But I didn't.
Because that would've been admitting something I wasn't ready to admit.
The driver was waiting. He drove me back to the Palmetto Rose in the same silence, and as we pulled up to the curb, I heard myself say it before I could stop.
"You know where McKinley Flowers is?"
He glanced at me in the rearview mirror. "I do."
"Can you take me there?"
He didn't ask why. Just nodded and pulled away from the curb.
When he dropped me off, I stood across the street from the shop, staring at the storefront like it might bite.
What the everliving fuck was I doing here?
Just to see her?
No.
I wasn't afraid of anything. I'd walked into warzones. I'd stared down men who wanted me dead. I'd killed without hesitation when the mission required it.
So, why the hell was I afraid of this?
Of her?
Fuck.
I crossed the street before I could change my mind and pushed open the door.
The bells jingled.
She didn't look up at first. She was working on an arrangement, hands moving carefully, her whole focus on the stems in front of her.
Then, she did.
Her eyes met mine.
And she almost dropped the flowers.
"You," she said.
I almost turned around and left.
"What do you want?" she asked, voice quiet but not unfriendly.
The words stuck in my throat for a second too long.
Then they came out in a rush. "I wanted to apologize. For what I said. About the flowers. It was rude. My mother probably rolled over in her grave."
Her eyes softened.
Then she blurted out, "I'm adopted."
We both froze.
"I don't know why I said that," she added quickly, cheeks flushing pink.
