even if I am a mess, the flowers can’t be. That’s not the GB Nursery way, and even I don’t dare disrespect the GB Nursery way.

  I tear the white floral paper from each individual bulb but leave the plastic mesh that protects the head. I cut the stems out of their brown paper wrappers. With a more than one hour drive from the nursery to downtown, the flowers have to be packaged thoroughly for transport. I place them into their black buckets with our yellow and green GB Nursery logo on them and get them ready to go straight into the cooler.

  I pull open the big wooden door to Petals. This storefront is a true houseplant jungle. Plants with vines in every shade of green hang from the ceiling in white glazed ceramic pots on tiny gold hooks. Their vines form a canopy above the register. Air plants in blown glass bulbs are affixed to the oak pillars of the shelves. Lucky bamboo stands at attention along the entryway.

  From the floor-to-ceiling windows, I can almost see Trixie’s Tavern, my long-standing favorite Tuesday night destination. I’ve noticed this building before, with all of its original brick and wood siding, but this is the first time I have ever made it inside. It’s a nice place.

  But, apparently, no one works here. I ding the little gold bell on the counter for the second time. Nothing. I push open the wooden, saloon-style doors and head toward the back room. A girl with purple hair and a black Petals apron looks startled.

  “Hey, I rang the bell,” I say with a laugh. “I have a delivery.”

  She looks at the giant black buckets of flowers in my hands. “Sierra usually comes around the back and rings the bell.” She points me toward the steel door behind her. “You can just drop them in there.”

  I move past Purple Hair and lean into the large, cold door. I am greeted by flowers of every size and shape arranged meticulously by color.

  My eyes scan the cooler and stop dead when they see it. A woman with her head buried in a bottom shelf and the most luscious ass I have ever seen pointed right at me. Her dark jeans hug the curve of her hips, and I've never been more jealous of an article of clothing.

  Impulsively, I move closer to her. As she pulls her head out of the bottom shelf, a long mane of thick blond hair falls down her back. I immediately imagine myself tangled in it. I move closer, wanting to see more. The woman moves with focus, her back still toward me. She’s so close I can smell the heat radiating off of her skin. Instinctively, I reach out and gently touch the soft golden skin on the back of her arm.

  With a loud shrill scream, her whole body jumps. She turns and looks at me, startled, her blue eyes wide and full cheeks with huge dimples flushed with color. “What are you doing back here?” she shouts.

  The look on her face tells me how weird she finds it that I just touched her arm. But I am inexplicably drawn to her. Her intensity and the way she moves draw me to her. She carries herself with an air of sexy confidence that is irresistible. It's like she should be mine, all of her.

  “Excuse me.” My already deep voice comes out even deeper.

  She scans me up and down, no doubt taking in my filthy uniform. She takes a half-step back, but I see a slight smile tug at the corners of her mouth. “Um, hi. Can I help you?” Her perfect lips mesmerize me as the blood rushes between my legs.

  “I have flowers for you.” I pull three red roses from the bucket and extend them toward her.

  But she doesn’t take them. Instead, she looks at me. “Oh, I’m not the kind of girl that gets flowers from guys. And I am fine with that. I’m the girl that makes sure the flowers other girls get are perfect. My name is Jessa, and this is my shop.”

  My eyes burn into hers, daring them to look away, but they don’t. “My name is Michael, and I’m going to change that.” I pluck individual stems from the buckets and add them to her color-coded cooler, anything to spend more time near her.

  Jessa walks to the front counter, and I love to watch the way her ass sways effortlessly from side to side with each step. Jessa smiles at me, revealing blinding white teeth and the tip of a tongue that I can imagine wrapped around my cock.

  “So, were they out of floral aprons?” she asks with a laugh.

  “I like to make a strong statement.” I catalog every inch of her.

  Her eyes challenge me as she looks back at me and asks, “What's your statement?”

  “I like baseball and sexy women with black floral aprons.”

  ”Clever.” She looks away, her face flushing with color.

  Purple Hair meets us at the counter and tries to hand me her tablet to sign for the delivery. Sorry, Purple Hair, but there’s no way I’m leaving here that easily, not without a date with Jessa.

  “What, you don’t like baseball?” I persist. “How un-American.”

  “Baseball is...fine. Actually, I just don’t ‘do’ sport
s of any kind so…”

  “But you watch them, right? If for no other reason than the uniforms, the biceps, the asses...”

