Layna Morgan’s obituary was in the search results too. I clicked on it, read the details about her death from breast cancer, and then closed my browser because I felt like an intruder peeking in on someone’s most private moment.
Athena places the vase on the checkout counter. “This is an order. I wanted to handle the delivery myself.”
It takes me a second to absorb those words, but Eloise makes an assumption before I can say a thing.
“Are these from Heath?” she questions softly. “I knew he was a good guy.”
Athena’s hand reaches out to brush against Eloise’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Eloise. They’re for Astrid.”
“Me?” I glance at her. “You’re sure?”
She smiles. “I’m positive. There’s a card in the envelope.”
I snatch it before Eloise can get her hand on it.
She lets out a sigh. “Open it, Astrid. I bet Hot Dad sent you these flowers.”
Athena giggles. “Hot Dad?”
I shake my head. “It’s a nickname Eloise came up with for a man I met.”
Athena touches the tip of a pink petal from the bouquet. “I can’t say if Hot Dad is the one who ordered the bouquet, but the man who did has a great voice and even better taste in flowers.”
That’s all I need to know.
Berk sent these to me.
I hold the small white envelope containing the card close to my chest. “I’ll open this in a bit.”
“You’re no fun.” Eloise spears her fingertip into my bicep. “This is the most romantic thing that’s happened to us in forever.”
I laugh. “I’ll tell you what it says after I read it.”
She eyes me before her gaze shifts to the flowers. “Deal.”
Glancing at Athena, I tap the envelope against my palm. “Thank you for bringing them over.”
“It’s my pleasure.” She smiles. “I need to get back to my shop. I’ll come by tomorrow to pick out a new record.”
“On the house,” I say.
“We’ll see about that.” She winks before she sets off toward the door.
The moment she’s on the sidewalk, my cousin turns to me with her hands on her hips. “Please open it, Astrid. You don’t need to tell me what it says, but you deserve this. You deserve a man who treats you like this.”
Nodding, I rip open the envelope with shaking hands.
I recognize Athena’s handwriting immediately, which confirms what she said. Berk placed the order via phone.
I read what’s written on the front of the card.
Dinner tonight at 9.
Axel Tribeca.
I smooth a hand over the words before I flip it over to find a ten-digit number. It’s a phone number. It has to belong to Berk.
Axel Tribeca is an expensive restaurant inside a luxury hotel.
I glance up to find Eloise looking at me.
She doesn’t ask what the card says, but I offer because I know her, and even though she said I didn’t have to share what’s written on the card, she’ll wonder endlessly about it.
“Berk wants to meet tonight for dinner at Axel Tribeca.”
A smile glides over her lips. “You’re going.”
“The restaurant is in a hotel,” I say softly. “I think he might get us a room after dinner.”
Her hand reaches for my forearm. “Are you ready for that?”
I glance down at the card again. “I’m ready.”
She gives my arm a light squeeze. “Is this just a fun thing, or could it be more?”
It can’t be more. I have a career to plan for, and he has a daughter, a business, and a life that doesn’t include me.
I look into her face again. “It’s just a fun thing.”
“Then have a hell of a good time.” She grins. “I’ll open up shop tomorrow just in case you stay up all night.”
Shaking my head, I laugh. “I won’t.”
“I saw Hot Dad, Astrid.” She sucks in a deep breath. “He looks like he has stamina. Maybe you should take a nap this afternoon so you can keep up with him.”
I swat her hand. “No naps needed. I can keep up with him.”
I hope I can. Something tells me that Berk Morgan isn’t in the same league as the men I’ve slept with in the past.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Berk
I glance to where Stevie is sitting on one of the oversized white couches in our living room. They weren’t my first choice, but Layna had a vision. Since her death, I’ve added pops of color and a mountain of multi-colored throw pillows. Those are courtesy of my daughter.
We stopped by a vendor’s booth at a market in Brooklyn one Saturday afternoon a year ago.
I told Stevie she could pick out one handmade pillow for her bed. An hour later, we were in an Uber headed back to Manhattan with ten pillows piled in the back of it.
They have added personality and a soft place for my daughter’s head to land on. That’s the position she’s in now. She’s on her back, with her left foot propped on her right knee and a book in her hands.