She drove home, trying to keep her mind empty. A cup of hot tea and a good night’s sleep would go a long way to settling her frazzled nerves. When she pulled into her parking spot, a large delivery truck pulled up beside her. She gave the man a distracted wave as she trotted toward her apartment.
She was hanging up her jacket in the foyer when there was a knock on the front door.
The flower delivery man stood outside holding a bouquet of red roses.
“Margot Ko... walski?” he said carefully, double-checking a clipboard.
“Yes. Wait. Are those all for me? Oh my God! I’ve never gotten flowers before.”
The older man chuckled, although not unkindly.
“Well don’t go far, hun.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m coming back up.” He jogged away and returned again with tulips. Then pink roses. Then orchids. Then...huh. She didn’t know the more obscure flower species. And still more bouquets kept coming.
“Here’s the last one.” The delivery man was eclipsed by a profusion of long tropical fronds.
“This is too much. What do you think? Should I start selling tickets for my very own botanical garden?” Nibbles pressed against the glass, curious to discover that he now lived in a jungle. “Is there a card from the sender?”
The man shook his head.
It didn’t matter. She knew who it was.
“What did your man do to mess up this bad? I’ve seen grovels in my day. But never anything like this. Did he run off with your sister or somethin’? Take your savings and blow it on the track?”
“I don’t have a man,” Margot replied softly. “But the guy who did this didn’t mess up. Just the opposite.”
“Well lady, looks like you found yourself some kind of keeper. Although gotta say, he makes the rest of us look pretty bad.” And with that, the man tipped his hat and walked out.
“Oh wow,” Margot murmured, looking around at the vibrant colors. The room was filled with intoxicating perfumes. In one fell swoop, the dreariness of winter had vanished before this bountiful, insistent profusion of life.
Had a guy ever done anything close to this level of over-the-top romantic?
The answer was simple: hell and no.
She reached out and plucked off a petal from the closest rose, smoothed her thumb over the velvet softness. Her shiver didn’t come from the cold.
“I’m in real trouble here, aren’t I,” she said to Nibbles, to herself.
The heater came on, humming its assent.
Patrick Donnelly was leading her down an uncharted path. A guy who paid attention to her pleasure and made romantic gestures? This was new terrain.
Total virgin territory.
Chapter Ten
Patch played his heart out at practice. He wasn’t a fan of drills. Yet another sore spot between him and Coach. Practice sharpened the rest of the team, but he feared it could have the opposite effect on him. A goalie was only as good as his instincts. The team lived and died on his snap-judgment decisions. Practice for a goalie could dull those instincts. Because guys took a few seconds to set up the perfect shot. There wasn’t that sort of luxury in a game. It was all act, react. Act, react. Rinse, repeat.
But he was determined to turn over a new leaf. To get along. Go with the flow.
Besides, he had Nate Reed breathing down his neck. The backup goalie was across the rink serving as little better than target practice for a few of the shooters who needed extra work.
“Donnelly,” Tor called him over. “You’re looking sharp.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
