I groan. “Oh no.”
Colby lowers the card and widens his eyes. “Girl. This boy is hurting like a country singer after a breakup tour.”
Dex squints at the card like it personally offended him. “Man wrote one sad poem and suddenly thinks he’s Shakespeare with a Spotify Premium heartbreak playlist.”
Before I can defend myself or crawl into the nearest air vent, Eli strolls up, takes one look, and immediately pulls his phone out.
“Selfie with the breakup bush,” he announces.
“No,” I say.
“Too late,” he replies and clicks the picture.
Then, while I am still dying inside, something unexpected happens.
Gabriel Shelly… quiet, intimidating, gives off ‘don’t fuck with me’ energy… silently walks past us, grabs the entire bouquet with one arm, and pretends to carry it toward the loading dock.
Colby calls after him, “Where are you taking it?”
Shelly doesn’t slow. “Emotional garbage pickup.”
Dex bows. “Environmentally friendly. I'm impressed.”
I stand there, stunned. And maybe… grateful.
Because nobody here is laughing at me. They’re guarding me. Like chaotic guard dogs with media training.
Bryce appears while this is happening. He doesn’t touch me, doesn’t even step fully into my space, but the shift in the air is instant. The joking suddenly dies. The boys go still like someone hit a locker room mute button.
His eyes focus on the bouquet. Then to the card still in Colby’s hand. Then to me.
Not angry. Not dramatic. Just… aware. Sharp. Focused.
Dex breaks the silence first. "So what’s our move? Do we send this guy a warning letter? A bat? A thug? I know a guy."
Colby nods. "You always know a guy."
Eli adds, "We could send him a cactus in the shape of a middle finger. The card could say 'Fuck Off.’"
I squeeze my eyes shut. "Please stop. All of you. He’s just trying to talk to me."
Dex snorts. "Nah. He’s trying to handle you. Big difference."
My throat tightens. Because he’s right. Because I know he’s right. Because part of me hates that I didn’t see it sooner.
Finally Bryce speaks. His voice is low, but edged.
"He’s testing boundaries to see which ones you’ll let him cross."
I swallow. "Bryce."
He steps closer, not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough that my pulse skips.
"Annabelle," he says, voice softer, quieter, meant only for me, "if you don’t want him showing up here again, say it. And he won’t."
A beat. Heavy. Loaded.
Dex whispers loudly, "Okay, but tell me that wasn’t the sexiest threat ever."
