But now that I’m in New York, I know this is a necessary step in my healing journey.
The one I’ve been avoiding. The one that will let me finally release the guilt, loosen the ache, and celebrate her life instead of only mourning her absence.
As we pass a bodega before getting into the car, I stop short. “I want to bring her flowers.”
I walk over and I pick up the gorgeous pink and orange dahlias.
Nate gestures toward the lilies. “Those are her favorites.”
I shake my head. “No, they aren’t.”
He crosses his arms. “I think I know what my sister’s favorite flower was.”
“And I know my best friend’s favorite flowers. I also know she lied to you and Seb, since the two of you always bought them for her. She didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”
His brows pinch, considering my statement. “Seriously?”
I nod, smiling faintly. “That’s why the penthouse is full of dahlias right now. They’re not in season for long, so I buy them whenever I can. Her second favorite was garden roses.”
His eyes widen. “What? Lilies weren’t even second? I thought garden roses wereyourfavorite.”
“They were ours.” I pull out my wallet, but Nate immediately pushes my hand away—just like he’s done ten times today.
“You do remember I’m an architect now,” I say dryly. “I make adult money.”
“I don’t care how much you make.” He pays anyway, then guides us toward the waiting car he hired to take us uptown.
We’re halfway there when Nate’s phone rings.
“Cunningcunt,” he answers, and I almost choke on my drink.
I glance at the rearview mirror, and the driver doesn’t flinch.
“You still call him that?” I shake my head, though I shouldn’t be surprised. When Nate, Leo, and Mase are together, it’s like we’re all teenagers again, back at camp.
Nate nods. “I have to remind him of his roots. Can’t let his ego make his head too big.”
That makes me laugh. “Please, his ego’s been big since he knew how to talk.” Mase’s laugh is loud enough that I hear it through the speaker. “Let me talk to him.”
Nate shakes his head.
I put out my hand in a “give me” motion, and he shakes it again.
Skye perks up, mistaking the movement for affection, and bumps her head into my palm. I, of course, oblige.
“Yeah. Five p.m.,” Nate says.
“What’s at five p.m.?” I ask.
He ignores me.
I poke his arm.
“Will you quit it, woman?” His eyes sparkle before he ends the call.
My mouth drops open. “What the hell, Nate? I wanted to talk to my brother.”
“He had to go,” he says easily. “He’ll call you later.”
