If anything, she’s the only woman who might be able to fix me.
Me:Yes, ma’am. But only if you promise not to stare too much. It’s distracting.
I hit send.
For the first time in three days, the knot in my stomach loosens. Just a little.
I close the chat, still smiling like an idiot, and make a decision.
Immediate. Reckless. Necessary.
I can’t wait until tomorrow.
I can’t wait for the briefing, the cameras, the performance.
I need to see her now.
I press a kiss to my sister’s forehead and take the stairs two at a time.
Grace lifts a thumbs-up and hides a smirk behind her mug. She knows exactly where I’m going.
Nosy little witch.
I’m walking toward Cupid’s Agency with a weird kind of anxiety sitting in my chest.
Usually, when I’m going to see a woman, I know exactly how it’s going to go. I know how the night will end. It’s a script I could recite in my sleep.
But with Sloane? I have no freaking idea what I’m doing.
I stop at a flower shop just before her agency. The owner—a girl with blonde braids and overalls—looks up, goes wide-eyed, and then gives me this conspiratorial smile that makes me feel completely see-through.
I think this is my first solo interaction with the locals.
Great. Could’ve gone a lot worse, considering the articles and everything else.
I buy a bouquet.
I’ve never bought flowers for a woman before… except for the peonies I get for my sister sometimes. But that’s easy. Those are her favorites.
Sloane, though? I have no clue what kind of flowers she likes. Or if she even likes flowers. Or if she’s allergic…
Shit.
I’m about to spiral when I see something that immediately makes me think of her.
I grab a bunch of white and pink tulips. Elegant. Clean. Like her when she’s trying to impose order on my chaos.
Do I feel like an idiot walking around with this bouquet? Yeah.
Do I care? Weirdly… no.
I get to the agency. I greet the girl at reception, who almost falls off her chair when she sees me, and head straight for Sloane’s office.
The door’s open.
She’s there.
And she is… fuck.
