Page 172 of My Real Love Affair

“She sounds remarkable,” the woman said softly.

“She is. And she works harder than anyone I’ve ever met.” I scratched the back of my neck. I realized she couldn’t give a shit about any of what I was saying. I was rambling. Maybe I was practicing what I was going to say to her when I delivered the flowers.

The florist was beaming at me now. “Young man, you’ve got it bad.”

I laughed despite myself. “Yeah. Yeah, I really do.”

She gestured to the flowers she’d been standing near. “These are stargazer lilies. They’re bold and beautiful, with a fragrance that’s both sweet and spicy. They stand out in any room, command attention without trying, and they’re surprisingly resilient.” She touched one of the petals gently. “Something tells me these might be perfect for your girl.”

I stared at the flowers. They were striking and elegant and somehow exactly right. And nothing like I had seen before. They were unique and I hoped they were just as new to her as they were to me.

“These are as beautiful as she is,” I said quietly.

“I’ll wrap up a dozen for you.”

I watched as she expertly arranged the lilies, adding some greenery and wrapping everything in crisp paper tied with a purple ribbon. When she handed me the bouquet, I pulled out my wallet.

“That’ll be seventy-five dollars,” she said.

I handed her two hundred-dollar bills. “Keep the change. Thank you for the help.”

“She’s a lucky woman,” the florist called as I headed for the door.

I glanced back. “I’m the lucky one.”

Outside, Matt had the car door open and waiting. I slid into the back seat carefully, holding the flowers like they might shatter. As we pulled back into traffic, I found myself scratching my head, staring at the bouquet in my lap.

When was the last time I had bought a woman flowers?

The memory hit me like a punch to the gut. Six years ago. She’d been everything I thought I wanted—elegant, cultured, comfortable in my world. I bought her flowers every week for three months. Roses, mostly. Sometimes orchids. Whatever was most expensive.

Turned out she’d loved my bank account a hell of a lot more than she’d loved me. I was nothing more than a walking credit card that would buy her jewelry and take her on luxury vacations. She was planning to shop at Prada on a weekly basis and buy every pair of shoes and all the handbags she wanted.

She didn’t want me at all. I was pretty sure she never even liked me. The sex was mid. I should have known she didn’t like it. Or me. She wasn’t that great of an actress.

That’s when I swore off anything deeper than a one-night stand. Flowers became just another symbol of how fucking gullible I’d been.

I expected that memory to fill me with doubt now. To make me want to toss the lilies out the window and show up empty handed to meet Melody, protecting myself from getting burned again. But the doubt never came.

Because Melody wasn’t her. Melody had her own money. She had her own career. She didn’t need me for financial security. Hell, she’d been doing just fine before I crashed into her life at that wedding. Melody was strong and independent.

I was the one that was essentially hitching myself to her wagon. She didn’t need me for anything. I would be lucky if she chose to give me a chance.

If these flowers made her smile, even for a second in the middle of whatever mess we were about to navigate, that was enough for me. Her happiness mattered more than my fear of getting hurt.

“We’re here, sir,” Matt said, pulling up in front of Melody’s townhouse.

I looked at the familiar brick facade. This was it. Whatever conversation we were about to have could change everything. Part of me was certain I was walking into a breakup, after our last conversation about kids and the future when I’d basicallyadmitted I had never seriously considered being a father before her.

And the fact she had gone radio silent for days did not bode well. It felt like the end. Like watching a speeding train headed for the proverbial “bridge out” sign. And fuck, was it going to hurt.

I had spent years being so careful to avoid caring about anyone or anything beyond my next adventure. Years of keeping things light and easy and disposable. Then Melody Stephens walked into mylife—or rather, I crashed into hers—and suddenly I couldn’t remember why I had ever thought that emptiness was freedom.

If she was ending things, I would have to respect that. She deserved someone who could give her everything she wanted without hesitation. Someone who knew for certain they wanted marriage and kids and the whole domestic dream. But damn, I wasn’t ready to let her go.

I couldn’t be selfish. I couldn’t demand she put her life on hold to give me time to get my shit together.

I grabbed the flowers and climbed out of the car before I could overthink it. Sitting outside and staring at her townhouse wasn’t going to change what happened. The walk to her front door felt like miles instead of feet. I raised my hand to knock, then paused.