Page 96 of Whispered Promises

Fuck it. I’m doing it.

Picking up the half-eaten pastry, I raise it to my mouth and turn on my phone’s camera, snapping the photo before I can decide otherwise. Then it's quickly sent without any text.

Adrenaline tingles through my body at the impulsive decision. I did it. No going back now and I’ve missed talking to him. Perhaps one of us needed to make the first move and start the conversation back up again.

Suddenly realising I’d never thanked them for the roses I’d received yesterday, I type a message and send it to Nate, Bry, and Noah, unsure which man sent them. After I’d walked back with Nate, and he’d given me another melting kiss goodnight, there was a bouquet of white roses on the kitchen table with a note from Steph. Apparently, they’d arrived earlier, but without a note of who they were from. It was a really sweet, unexpected gift, and I don’t want to come across as ungrateful.

Bry

Good morning to you too, cutie. They weren’t from me, so I sadly can’t take credit for them. How are you? X

My phone vibrates, signalling another message has come through, so I quickly type a response back to Bry.

GymAlpha

Not me. Wouldn’t get you white. Colours make you happier. Who sends you flowers?

Biting my lip in a poor attempt to hold back my smile, heat radiates up my neck. How can he manage to come across as both thoughtful and territorial at the same time? I really do need to stop enjoying it so much.

Me

What flowers would you get me?

GymAlpha

Something wild and special. You didn’t answer my question. Who sends you flowers?

Me

No one. These were the first ones I’ve been sent. There wasn’t a note on them, so I thought it might be one of you. Must be Noah.

I finish my croissant, then wave to the staff working today. Walking the short distance to the office, I find my hand splayed over my chest as my thoughts drift to Nate, specifically how much he's surprised me since we met. I never expected any of them to take care of me and consider my feelings as much as they do. But it’s so easy to judge Nate on both his exterior and first impressions. Getting to know him has made me realise how much he holds beneath the surface.

Plus, he makes me smile; even now, I can feel it stretching across my face.

Rounding my desk, I tug off my coat and hang it up, then drop down onto my chair. A low, tired huff falls unbidden from my lips as I land. We’re midweek; after today, I’ll be one day closer to the weekend. The goal is just to survive today…

Rushing through the entrance of the Coffee Bar, I arrive right at 11:30 a.m. It’s not ideal, and I prefer to be early for meetings. But traffic was a complete nightmare getting here, even though it’s only a short drive from the office. Whilst I try to catch my breath, I try to spot the person Julia had asked me to meet. I checked their CV and studied the photo, so I know what to expect. Thankfully, they’re not here yet.

Grabbing a table, I take a seat on the high stool and shrug off my coat, needing to cool down.

A server arrives to take my order, and I balk for a moment. Is it polite to order a drink if the other person hasn’t arrived yet? My parched mouth doesn’t think so, so I order a decaf chai tea latte.

As my drink arrives a few minutes later, bathing me in a calming scent of cinnamon and cardamom, I check the time again. They’re almost ten minutes late. At this rate, Julia will arrive when they do, if not before. Should I call to let her know the candidate hasn’t arrived? I probably should, but dread sinks into my bones over the impending ire I’ll receive from her. It doesn’t matter what I do, none of my colleagues seem to think I’m good enough for the team.

It takes a further five minutes for me to work up the nerve.

“Julia speaking,” she answers, sounding both bold and curt at the same time. I’m not sure I’ve managed either in my entire life.

“Hi Julia, it’s Rosy,” I begin, my hands already clammy. I’m not sure why. I’m not the person who didn’t show up to the meeting. None of it’s logically my fault, but that part of my brain is being oppressed by the intrusive thoughts demanding that it is, that I should’ve done better. Fixed it, even if it’s impossible to.

She stays silent, not even acknowledging me. The swallow I take to clear my throat feels too loud. “I know you’re due here any minute, but I wanted to let you know the candidate hasn’t yet arrived.”

“Oh, that. Yes, the meeting was cancelled,” she says brusquely.

“Why didn’t you let me know?” I manage to ask, pushing down the bitter ferocity that wants to snap back at her.

“Because I’m busy. It’s hardly a waste of your time.” She sighs, clearly irritated, and her low opinion of me hangs heavily in the air. She didn’t even need to voice the words, but I can feel them cutting through my skin.