That meant . . .
I set the bag down and popped the top of the paper cup. Hot chocolate and pierogies from the Village.
I abandoned the food and ran back to my room to grab my phone. I called Willow’s number. It rang once, then that fucking automated message about the call being unable to connect played.
“Dammit!” I huffed. I just wanted her to fucking talk to me.
Then again, I needed to get some food into my system before I talked to her.
The pierogies were lukewarm, but just as good as the first time we’d had them. They sat heavy in my stomach as I washed them down with tepid hot chocolate.
Fuck. I missed her.
She looked so fucking cute that day, wearing overalls that matched her hair and the Converse I had come to learn were her favorite. Nostalgia was a cruel film.
I had just finished the last pierogi when the doorbell rang again.
Something fishy was definitely going on.
I jogged to the door and yanked it open to find yet another delivery man. But instead of food, he held a massive vase of sunflowers.
“Ryan Ford?” he asked from behind the arrangement.
“Yep,” I said as I took it out of his hands. “Do I need to sign for it?”
“Nah,” the guy said as he wiped his palms on his shirt. “Already paid and tipped.”
“Drive safe,” I said as he waved me off and headed back to the van that sported a florist’s logo.
The second the door closed, I set the flowers on the living room coffee table, took two steps back, and stared at them.
Were they for my mom? Was she seeing someone? But the man delivering the flowers had asked for me by name.
A tiny white envelope was pinched on a pick in the middle of the arrangement with “Ryan” written on it in neat cursive. I pulled it off the little stand and opened it up.
Ryan,
It’s a shame that most men aren’t ever given flowers until their funerals.
You deserve to see the same kind of beauty that you put in the world.
I stumbled back like I had just been sucker punched. Willow sent me flowers. Sunflowers, at that. The state flower of Kansas.
Every little detail started moving around like puzzle pieces as I tried to mentally map out what she was up to.
I wasn’t surprised when there was a third knock at the door. I yanked it open and said, “Yes, I’m Ryan Ford.”
But there was no one. Just a cardboard box on the stoop. The mail truck was already moving down the block.
I was ripping into it before the door had closed. I probably should have been more careful in case it was breakable, but curiosity won over caution.
A book fell out, and I caught it right before it hit the floor. The cover was pale pink and had a crisp cursive title in teal blue.Dare You to Love Meby Willow Winslet. A watermark, stamping it as an uncorrected proof, was emblazoned on the corner.
Holy shit.
There were two little tabs that stuck out of the pages. I dropped down onto the couch before I passed out, and opened to the first one. It marked the dedication page.
To Ryan
