“Logan find you?”
She nodded. “I’m fine. It’s fine. Everything is fine.”
“You know, the third one really sold it,” Milo said, shoving his hands into his pockets.
Hanna laughed, not hard enough to shift the tide inside her, but enough to take the edge off.
“I really will be okay. I just needed a minute away from… all of it. Usually I only have one breakdown per twenty-four-hour period.”
Milo smiled. “Caught you on a hot streak.”
“Something like that.”
“I’m heading to the corner store to grab a few things, wanna come?”
The elevator hit the ground floor and opened to the quiet lobby. Maybe it was that she’d already put hard pants on and hadn’t gotten the return on her effort, or maybe it was the ridiculous way he smirked, but a walk didn’t sound terrible.
Hanna followed him around the corner, the late spring night perfectly warm now that the sun had set. She trailed wordlessly behind him as he plucked things off the shelves—gum, two energy drinks, Advil, and a travel bottle of Tums.
He held the bottle up and shook it. “None of us are twenty-one anymore, but these assholes still drink like it. The heartburn is killing me.”
Hanna smiled, her mind starting to quiet.
He asked the cashier for a pack of Marlboro Reds and a lighter, surprising her.
“What?”
“You don’t smell like a smoker,” she said.
He leaned toward her. “Paying attention, are we?”
She rolled her eyes.
“One of those, too,” Milo said, pointing at a bucket of flowers on the back of the counter. The cashier plucked a bright yellow sunflower out of the water, beads dropping across the counter as Milo handed it to her. “Consider it an apology on Logan’s behalf.”
Hanna stared at the flower, twirling it in her hands, the ache in her chest opening up once again.
She followed him from the store on autopilot, stroking the soft silk of the petals, the light perfume bringing her back to weekly deliveries on her mother’s bedside table.
Back at the hotel, they walked onto the elevator and Milo tapped the panel. Hanna breathed slowly as it lurched to life. She realized halfway down the hall of the seventeenth floor they were heading to his room. He swiped his key card, tossing his bag onto the bed and pulling off his shirt.
“It’s fucking hot here,” he muttered, pulling at the white tank top under his button-down to get some air. Hanna stayed perched at the doorway, rotating the flower in her hands as he fished through his bag for a t-shirt. He popped two Tums and held the bottle out to her, but she shook her head. She watched him peel the plastic off the pack of cigarettes and smack the carton against his palm, then tuck it into his back pocket.
“You good, Arizona?”
Hanna’s eyes snapped to his, her head pounding. “Yeah.”
“You wanna try again?”
She held up the flower, her fingertips brushing the soft fuzz on the stem.
“My mom loved sunflowers.”
Milo winced. “Ah, shit?—”
“You didn’t know,” she said.
“I feel like I’m just a walking trigger for you,” he said, laughing.
