“It’s always nice to catch up with Mom. She’s my other best friend,” I say meekly. I don’t feel chatty when he’s suffering.
A genuine smile tips the corners of his lips up, care shining in his eyes.
“Good. I am happy for you, flower girl. You deserve to be loved.”
I love him so much. He’s the best.
My stomach grumbles and I place a hand on it to make it stop. I didn’t bother eating before I flew out of Tucson. But it’s nearing lunch, and apparently, I can’t suppress my biological needs for too long.
“Ignore it.”
Instead, he places an order for Italian, ordering my favorite, ravioli with extra parmesan.
After he takes the order and tips the food delivery guy, I help him place the contents on the coffee table. I open his first, handing him the fork and knife for his grilled beef and vegetables.
Even though I’m hungry, my appetite is gone. The food is tasteless.
We eat in silence while I steal glances at him, thinking he’s not number three, he’s not a number at all, but the one who matters, erasing everything that came before him.
He plays more with his food than eats it. It’s the same for me. Giving up, we push away the half-eaten plates.
“Would you stay with me today?” he asks in an almost inaudible whisper.
I am about to confirm when he shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I am sure you have better things to do than?—”
I place my finger on his lips. The small contact has my body tingling all over.
“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” I murmur.
He nods, his lips teasing a smile. “Strange.”
“What is strange?” I ask, my voice reaching a high pitched tone.
My anxiety triples my heartbeats. He eyes me with a serious expression. “You’re my other best friend.” There’s something else in his gaze, but it’s fleeting, and I can’t pinpoint it.
I gulp nervously. “I am.”
“You showing up for me taught me how precious that is… and here I was about to jeopardize it.”
My heart takes a full dive in the pit of my stomach, splattering my hopes away.
I school my facial expression into neutral, finishing my glass of water in two long gulps, and place it down with shaky fingers.
Something changed, and I realize I can’t undo it. Our timing sucks.Wouldn’t be the first time.Or maybe I am cursed to live off what-ifs, waiting for something to happen like a bystander in my own life. The knowledge twists my heart, and I palm my chest to soothe the fragile organ.
We hole ourselves up for the rest of the day in his loft, ignoring the world outside, but time always wins.
I glance out the window. The moon has replaced the sun, blanketing the sky in dark blue, instinctively drawing a yawn from me.
“Come on, flower girl. Let’s go to bed.”
He stretches out his hand, and I take it, bringing me to his bedroom. It’s neat, like the rest of his loft—big and luxurious with all the high-end amenities and a king-sized bed.
Lying down on the softest bed possible, he pulls me to him, my back pressed to his front.
He flicks through the channels, settling on a show I usually enjoy watching about people surviving in the jungle. He drifts off to sleep first, and I follow suit, finding comfort in his embrace despite today not going as planned.
When I wakeup the next morning, the spot beside to me is empty, but I hear the shower running.
