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Chapter Twenty Seven

“Funny-looking fucking restaurant,” I muttered, staring at the florist’s sign. The windows were packed with different flower arrangements, from pastel colors to bright colors, from small bouquets to large, fancy baskets. “What kind of florist opens on a Sunday?”

“The kind of florist who wants my cousin’s wedding under their belt,” Ivan replied. “I was told to come here so you can help her decide flowers. Then we’ll have lunch.”

“I can help her decide? I’m sorry, but I’m starting to wonder if it’s me or Aaron marrying Dayton!”

“Have you ever seen a guy pick flowers?”

“No, but if I keep having to plan his wedding, he’ll be picking flowers out of his asshole.” I shrugged off his jacket and stormed from the car, spotting Aaron and Dayton inside.

Ivan grabbed my hand and tugged me back. “Calm down, feisty. Aaron would likel

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