  Jessa’s face hardens. “No, I don’t watch sports. I run a business. I don't expect someone like you to understand that. Just, please leave the rest of them in the cooler and sign here.”

  She pushes the tablet in my direction.

  I stand unmoving, staring.

  “Michael really, it was lovely to meet you.” She smiles, and I see the flash of something else cross her face. I cannot look away. Whatever it is, I want to know it, fix it.

  I step closer to her and place my hand on her forearm. “Maybe it's because you have never done baseball with me. Come watch me play.”

  Jessa turns her body toward me, pulling her arm to her side. She looks directly into my eyes. “I can’t. But thank you. Please tell Sierra I will look forward to her delivery next Tuesday.”

  Not a chance dream girl. “Oh, Sierra has Tuesdays off. I’ll be delivering to you from here on out.”

  Chapter 2: Jessa

  Did that just happen?

  I stand frozen and stare at Michael’s mountainous body as he walks gracefully out of my shop. When he gets to the door, he turns to look back at me with his intense chocolate eyes. He grins at me like he knows something I don’t.

  My heart is racing, which is not like me. My hands twist in my apron. There is something about the way his giant hands delicately delivered even the broken stems to their home within the cooler that made me want to know more.

  “Woah! Who is the tall, dark, and handsome?” Ainsley blows into the shop loudly, dressed in her trademark style—a white designer sundress with Italian heels that cost what I make in a month. With her deep, olive skin and her glossy, jet black hair, Ainsley is a beautiful whirlwind of chaos. “He is soooooo delicious!”

  “That’s Michael,” Juni responds, tucking a strand of purple hair behind her ear, “and apparently, he loves Jessa.”

  “What? Juni, don’t be ridiculous,” I say. “He was just the new delivery guy. It sounds like Sierra’s schedule was changed.”

  “Oh, stop! Jessa, he looked at you like he wanted your body naked in the freezing cooler so he could warm you up.” Juni is laughing so hard she has to brace herself on the marble countertop.

  I bite my top lip to hold back the giant smile that invades my face at the thought. These two have known me for so long, I can’t get away with anything.

  “Interestingggggg,” says Ainsley in her nasally tone that you can only get from growing up on Peony Pointe’s very own Snob Hill. Our little town, tucked among the wineries and vineyards, is a master class in how to divide the haves and have nots. The haves live on Snob Hill, with their own shops, their own schools, and even their own accent. They are mostly fourth and fifth generation wine families with old money. The ranches they live in are properties so large that they almost always include Olympic-size swimming pools, gyms, and guest houses.

  For most of us have nots, so much of what actually exists at the ranches is a mystery. You can drive up the hill, sure, but it’s almost impossible to see anything from outside the extravagant locked gates. You need an in if you want to experience life on Snob Hill. An employer or maybe a friend that can give you a peek behind the gates. Lucky for me, Ainsley and I have been attached at the hip since we were assigned the same dorm room in college.

  We have nots live here, in quaint, humble, and dare I say charming downtown Peony Pointe. Our tiny bungalows are on the outskirts of Main Street, separated from each other by nothing more than a 300 square foot patch of grass, or in my case, dirt.

  I turn my back to Juni and Ainsley and open up the order form. What a perfect opportunity to talk some sense into Ainsley. Her father owns the largest and most prestigious winery in Peony Pointe. A seventy-six acre tourist destination complete with its own vineyard, wedding chapel, steakhouse, hotel, and of course, tasting room. Unlike most heiresses that live off of their parents’ money, Ainsley has a real job as the estate’s lead event planner. I have always admired that about her.

  One of the perks of being best friends with Ainsley is that when it comes time to choose a florist for her lavish parties, Petals is always top of the list. Over the years, I’ve gotten used to the extravagance that infiltrates everything her family does. Want to see a movie? Ainsley will have it screened in her private theater. You want Thai food but the closest location is two hours away? Ainsley will send an assistant to pick it up…in her helicopter. But, the party she’s working on now is different. I can tell that even Ainsley is on edge.

  “Listen, while I have you, can we talk about your father's retirement party?” I ask with a serious tone to make sure she knows I mean business.

  Ainsley pulls out her phone and scrolls her social media. “Sure, let’s talk deets.”

  “Ainsley, I’m serious. Prodigal Posies just don’t exist in this part of the country. Even if they did, they’re so temperamental.” Ainsley rolls her eyes in my direction but I don’t care. “They can’t be cut until the last minute, and if the nursery doesn’t give them the right amount of nitrogen when they are planted—which we have absolutely no way of knowing—they will just wilt in transport.”

