I sneak a peek at the blonde woman dressed in blue, holding her now-quiet son. “He did.”
Sliding a pink manicured fingernail under the seal of the envelope, Wren sighs. “Give me a minute, will you?”
For what?
I’ve already overstayed my welcome. I should be out the door and texting Liam by now. I need to tell him that the delivery was a success and that I have his credit card in the front pocket of my jeans.
Wren’s gaze flits over my face before it settles on the gold locket hanging around my neck. “Wait right here.”
I stand in place as the heels of her sky-high black boots tap out an impatient rhythm on the hardwood floor with every step she takes away from me.
“Those flowers are all kinds of gorgeous.” The woman bouncing the baby in her arms smiles at me. “Did her boyfriend send those to her?”
I don’t think I’m divulging any secrets by nodding my head.
“What florist do you deliver for?” She asks with a tilt of her chin. “My mom’s birthday is creeping up. It’s her big six-o, so I want to surprise her with something like that.”
I glance at the door that Wren disappeared behind at the back of the studio. Since I have the time, I might as well make the most of it.
Balancing the bouquet in my left arm, I fish in my tote for one of my business cards. I don’t hand out a lot of them, but my brother insisted I order a box when I set up shop. He’s not only my silent partner but my mentor too.
I yank a small white card out of one of the compartments inside of my bag. “I own Wild Lilac.”
Taking a few steps forward, I drop my card in her outstretched hand.
She scans the violet-colored text. “I think I just found my new favorite florist.”
I’ll never get tired of hearing those words.
“Hey.” The sound of Wren’s voice turns my attention to the back of the studio.
I raise a hand and smile as if we’re old friends. “Can I put these on that table over there?”
Wren’s gaze shifts to the rectangular table covered with camera equipment, notepads, and a computer. “No. You’re taking those with you.”
Darting to her feet, the woman who is holding the baby asks the obvious question before I have a chance to. “Why is she taking those flowers with her?”
Wren stabs a corner of the envelope I gave her into the top of my hand.
I look down. Her name has a line of red ink slashed through it. Written under that in the same crimson shade is one word.
Wolf.
“Give this to him,” she says when I take the envelope. “Give him the flowers too.”
I flip the envelope over in my hand. The only thing holding the seal in place is a small piece of blue tape in the center of it.
“I wrote on the back of his note,” she explains, her voice even. “I don’t want flowers. He shouldn’t have sent them.”
“Maybe you should call him?” I suggest quietly.
That perks both her brows. “I said everything I want to say in my note. It’s over. I’m done. I should have ended it weeks ago.”
My gaze lands beyond her shoulder on the blonde woman. The expression on her face must mirror the one on mine. I’m shocked. This has never happened to me.
“You can go.” Wren dismisses me with a flick of her wrist. “I’m busy. Sorry for your trouble.”
I stuff the envelope in my tote and turn my back to her. Taking a deep breath, I march across the studio, wondering how in the hell I got stuck in the middle of this.
