“Well, at least we got it all out in the open, right?” he said, his voice like ice. “Anything else you want to say?”
I did everything I was supposed to!she wanted to scream.I followed the rules and put everyone else first, and I thought that counted for something. I thought it would matter.
But she could only stare at him, tears threatening at the corners of her eyes. He wasn’t responsible for her choices. That was on her.
A long moment passed. Then he turned and walked out the front door, slamming it shut behind him, sending a tremble through the walls and Anne’s plans crashing to the floor.
CHAPTER 23
Apartment 4B still smelled like Freddie an hour later. Sandalwood and citrus and soap polluted the bathroom. The bed. Even the kitchen.
Anne had curled back under the sheets after he left, letting the smell take her back to the night before. Her rational brain told her it wasn’t productive. Pretending he was still here wouldn’t bring him back; that required conversation. And even then, nothing was guaranteed. They thought they could pick up where they left off, but there was too much baggage, things that needed to be exposed to the sunlight and purged.
They needed to grow up.
She still stayed in bed a few extra minutes, though.
Unfortunately, reality eventually beckoned. She was meeting Theo for a coffee at Monkford Café soon and had to be ready for whatever he was about to offer.
So she went on autopilot—showering, getting dressed in a matching sweater set and jeans, then pulling her hair back into a ponytail. She felt adrift, so lost she could barely focus, but at least she could appear put together.
She left the apartment and locked the door behind her, then made her way down the hall to press the elevator button. That was her first mistake. Standing there gave her mind time to wander, and in seconds it found Freddie again, what she had said to him, how they had left things…
The elevator doors opened just as she was making her second mistake, pulling her phone from her bag. She knew she would talk to Freddie eventually. They both needed time to cool off, that was clear. But she also couldn’t shake the hope that there would be a missed call, a text waiting.
There was nothing.
She swallowed down her disappointment as the elevator arrived at the lobby. A Christmas tree had been put up in the corner over the weekend and its branches sparkled, shifting points of light around the dim room. This was usually her favorite time of year—when she was little and her parents fought upstairs, she would come down and lie on the dark green leather benches here, watching the snow fall outside. Now as she walked across the room, her boots clicking against the marble floor, it felt hollow and sad. A diorama of the life she was trying desperately to hold on to.
She paused at the row of mailboxes. With everything going on, she had completely forgotten to check it all week. She quickly unlocked it and luckily found only a few pieces waiting—some take-out menus, a marketing brochure masquerading as a bill, and a couple of Christmas advertisements. But then one postcard caught her eye. Thick and square, it was covered with an explosion of flowers, all framing the logo for Eufloria, along with its business hours and phone number.
Anne froze. She didn’t even know what emotion to assign to what she was feeling, only that she was still standing in the middle of the lobby when Bev shuffled off the elevator a few minutes later.
“Did you have a stroke?” she asked, eyeing her curiously.
Anne blinked. “What?”
“You look like you had a stroke,” Bev said.
“No, I just… I got a postcard.”
Bev glared at her, then at the mail in her hand. “Stroke makes more sense.”
“Sorry,” Anne said, holding up the postcard and shaking her head. “I just… I helped open this place. I even came up with the name and suggested sending out mailers like these.”
Bev’s eyebrows bobbed up as she glanced down at the glossy image. “They look good.”
Anne nodded. “Thanks.”
“Congratulations.” She turned toward the front door again, then paused. “So what’s your title?”
“Oh.” Anne shook her head. “I don’t have one. At least, I was offered one, but I haven’t accepted it.”
Bev stared at her like a stroke was still a possibility. “You don’t want it?”
“No, I do, it’s just that running a small business in the city can be so volatile, and it’s hard to predict the market, so…” She let out a deep breath. “I don’t know if it’s the right choice.”
Bev scoffed and started toward the door. “There’s no such thing as a right choice. The only time you hear that is in government propaganda campaigns.”
