My skin prickles in awareness as I stare at the words, bile rising up my throat.
“What?” Eva leans over the counter and plucks the card from my hand, her lips moving as she reads. Her eyes meet mine, a smirk spreading over her lips. “So it is an admirer!”
I snatch it back, annoyed that she did that. “Give me that.”
“No name, though. Do you know who he might be?”
“No,” I lie immediately.
Damien.
My ex’s words come back to me as I reread the note. The promise—threat, if we’re being honest—that he isn’t giving up until I give him another chance.
The irony is that he never bought me flowers when we were dating. Not once in almost a year. But it adds up. He doesn’t like that I was the one who called it off, so he’s trying to get back in my good graces in any way he can think of. It wouldn’t be the first time. He knows where I work. Where I volunteer.
God, and here I thought that Matthew…
A blush rises on my cheeks just thinking about it.
Thank God I didn’t go to him and demanded an explanation when I found that first flower after leaving Helpful Hands, because how embarrassing would that have been?
I shake my head, refusing to go down that road.
“I need to get back to work.”
Shifting my attention to the computer, I turn my whole focus to the work ahead of me. It takes me a good forty minutes before I’m done. I quickly grab my things from the desk, my gaze falling on the note. Making sure nobody’s around, I squish it and toss it into the trash before going to the changing rooms to grab my things.
My phone buzzes with a text just as I’m leaving, my best friend’s name popping on the screen.
Mae:
What are you up to?
Jessica:
Just getting off work.
Mae:
Didn’t your shift finish like an hour ago?
Scratch that, who am I to judge?
Meet me at The Hut?
My fingers hover over the screen, ready to ask for a rain check, but then my gaze drops to the damn flowers on the desk, making me change my mind.
Jessica:
You know it. I’ll see you in an hour.
“So let me get this straight,” Mae says softly, but the anger shining in her eyes promises retribution. “He called you a cunt?—”
“Well, he said myfrigidcunt,” I try to correct, but Mae just waves me off.
“—and then he expects you to just forgive him as if nothing happened? What the actual hell?”
Well, when she puts it that way… I take a sip of my drink, the alcohol burning my throat as it slides down.