  We’ve been friends long enough for me to know that Ainsley’s entitlement renders my true statement completely insignificant, so I switch tactics. “You don’t want a $200,000 party with dead flowers in every picture by the end of the night.”

  Ainsley stands up a bit straighter, if that’s even possible, and slams her phone onto the counter. More than a decade into our friendship, I already know what’s coming. “Jessa! No, I can’t sit around and let you do this to me again. Prodigal Posies are the most exotic, beautiful, lavish flowers in the world! And I am throwing the most lavish party in the world! Don’t tell me all the reasons that it’s not a good idea. You’re not always right. Sometimes, things that are not practical are still the right choice.”

  “What about when you wanted to sleep with the singer from the cruise ship band because he was the biggest star on the boat and you were sure he was the next Jimmy Hendrix?”

  “Ok, well you were right about that. But not this time. There are no limits for this party. Daddy has spent his life building an empire. Don’t you think if anyone deserves to have the Prodigal Peonies, it's him?” Ainsley knows she has me there. Her father is the kind of man anyone would want to have as a father, even without his money.

  “You will find the flowers and they will be perfect.” I hear the light tapping of her heel against the stained concrete floors. With that, I know it’s done. I will find the flowers, and they will be perfect.

  “Well,” Juni says, breaking the tension. “If you’re not going to call Mr. Baseball and arrange a steamy hook-up in the cooler, then why can’t you come with me for speed dating tonight?”

  I roll my eyes, not this again.

  “Yes! I for one think it is a fabulous idea. When was the last time we went out?” asks Ainsley.

  “We go out! We had drinks at Speakeasy with those guys we met at the BART station in San Francisco. And if I remember correctly, I am the only one who did enough research beforehand to know the password to get us in,” I say with pride.

  “We were never not getting in.” Ainsley rolls her eyes.

  “College does not count!” Juni shouts. “We graduated almost ten years ago. You’ll have to do better than that.”

  “Ah! I have one! We went to Darcelle's Drag Show on our road trip to Portland for your brother’s graduation.” I look in Ainsley’s direction.

  “No way,” says Juni. “You didn’t even want to come on that road trip. Ainsley coerced you.”

  “My favorite Jessa is the Jessa who went with me to Sweet Sugar Shack every single night for six weeks while I was getting over Brett.” Ainsley grabs my hand from across the counter.

  “The triple S, baby!” I say wistfully. I can almost taste their raspberry cheesecake.

  “You know, I still hav
e the recipe we came up with,” Juni says.

  “Bye Bye Brett’s Banana Bread,” the three of us say, laughing.

  Juni’s green eyes burn into me and she grabs my other hand. “Jessa, you don’t even have social media anymore. It's like you don’t even care if people know what you’re up to. You could be dead and I wouldn’t know until I showed up for work and you weren’t here.”

  “If I was dead, I couldn’t exactly post about it anyway.”

  “It's just not normal. We’re thirty-one, not sixty,” Juni pleads her case.

  Ugh, I hate when these two gang up on me about this. I have no time for social media. Honestly, it all sounds like fun. The speed dating, the shopping trips, the corgi birthday parties, but I just can’t allow myself those luxuries right now.

  I didn’t grow up on Snob Hill like these two. It was just my mom and me, and she worked so hard. Growing up, she spent every minute working, studying, going to school, cleaning, and compensating for the life she thought I deserved after my dad left. I can’t remember ever seeing my mom watch a movie or plant a garden, let alone go on a date.

  Even now, my mom works as a nurse in the neonatal unit at the hospital. She’s so committed to caring for her patients. We see each other as often as we can. But, in between her extra shifts and Petals, it’s just a couple times a year. Every single thing inside of my tiny downtown bungalow is there because I worked for it. Petals was earned one flower at a time, with her hard work and with my own. I can’t stop now.

  I look at their hands on mine and give them a squeeze. I love these girls so much. Yet, I know we are not the same. When I get myself settled with everything I need, then I will find love. They don’t understand. And I don’t hold that against them because, really, how could they?

  Ainsley’s phone vibrates across the counter. “Listen ladies, I have to run. Juni, I will see you at the Stitch and Bitch tomorrow night. Jessa, call me. Really. And not about the flowers.” She stands to leave, kissing each of us on the cheek.