He'd brought her a single red rose once when they had been dating. Such a small thing, but she'd acted like he'd given her diamonds.
Tom uncapped his pen.
Flowers
He wrote the word carefully. He needed something big this time. Something showy. He could get it delivered to her work.
Tom's pen moved without conscious thought, tracing the outline of one of the printed roses in the margin. Then he drew another. His hand knew the shape somehow, the curve of petals, the way the stem tapered.
Dates
The pen kept moving in the margins, more roses appearing. Simple outlines at first, then more detailed as his hand found a rhythm.
What else had worked when they were dating?
God, he'd written her actual letters. Handwritten, trying to put his feelings into words that didn't sound stupid or clichéd. His hand cramping from the unfamiliar motion of writing longhand instead of typing. Lauren had kept every single one, tied them with ribbon.
He added it to the list.
Letters
Tom paused. The envelope on Christmas. She’d been expecting something other than the check inside.
She'd thought it was a letter. Hadwantedit to be a letter.
Something clawed at the back of his throat.
Tom looked down at the notebook, surprised to find he'd filled the entire margin with roses. Dozens of them, some simple outlines, others more detailed. His hand had been sketching while his mind wandered.
The flowers looked clumsy compared to the printed ones on the cover. They were everywhere, crowding around his list like they were trying to say something he couldn't quite hear.
He tore his attention away and focused on what he'd written.
Flowers and letters and romance. That's how he'd won her in the first place, wasn't it?
It had gotten him Lauren's yes when he'd proposed. It had gotten him the wedding, the marriage, the life he wanted.
He'd buy the biggest bouquet the florist had. Write whatever words she needed to hear. Remind her that she loved him.
Tom closed the notebook.
He'd start with flowers.
CHAPTER 16
Lauren
Lauren arrivedat Muse Magazine carrying the oversized wreath, the pinecones biting into her palms.
It was ridiculous, really—heavy with greenery and ribbon and glitter, and in the middle, in bright red letters:I DESERVE BETTER.
Definitely not standard office decor. But her feelings weren't office standard either.
She propped the wreath against her monitor. The message stared back at her, brazen and a little unhinged.
Good.
By the time her coworkers started trickling in, she’d started the coffee machine and the overhead lights had brightened the open-plan office into harsh reality.
