Translation: I have, in fact, been loitering outside your workplace like a full-blown weirdo.
Before I can psych myself into hitting send—or throw my phone into traffic—I see him.
Or rather,them.
Edward strides out of the hospital, in a sexy, distinguished navy suit, but he’s not alone.
The woman from the funeral—the tall, elegant, effortlessly stunning woman—is walking beside him.
My stomach drops.
I should leave. Ishouldturn around and text him later. Or never. Probably never.
Edward’s eyes catch mine. His face shifts—first surprised, then confused. At least he doesn’t lookannoyed. That’s something.
I panic-wave.
He bends down, murmurs something to the posh goddess glued to his arm, then strides toward me. Oh god, he’s getting hotter with every step, all sharp jaw and brooding vibes. This is a disaster.
“Daisy,” he says when he reaches me. His tone is neutral. Not unkind. Not particularly warm, either. “Everything all right?”
“Yes!” I say.Too loud. Dear god, too loud.“I mean—yes. Top form, really. I just . . . I wanted to talk to you. About something.”
His brow lifts, waiting.
I take a deep breath, forcing myself to hold eye contact.Don’t mess it up.
“Mum told me what you did for her. The chemo. The private doctors. All of it. And I know you didn’t want me to know, but . . .” My throat tightens. I should have just sent a damn text. “Thank you. Really. It means a lot.”
Silence.
Edward’s face remains its usual masterpiece of non-expression.
Finally, he says, voice maddeningly even, “Your mum has done a lot for mine over the years. It was the least I could do.”
I nod, swallowing hard. “You didn’t have to.”
“It was the right thing to do. Your mum’s a very kind woman. Anyway . . .” His gaze flickers briefly over his shoulder to the goddess—oh sorry,his friend—who is still standing at a respectful distance, exuding an aura of patience.
I, meanwhile, feel like time’s slipping through my fingers. Or maybe it’s already gone.
I glance at him again. The sharp lines of his face. He looks . . . tired. Tired in a way that tugs at something in my chest.
“I feel like I owe you the world.”Jesus Christ, tone it down.
His jaw tightens. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“Oh, Idefinitelydo. I shouldn’t have been rude to you.”
His frown deepens.
“After the funeral, I mean—”
“I know what you’re referring to,” he cuts in. “It’s fine. Forgotten.”
Ouch. Forgotten. I was never important enough to even hold a grudge against.
I nod stiffly, trying to shake off the sting. What was I expecting? That he’d sweep me into his arms, kiss me in front of his elegant, impossibly tall friend, and confess he’s been in love with me this whole time?
