“Something like that,” I'd said, because there wasn't really a word to fit what he was yet.
What did you call a man who tried your favorite bagel order, learned your coffee order, had security trailing your shadow, and bought damn near an entire Le Creuset section because you looked at it twice? A man who called me angel and wanted to treat me like one. You called that a boyfriend.
And I was ready to jump. I’d taken the last seven days to consider what the future would look like and if I should give him a chance. I also took the time to figure out if this was ameissue or about him. DaVinci had been in the headlines for a lot of things, but never for being a womanizer or someone who couldn't be trusted. There had never been reports of him being a bad person or a bad man. He was generous. Reserved, but you could tell he’d grown up demanding respect, but also giving it. What was I afraid of? I kept asking myself that. I hadn’t come up with a satisfactory answer.
I just needed him to show up and catch me. God, I hoped he caught me.
The TV in the common room was on low. Somebody turned it up without asking. I tried not to pay attention. The news had been pushing nothing but chaos lately, and I tried not to let it suck me in.
“In breaking updates,” the anchor announced, “former assistant Cassandra Patterson was denied bond this morning on multiple charges connected to the arson at Colorado Pinnacles star DaVinci Bryns’ home. She wasn’t scheduled for a hearing until next month, but sources say attorney Giveon Moreau pushed for an emergency appearance to fast–track the ruling. This is not Ms. Patterson’s first time in a courtroom…”
Every head in that room snapped my way like my checks came from the Pinnacles too. I kept stirring my coffee, pretending my heart wasn’t doing the most. He was safe. He kept his word. Daddy always said a man who didn’t do that needed to stop claiming the title.
“Lieutenant,” Miller said carefully, “you see this?”
“I have eyes.”
I caught Keith smirking by the lockers and ignored him. He’d been on weird shit since the fire, like he wanted DaVinci for himself. Weird ass. His bad vibes seemed to be getting worse, and I was doing my best to avoid him.
On screen, the cops walked Cassie past the cameras. She looked small, swallowed by an orange jumpsuit. I felt nothing. No pity. No satisfaction. Just a little bit lighter in my own body, like a knot inside me had finally unclenched. Not just for him. For me too.
The segment slid into sports highlights, and I turned back to my paperwork. I had derby practice after the shift and needed to knock out my admin so I wouldn't be the reason we started late. Firehouse schedules were already trash on a good day, and if we wanted to skate, we had to fight for that time. Tonight, I refused to be the one dragging everybody down.
“Grant, you got a delivery.”
The voice drifted in from the bay doors. I didn’t look up.
“Leave it on the desk, Lisah. I’ll get it when I’m finished.”
“Um, you might want to see this right away, Lieutenant.”
Her tone made everybody pause. When I finally glanced up, Lisah stood there drowning behind a massive arrangement. Deep purple roses tangled with white orchids, wrapped in silk ribbon that was entirely too nice to toss. Intent lived in every stem. I knew who it was from before I saw the card. If nothing else, he was intentional, attentive, and too well-connected.
A smaller basket sat beside it, all dressed up. I didn’t even have to check the tag. Elite Deliveries by Ivy. Of course.
“Damn,” somebody whistled from the side.
I set my coffee down and took my time walking over. The card was tucked between the roses, my name written in that same steady handwriting from the note at my apartment.
“Read it out loud!” Rodriguez called.
“Mind your business, Rodriguez.”
But they were all watching. The whole damn firehouse had stopped to witness this moment. Keith looked like he’d bitten into something bitter. I didn’t know what his problem was, but I was getting close to transferring his ass out of my station.
I removed the card and opened it:
Seven days. Like you asked, I’m done with that shit. These are Ecuadorian roses, they last longer than regular ones, like we will. I’m outside. Come tell me to leave to my face if that’s what you want.
— D
I stood there, overwhelmed, amazed, and very shaken.
He was here. Right now.
“He sent you flowers?” Keith scoffed. “Basic. Shit, anybody can send flowers.”
“Shut up, Keith,” Miller said, surprising everybody. “That’s romantic as hell.”
