Then an idea formed.
Flowers. Yes, I could get her flowers. And chocolate.
Just a small, simple gesture that said I was thinking about her without demanding anything in return.
I imagined leaving them by her door with a short note.
Hope you’re feeling better. Thinking of you.
That seemed reasonable and not invasive. It also sounded like something a desperate man would do after being ignored for days.
I leaned my forehead against the truck door.
It was a bad idea.
She hadn’t replied to my message.
That was data, and the correct response to that data was dignity, self-control, and possibly emotional maturity.
Buying flowers after being ignored was none of those things.
You are not doing that, dumbass.
I stood there for several minutes as my brain continued presenting the same argument.
She hasn’t answered. Leave it alone.
My heart disagreed with impressive stubbornness.
The thought of her alone in that apartment didn’t sit right with me. She’d be working late, forgetting to eat. She was probably still sore from the fall she’d insisted was nothing.
My stomach tightened as I checked my phone again.
Still nothing.
Exhaling slowly, I opened the truck door and got in.
I sat there with my hands resting on the steering wheel, while the headlights lit up the gravel in front of me.
You are absolutely not buying flowers, I told myself as I shifted into reverse.
Just a quick stop at the store, I decided. Flowers, chocolate, and a note.
Nothing dramatic.
If she wasn’t home, I’d leave them at the door and drive away.
No pressure, no expectations. Just a caring gesture.
I pulled onto the road and headed toward town, my phone silent in the cup holder beside me.
But even that silence didn’t make me turn the truck around.
So, I kept driving.
I parkedacross the street from Zoey’s building and sat in the truck, the engine still running.
The flowers were on the passenger seat. The chocolate sat beside them in a small bag that looked increasingly ridiculous the longer I stared at it.
