God, what is wrong with me?
“Anne!” Sienna’s voice cuts through my spiral. “You have a delivery!”
I look up to see a man approaching my cubicle with an enormous bouquet of white lilies. My breath catches.
White lilies.
My coworkers are already gathering, buzzing with excitement as the delivery man sets the arrangement on my desk. It’s beautiful—elegant and simple, the blooms perfect and fresh.
“Oh my god, Anne!” one of the women from Accounting gushes. “Are those from David? How romantic!”
“They must be,” another adds. “He’s really pulling out all the stops.”
But I know they’re not from David. I can feel it in the way my heart is suddenly racing, in the tightness in my chest.
With trembling fingers, I pull the small card from its envelope.
I’m sorry. For everything. –K
White lilies.
He gave me the first one when we were kids, plucking it from a clearing we’d found during a pack run. I carried it home carefully and pressed it between the pages of my favorite book. I’ve loved them ever since.
But how does he know that? He can’t. He doesn’t remember anything from back then.
My heart wavers, confusion mixing with the leftover anger and hurt.
“So?” Sienna leans over my shoulder. “Who are they from?”
I tuck the card away quickly. “Just…someone.”
The knowing look she gives me suggests she has guessed, but she doesn’t push. The other women drift back to their desks, disappointed they didn’t get more gossip.
I stare at the lilies, torn between wanting to throw them in the trash and wanting to bury my face in them and cry.
Throwing them out will cause gossip. Keeping them feels like accepting his apology.
I leave them on my desk, right next to David’s roses, and try to get back to work.
By mid-morning,I admit to myself that my mind is too full of everything that happened last night to get anything done. I need coffee. Strong coffee.
The break room is mercifully empty when I walk in, and I make a beeline for the coffee maker. My hand is reaching for a mug when I hear my name.
“Anne.”
I freeze. It’s David.
Turning slowly, I find him standing in the doorway, looking uncertain. He’s holding his own empty mug, clearly having come for the same reason as I did.
“Hi,” I manage, my voice coming out strained.
“Hey.” He steps inside, and I feel trapped. The break room suddenly seems very small. “I, uh…I tried calling you after our date last night.”
Guilt twists in my stomach. “Sorry, I went to bed right away. Long day.”
It’s not entirely a lie. I did go to bed. Just not alone.
“Right.” He pours himself some coffee, the silence stretching awkwardly between us. “Listen, I was thinking...Maybe we could grab lunch today? There’s this new place that opened up downtown—”
