Three days later, I’m reviewing post-op photos when Mariah from the unit desk appears with a bouquet, the kind of arrangement you’d find on the side of a Hill Country road but fancier. It’s a mason jar filled with a mix of Indian paintbrush, sunflowers, lavender, and sprigs of greenery. They’re beautiful, smelling faintly of a earthy sweetness.
“These just came for you.” She sets them on my desk, grinning.
I pluck the card from between the stems.
Still thinking about you in that green dress. —H
My face heats. Yet again.
“Who’s ‘H’?” Mariah leans over my shoulder.
“None of your business.”
“It’s Hunter Ashe.” Isaac walks up picks up the mason jar, examining it. “These are gorgeous. Very rustic. Very him.”
“You don’t even know him, Isaac.”
“I know he brought you coffee two weeks ago. I know he’s been asking Esme about you. And I know you’re pretending you’re not interested when everyone can that see you are.”
He high-fives Mariah, who heads back to her station, calling over her shoulder, “You should keep him!”
I stare at the wildflowers, the dusty purple and burnt orange petals beautiful against the sterile hospital desk.
My cell phone buzzes.
Hunter: There’s a sandwich from Hank & Lulu’s at the nurse’s station. Turkey avocado. Don’t make Isaac eat it.
Me: Thank you. And for the flowers. They’re beautiful.
Hunter: Not as beautiful as you in that dress, Doc.
I find Isaac holding a takeout bag, grinning. “Your lumberjack sent food.”
Inside is a note on the back of a receipt.
You’re terrible at taking care of yourself. Eat. —H
How would he even know that? And he’s decided it’s his job now to ensure I have proper nutrition? I should not be this affected by a sandwich.
I unroll the sandwich, still warm from the oven. The first bite is delicious, a the savory turkey mixing with the tomato and avocado perfectly with the toasted bread. My heart thaws at Hunter’s thoughtfulness as I realize how hungry I actually am.
Me: Thank you for lunch.
Hunter: You actually eating it?
Me: Yes.
Hunter: Good. You’re welcome.
It’s two weeks until the wedding, I’m back at Bella’s Bridal for the final fitting. The space is just as inviting, its floral scent mixing with the brick walls and antique accents nicely.
Before I go in, I sit in my car, staring at the boutique door. At least this time, I know what to expect when I walk in. It will be only me for the final fitting since everyone in the bridal party has staggered appointments throughout the week. Thankful, I step inside and follow Adele’s assistant to the back where she helps me into the gown.
The sage green satin hugs my curves nicely, complimenting my red hair well. Esme insisted I choose this color, and I can see why. Knowing that I will walk down the aisle in this dress while Hunter watches sends a thrill through me that is hard to ignore.
As I step onto the platform, the curtains to the fitting area party. My jaw drops as Hunter saunters through, wearing snug worn jeans and a neutral flannel shirt rolled up on his arms. The sling is completely gone. Both arms move freely, the compensation in his shoulder almost entirely erased. The physical therapy has worked.
When he sees me, he stops mid-conversation with Adele, and his eyes track from my face down to my wedding shoes, and back up, slow and deliberate.
