Page 11 of Wildflowers and Wide Receivers

And then I opened the card.

Thank you for being so good with Vivi. It was great to see you. Jonah

Jonah.

What in the world is he doing sending me flowers, and dark pink ones at that?

Of course I immediately had to look up the meaning, and dark pink stands for appreciation, gratitude, and a great way to say thank you, but these don’t feel like a thank-you; they feel like more.

Of course Isaac saw them sitting on my desk and gave me a brief “what the hell” look before dropping it. He didn’t say anything because they really aren’t any of his business, but I can understand his confusion. He asked me to dinner—just like he had every week since we started seeing each other, albeit he was hesitant with the glaring siren of scented roses situated between us—and I instantly said yes.

Yes.

I had been so excited about Isaac asking me out again this week after our date last week, but as soon as he walked out of my office, I realized my heart didn’t leap for joy like I thought it would.

It took eight minutes of being in Jonah’s presence for him to derail my life.

Rubbing my forehead, I shake my head, wondering what is wrong with me, and then reach for my glass of wine on the counter where I poured it. Isaac will be here soon to pick me up, and I need to shake out of this weird place I’m in.

Jonah was just being nice, nothing more.

I look at the roses again and try to remember the last time someone bought me flowers, and I can’t remember. They really are beautiful. I’m not sure where he got them, but they look expensive, and despite who they’re from, I really like them.

Feeling drawn to them, I move to the table, bend over, and smell them. So floral and so pretty.

I again shake my head.

I hate that I’m confused by them.

After all, they were just thank-you flowers.

Needing to talk to someone, I pick up my phone and call Camille. She answers right away, and instead of saying hello, I blurt out, “So I saw Jonah Dallmann the other day,” and then squeeze my eyes shut. Yes, I saw him before we had our Pilates class, but then, I didn’t really have anything to say. People run into past hookups all the time and don’t make a big deal of it, but then he went and sent me flowers.

“Oh really? That’s great! Was Vivi with him?” she asks.

At that, I open my eyes and picture the blond little girl with big hazel eyes.

“She was. I saw them in the office.” I take another gulp of the wine.

“Oh, she was your patient. He didn’t mention it to me, and I should have thought to ask. Isn’t she just the cutest thing ever? Jonah brought her over yesterday after school. My heart hurts for her to be in that boot. She’s pretty serious about ballet and cried over not being able to do all of the things in her class. I guess they’ve started rehearsing for the spring recital, and she was worried about not being able to perform in it. How long do you think she’ll be in it?”

“Vivi,” I mumble, seeing her sitting on the examination table, straight posture and unflappable scowl, and then I think about them at Reid and Camille’s house. Suddenly, Camille feels like a traitor to me, and she wouldn’t even know why. I understand that Reid works with Jonah, but she’s my friend. “You know I can’t talk about patients with you, but if I was not her doctor, I’d tell you most breaks heal around six weeks.” This time, I find more self-control and take a sip of the wine.

“Oh, that’s good. Poor Jonah, too. If it had been any more serious, I think the poor guy would just lose it,” she sighs into the phone.

“That seems a little dramatic,” I tell her, moving to the couch where I’ve tossed my shoes and purse for dinner and set my wineglass on the coffee table. Isaac said he made reservations for us at a trendy yet fancy place, so I’m wearing a dark-green dress that hits at the knees and high-heeled black ankle boots.

“Probably, and I should give him more credit. He’s been amazing with her and definitely handled this situation better than I would have. So tragic what happened to her parents. I still think about it every time I see her, and it’s been over two years.”

Her parents.

What?

I freeze as I’m bent over to zip up one of the boots.

Her last name was Dallmann too, so that makes her his niece.

This word drops through my head like an atomic bomb. The high, whistling pitch slides through the octaves of a musical scale until it deepens and then hits the ground. The ground beneath me that seems to shift. Not his daughter. I never even considered this, and then her word tragic registers.