I grab the biggest bouquet of sunflowers they have.
It isn’t perfect. One of the stems leans too far out, and a couple of the petals are bent at the edges, but my girl isn’t a rose kind of girl.
She’s bright colors and summer sun. The kind of woman who laughs too loud and doesn’t apologize for it. Someone who makes everything around her warmer just by standing there.
I run a thumb over one of the battered petals.
Yeah. These feel right.
Joe eyes the bouquet with surprise as I slide the van door closed and take my seat. The adrenaline has been simmering under my skin the entire drive, but now that we’re here, it settles into a pit of nerves in my stomach.
The van turns onto her street, a narrow lane lined with low brick apartments and the faint scent of jasmine curling in the evening air. String lights hang across the balconies, casting golden pools on the sidewalks. Kids weave between parked cars on bikes, the distant hum of an ice cream truck trailing down the block. It’s peaceful here, like the chaos of the last week belongs somewhere else entirely.
Joe pulls the van to a stop a few doors down from hers and cuts the engine. He nods, and I grip the bouquet tighter, feeling the rough edges of the paper against my palms.
“Alright,” I murmur, mostly to myself. “This is it.”
I step out, and the breeze hits my face. Every step toward her door feels heavier than the last, like the weight of three days of silence has settled squarely on my shoulders. Joe lingers behind a parked car, camera angled subtly, close enough to capture the approach but far enough to feel like I’m doing this alone.
“Go get her, bud!” he calls from behind me.
Her door comes into view, framed by a tiny wrought-iron railing and a faded welcome mat. A pot of marigolds leans against the steps. Everything about it is so effortlessly Taylor.
I take a deep breath and raise the bouquet, my hand trembling slightly. One step at a time, I move closer until I’m standing in front of her bright blue door.
My knuckles rap against it.
No answer.
I try again, a little harder this time.
Still nothing.
Just as I’m about to turn away, the door swings open and there she is. Eyes wide. Hair falling in a riot around her shoulders. Her mouth hanging open, confused.
For a second, I can’t speak. I can only stand there, letting the silence stretch, letting the moment hold us in place.
“Taylor.”
That’s it. No grand speech—just her name tumbling out like a plea or a prayer from my lips. Her expression shifts, uncertainty flickering in her eyes, and I know this is the moment everything changes.
CHAPTER 22: TAYLOR
For a second, I think I’m imagining him. That has to be it. By some combination of stress and lack of sleep, my brain conjured him because that’s easier than accepting he found me.
But he doesn’t fade when I close my eyes.
Alex stands there on my doorstep, holding a bouquet of sunflowers that look a tad wind-beaten, his shoulders tense like he’s bracing for impact.
“Taylor.”
He says my name quietly, like he isn’t sure he’s allowed to say it. He shifts on his feet, more unsure of himself than I’ve ever seen him.
My fingers tighten around the edge of the door. I instinctively move to block the view into my apartment.
“How are you here?”
His throat works before he answers. “I drove.”
