I’m furious with Lowell for being a goddamn treasonous motherfucker.
And…I’m furious with myself for having had no choice but to do what I did.
12
TOO MANY FLOWERS
ENYA
“You know this shop is full of flowers?” I say, arms crossed as I look at the riot of dahlias in Nick’s hand.
“I do.” He smiles and holds them out to me. “Did you know that dahlias stand for commitment…and for loving someone through the hard parts.”
I give him a curt nod. “In Victorian flower language, they also stand for strength despite betrayal.”
“Ouch!” He puts a hand to his heart in mock affront.
I shake my head wearily. “You’ve got to stop this bringing me flowers nonsense.”
He gives me a confused look. Like hell he’s confused. “But you like dahlias.”
I’m going to scream.
Not a cute, dignified scream—no. A full-body, unhinged, banshee wail. Because for the tenth day in a row, the bell above my shop door rings at 9:02 a.m., and my ex shows up holding bouquets big enough to bankrupt a wedding planner.
“I like you leaving me alone more,” I snap.
He sets the bouquet on the counter. “Am I bothering you, baby?”
I throw my arms up in frustration. “Yes.”
He grins widely. “Good. That means we have a chance.”
I bark out a laugh with no humor in it. “A chance at what? Me stabbing you with my shears?”
He takes that, absorbs it, and doesn’t react. He never reacts the way normal people do. It’s infuriating.
Every day, he shows up.
Every day, he tries to make me talk to him.
Every day, he makes it harder for me to keep hating him.
Every day, I twist with guilt because I have to tell him about the baby.
Which is why I’m so angry.
He tilts his head and looks at me like I’m the only woman in the world. He’s very convincing…or rather, he would be if I didn’t know what he was capable of.
No, sir, no way, does he get to break me, then waltz back in with flowers and apologies and soulful blue eyes, like we’re in some cheesy Hallmark movie.
“Enya, baby, I love you.”
“No, you don’t.”
He steps closer.
“No,” I repeat.
