#ft;jo

Noah had ordered a hundred bouquets of snapdragons. Their soft sunset hues taunted him–reminding him of his moment of weakness. He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. How was he supposed to be explain a hundred bouquets?

Noah Smith had become quite the pushover. Maybe it was the insidious warm nature of Carroll it? 

When he'd invited Josephine Harrison to shoot at the vineyard, he'd planned to be casual about it. No big deal. He'd make the place look nice with a few bundles of winter flowers from the local florists but instead, he was left with this mess.

But, the prospect of seeing her smile had been enough to make him stupid. So stupid. Now, he had to find a place for all the vases and he'd run out of surfaces thirty bouquets earlier.

He glanced at his watch. Shit, Jo would be there any minute. He contempla his options, surveying his domain of flowers. They were lovely, he had to admit.

Letting out a sigh, he gave up. There was no getting out of this one after all. Maybe if he played his cards right, she'd think he'd done it on purpose as some kind of avante garde statement.

“Jo, hey,” Noah hadn't noticed the artist sneaky entrance, he'd been so lost in thought. “Make yourself at home. Can I get you anything?” His hand found the back of his neck absently, a bright smile spreading across his lips. It was good to see her–good to see this person who'd once been a staple in his life. When he looked at her, he was reminded of the endlessly green landscape of Bordeaux and the sun glinting off the Garonne River. It was like he was twenty four again.