WILDFLOWERS ARE PRETTY
MADISON
Hunter: Can friends bring friends flowers?
Me: What?
Hunter: Can they?
Me: I guess… but not roses.
Hunter: Why not roses?
Me: Roses are romantic. Friends aren’t romantic.
Hunter: Noted.
Hunter: Bye friend.
I stand in my kitchen, phone clutched in my hand, blinking in confusion as I scroll back through our thread and re-read our earlier texts. A prickling sensation crawls up my spine, the hairs on my neck standing. I move toward the front door, my heartbeat picking up with each step. As I turn the handle and pull, silencegreets me—no cars, no voices, just the sound of birds and the morning breeze rustling through the trees. Then I see them. A bunch of wildflowers sits on my porch step.Wow.
They’re beautiful. Wild, untamed, a burst of color against the gray concrete. I bend to pick them up, their petals damp under my fingertips, their scent earthy and sweet. Heading back inside, I grab a glass, fill it with water, and set the flowers inside before placing them on the entry table. Before I can think twice, I’m reaching for my phone.
Me: Wildflowers?
His reply is instant, and I fight back a smile.
Hunter: For a friend.
Me: You okay?
I chew at my lip, debating. Something in me knows there’s more behind that gesture, something he’s not saying. I could push him away all I want, but at the end of the day, I know him, and as much as I hate to admit it, I’ll never stop caring.
Me: Want to grab coffee?
Hunter: Do friends do that?
Me: I get coffee with Connor and the girls all the time.
Hunter: Meet you in ten.
I spot Hunter sitting at one of the outdoor tables when I pull in. His hands fidget with the hem of his shirt as heglances around, unsure of himself. Is he nervous to meet me?
The thought that I have him on edge excites me. It makes me want to know how far I can push before he snaps and takes control. We’re playing a cat-and-mouse game here. I know it. He knows it. We’re drawn to each other, being pulled closer and closer until reality comes crashing down, and I need to push him away again. I don’t for a second believe he wants to bejustfriends. I know he’s waiting for me, and God, that makes me want to cave even faster. He’s giving me what I need without a fight. I appreciate it, but there’s a small, dangerous part of me that can’t wait until I’m ready to hand over the control. To see what he does with it.
It’ll be wild. Untamed. Just like those flowers he left me.
“Hi, friend,” I say, sliding the chair out opposite him.
“Hi, friend.” His mouth curves as he nudges an iced coffee toward me.
A comfortable silence settles between us, the morning hustle fading into the background—shoes scuffing on the pavement, a dog barking somewhere down the street, the hiss of milk steaming inside the coffee shop.
Hunter lifts his coffee, and I can’t help but track the movement. The flex of his hand around the cup, the slow swallow that works down his throat, the vein that pulses along his forearm. His shirt strains when he sets the coffee back down, and I swear my heart screams at me for noticing.
“Wildflowers, hey?” I break the silence before he can catch me staring.
“They’re pretty.” He grins.
