Two.
And a giant white box tied with satin ribbon that can only be obscene amounts of chocolate.
For one suspended second, my whole chest lights up.
Tristan.
Of course it’s Tristan.
The hospital.
The kiss.
The way he looked at me like I was breakable and worth protecting anyway.
He sent flowers.
Not just flowers.
An entire over-the-top, rich-boy apology bouquet for life hurting me.
My stomach flips.
Becca turns back to me with wild eyes.
“Who did you save in a past life?”
The delivery guy sets everything carefully on my desk and asks for a signature.
I scribble something that barely qualifies as handwriting because my brain is too busy constructing the exact look on Tristan’s face when he ordered all this. Calm. Slightly irritated at having to explain that no, the biggest arrangement, and yes, all the colors.
Something stupidly sweet and expensive.
The kind of gesture girls pretend they don’t want until it lands in their room and suddenly oxygen gets involved.
The delivery guy leaves.
The door shuts.
Silence.
Then Becca turns to the flowers like they’ve personally insulted her by being prettier than she is.
“Isa.”
I’m smiling.
I can feel it.
I can’t stop.
“I know.”
“Oh my God.”
“I know.”
She points at the roses.
