I grab my phone and pull up Esme’s contact.
Me: Need Claire’s number for wedding coordination.
Three dots appear immediately.
Esme: HUNTER ASHE. Are you actually going to ask her out?
Me: Need her number first.
Esme: Franklin said you’ve been asking about her.
Me: Franklin has a big mouth.
Esme: You two are PERFECT together. She needs someone who won’t let her hide behind work, and you need someone who won’t put up with your commitment-phobic BS.
Me: You writing a matchmaking manual?
Esme: I’m ORDAINED. I can marry you two after I marry Franklin.
Me: Getting ahead of yourself.
Esme: Fine. Here’s her number. But Hunter? Don’t mess this up. She’s been hurt enough.
The number appears in my messages. I stare at it for a solid minute, pulse kicking up like I’m about to jump off a cliff.
Then I open a new browser tab and Google “flower delivery Indigo Hills.”
The flowers arrive at Northwest General the next afternoon. I know because my phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number at 2:47 PM.
Unknown: This is Claire. Stop sending me flowers.
I grin at my phone.
Me: Hello to you too, Doc.
Claire: I’m serious. This is inappropriate.
Me: The card said “Still thinking about me? Cause I’m thinking about you.” That’s not inappropriate. That’s honest.
Claire: We are not doing this.
Me: Doing what?
Claire: Whatever you think this is.
Me: You’re the one who asked Esme for my number.
The three dots appear, disappear, appear again. I can practically see her deleting and retyping, fighting with herself.
Claire: I did not.
Me: Esme doesn’t lie. Which means you’re thinking about me too.
Claire: You’re impossible.
Me: You’re avoiding the question.
Claire: There was no question.
