I smile through the chewing and hold up a finger. Then I point at the bay window on the other side of the kitchen.
“Bollucks. That is… a lot…of flowers. Are they all from Callum?”
I swallow. “Yep. And that’s not even all of them. There are about six more bouquets in the closet. I thought maybe the darkness would kill them but so far, they’re alive and well.”
“Damn. Can’t say the man isn’t dedicated. Stupid. But dedicated. What are you going to do with them?”
At that I smile. “I was going to throw them out but that seemed weird. Then I thought about donating them to a funeral home, but I don’t think any mourning families want fuck-up flowers on their loved ones graves.”
“You could always send them back,” Iris suggests.
A grin tugs at my lips. “I could. I could send them back…to him.”
Iris’s eyes widen and she dabs her mouth with her napkin. “That’s not what I meant. I meant you could send them back to–”
“Oh, I know what you meant,” I cut her off. “But I think I like my idea better. Just imagine, every day he sends a bouquet to my apartment. And the next day, that same bouquet shows up in his office. Haunting him.”
“That is…one way to get your point across,” Iris nods skeptically. “You could also…talk to him.”
“I don’t want to talk to him,” I say flatly. I don’t intend for there to be a tone but after the conversation I had with Noah, I’m kind of over explaining that.
“Even if you don’t decide to be with him or even to forgive him, you do need to figure out what you’re going to do as far as the baby goes. Even if he doesn’t want to be a part of their life, child support should be considered.”
I set my sandwich aside, suddenly feeling ill.
Iris puts an empathetic hand on my knee. “I know it’s hard. All of this is just terrible. But you can’t ignore him forever. He is the father of that baby. And who knows. Maybe he’ll surprise you.”
“I don’t want to be surprised, Iris. I want to feel like I was chosen because he loves me. Not considered because he’s trapped.”
I blink back the tears in my eyes and Iris swallows hard too. “I understand. But I still think you should talk to him. If nothing else, it’ll stop the flower shop from slowly taking over your home. Because this is insane.” She points at the dozens if not hundreds of flowers pouring out of the kitchen and we both laugh.
She’s right. I should talk to him. And I will…when I’ve gotten my point across.
Chapter 37
Callum
“Ithink it’s safe to say that flowers are not Amanda’s love language.” Noah walks into my office sniggering at the dozens of vases around the room. “I will say though, if losing her has cost Hardin any money, you could totally start a floral pop-up shop in here and probably breakeven–”
“Shut up,” I spit out. Noah snaps his mouth shut, loses the smirk and his expression softens. He watches thoughtfully as I pace the room, hands in my pockets.
“I have sent her bouquet after bouquet. I’ve tried different colors of roses. I’ve tried peonies. I’ve tried tulips. Carnations. Lilies. Fucking irises. And every single batch she got rid of. But she didn’t throw them out. Oh, no. Amanda had them sent to my office,” I motion my hands around the room at the obvious. “Every single batch is a slap in the face. A reminder that she does not in fact want to have anything to do with me.”
“I think she might just need a minute,” Noah says.
“How do you know what she needs?” I snap. “You may have more notches on your hotel bed posts than anyone else at this company all because of your long hair and your boyish smile but I don’t see you in any long-lasting relationships.”
It’s a blow beneath the belt, I know. But I’m hurting right now. I never hurt. I never allow myself to hurt. It’s kind of the side effect of your mother walking out on you as a child. But I have reached a new low and I’m coming to terms with it.
Noah rubs the nape of his neck. “Because I’ve talked to her.”
My attention whips over to him. “You’ve talked to Amanda? About what? And you didn’t tell me?”
“You do know she is still writing for us, right? Out of the make-shift studio in her apartment. January is still working with her, and someone has to manage that.”
“I AM the manager of that!” I bark out. “I should be the one doing it!”
Noah holds face. He’s used to this version of me. “Well. She doesn’t want to work with you. So, Hiram asked me to do it. We can’t lose this artist, Callum. You know that.”
