“Who do I make it out to?”
“On second thought, I’ll just take the flowers.”
I busy myself with wrapping his order in brown paper and tying a bow around it.
“That’ll be fifty dollars.”
He pulls out his wallet and counts bills, flinging them on the counter, and with that, he picks up his bunch and walks out without saying goodbye.
“How the hell are we going to get along when he chooses to be an asshole?” I growl when he’s left.
“He’ll come around,” Carl says with certainty, but I’m not so sure. He’s always been a fucking control freak, and we’re throwing his life plan off course.
My phone rings and I pull it from my purse. I smile when I see it’s a text from Wyatt.
Wyatt: Hey, beautiful. I miss you already. I’ll think about you all day.
My heart skips a beat, and I grin at the screen.
Hayley: I should hope so.
I quickly type a response and instantly see that he’s typing.
Wyatt: I’d like to take you someplace on Saturday, and we can take London to the lake on Sunday.
I quickly text Logan.
Hayley: Hi Logan, which weekend are you taking London to your folks?
Logan: This weekend, why is there a problem? He responds instantly, brash as ever.
Hayley: No just checking. I type to Logan.
Hayley: Logan’s taking London to his parents this weekend. But you can have me if you want ;)
I bite my bottom lip and twirl a strand of my hair between my fingers. I’m sure I’m blushing like a teenager. Carl wiggles his eyebrows at me. That ass. Wait till Sanchez from the barber shop comes in.
Wyatt: I have quite a few ways in which I’ll take you. The entire weekend it is then.
Wyatt: Blushing, aren’t you?
I laugh. I’m so much more than blushing. I’m instantly burning up, the events of last night invading my thoughts.
Hayley: I don’t blush. I type.
Wyatt: Yeah, you do, and if you knew the thoughts running through my mind right now, you’d melt.
Hayley: I need to work. I lock my phone and shove it in my purse.
He has no idea the thoughts that are on my mind right now. I need to get it together. I’m already sweating because of those damn texts.
I open the website. There are ten requests for me, and I allocate a few to Carl. Anniversaries, get well soon, I’m sorry, the usual, and then one catches my eye. “You’re fucking hot” it reads, and I laugh. Now that is original.
* * *
I haven’t stopped grinningsince I got home, staring at my “You’re fucking hot” bouquet. I could not believe my eyes when I checked the address. I can’t remember the last time I got flowers; I’m so used to being on the other end.
“Those are pretty, Mommy,” London says as she hops onto the couch next to me. “They’re from Wyatt, aren't they?” she grins, and her missing front tooth makes me smirk.
