“You say that every time,” Maya points out, digging her fork into the next piece of cake.
“And yet you keep inviting us,” I add.
Sophie tosses a crumpled napkin at me. “Lesson learned.”
“She says, until next time,” Maya fake-whispers, winking at me conspiratorially.
A sharp knock interrupts our conversation, and the three of us turn in unison. We share confused shrugs, but since it’s my apartment, I pad across the hardwood to the entryway.
In retrospect, I should’ve peered out the peephole before swinging the door open, but I get lucky. Instead of a creepy man or killer, I find pink ranunculus blooms arranged in a glass vase on my welcome mat.
“Oh my God,” Maya says from directly behind me.
At the sound of her voice so close, I jump, startled.
She sighs. “Those are gorgeous.”
I crouch and pick up the arrangement. It’s way heavier than I expected, and some water sloshes out. Not caring if they’re a bit damp, I stick my nose between the soft petals, inhaling the sweet, almost honey-like scent.
“They’re so pretty,” Sophie agrees, bouncing on her toes.
I carry them inside and set them on the kitchen counter before opening the small ivory envelope tucked between stems. And as I flip open the card, I’m hyperaware of both of my friends breathing down my neck.
Seemed fair since you made me GF brownies. Enjoy.
P.S. they match your earmuffs
There’s no signature or name. That doesn’t matter. I haven’t made gluten-free brownies for anyone else in the past few weeks, and I’ve only recently mentioned my favorite flower to one person.
It’s the earmuffs comment that makes my heart trip over itself. The ridiculously fuzzy pink accessory that Cameron pokes fun at. Yet he chose flowers to match them. That shouldn’t feel as significant as it does.
“I can’t believe Cameron sent these,” Sophie says with a squeal. “I mean, I can, because obviously he’s obsessed with you, but this is so thoughtful of him.”
“And you claimed you two were just seeing where things were going.” Maya bumps her shoulder against mine. “You’re both down bad.”
My face splits into a beaming smile. There’s no stopping it. I genuinely can’t remember the last time I got so giddy over a man. Probably never.
And this particular man is only dating me for show.
Even so, there’s no denying the genuine excitement coursing through me.
The arena buzzes with pregame energy as I make my way toward the private suites level and flash the barcode on my phone at security when I reach the elevator bank. The sound of the crowd isn’t as loud here, but the excitement is still a palpable hum in the air as I walk down the carpeted hallway.
I’m checking the suite numbers—because apparently the even numbers increase going left while odd numbers increase going right, which makes zero sense—when someone barrels around the corner and collides with me.
Cold liquid hits my chest and stomach, soaking through my new Davies jersey and dripping onto my jeans.Lovely.
“Oh my God,” the woman gasps, her free hand flying to her mouth. Her other is holding a now empty drink tray. “I am so sorry.”
“Don’t worry, it’s fine,” I reassure her with a smile. The smell of tequila and vodka is overwhelming as I hold the now-tacky material of my shirt away from my body.
The staff member frantically pats at the stain with a towel from her waist, which only makes it worse, spreading the liquor around rather than absorbing it. “I’m so, so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention, and I just?—”
“Really, it’s okay.” I gently take the towel from her before she can cause more damage. “Accidents happen.”
She looks like she might cry. It seems excessive for spilled drinks, but before I can reassure her again, a smooth voice cuts through the moment.
“That looks uncomfortable.”
