But then it's gone, and he's turning away, pulling socks from his bag.
I want to push and ask what's really wrong. I could be reading too much into it. The florist threw me for a loop, and we were both sick as shit last night. He's probably just exhausted.
“Okay,” I say softly. “I'm gonna shower.”
He nods but doesn't say anything else.
I grab my clothes and head into the bathroom, glancing back at him once before I close the door. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing. My stomach twists, but I push the feeling away as I start the water.
By the time I'm showered and dressed, Frost seems a little more present. He's on his phone, scrolling when I emerge from the bathroom.
He looks up at me. “Ready?”
“Let’s go.” I grab my purse, checking my reflection one more time in the mirror. My hair's still damp, but I've managed to make myself look somewhat human. “How about some breakfast? That might help us feel better.”
Frost stands, pocketing his phone. “You never know.”
We head down to the hotel restaurant together, and I reach for his hand in the elevator. He takes it, but his grip is loose. He seems distracted, but I don’t call him out for it because my mind is racing with solutions to the flower debacle.
I squeeze his fingers. “You sure you're okay?”
“Positive.”
The elevator doors open, and we step into the lobby. The restaurant is just off to the side, and I can already hear the familiar rumble of voices. Sure enough, when we walk in, half the tables have been pushed together, and the brothers are sprawled across them like they own the place.
Chaos spots us first. “There they are! The walking dead!”
Hawk raises his coffee mug. “Thought you two might sleep the day away.”
“Don't tempt me,” I mutter, sliding into an empty chair next to Amy.
Frost sits across from me, next to Colt, who claps him on the shoulder. “You look like shit, brother.”
“Feel like it, too,” Frost says, reaching for the coffee pot in the center of the table.
Amy leans over, lowering her voice. “You alright? You look stressed.”
I glance at Frost, who's pouring coffee and not looking at me, then back at Amy. I keep my voice barely above a whisper, “Florist canceled.”
Her eyes widen. “What?”
“They called this morning and told me they're overbooked for Valentine's Day weekend and can't do our flowers.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“I wish I were.” I rub my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache forming. “I've called four other places. No one can do it on such short notice.”
Amy's jaw tightens. “Those assholes. What are we gonna do?”
“We?”
“We,” she reiterates. “You’re not alone.”
I give her a weak smile. “I don't know.” My voice cracks a little, and I hate it. “I-I-I wanted everything to be perfect, you know?”
Amy's expression softens as she reaches over to squeeze my hand. “It’ll be okay. We’ll come up with a solution.”
“How?”
