“You’re holding out on us,” Rhonda says, her gaze meeting mine as she plops back into her chair. She scoots it closer to where I’m standing on the other side of the counter. “Is it from Cade?” she whisper-shouts.
How does she know about me and Cade? I was trying to be discreet. Work romances are usually frowned upon.
I glance around, thankful no one is nearby. “Nope.”
Rhonda appears surprised but recovers quickly. “Ooh, a secret admirer then.” She pushes away, wagging a finger at me. “Naughty girl, working two guys.”
“Um, I’m not working two guys.” I’m mildly offended by what she just said. Working two guys? She makes me sound like I’m doing the nasty with both of them.
“You know what I mean!” Another casual wave of her fingers. “I’m just being nosey.”
She’s being totally nosey, and I find it totally irritating. But I like Rhonda so I offer her a smile, grateful when the phone rings, saving me. While Rhonda answers and talks in her usual upbeat chirp, I pull the tiny, cream-colored envelope from its clip and open it, recognizing the slash of bold handwriting within.
He didn’t just call in this flower order. He actually went there and paid for it. Plus he handwrote the card himself.
Fuck the first move. Go to dinner with me tonight.
I bite my lip so I don’t break out into a shit-eati
ng grin, but there’s no use. I’m smiling like my life depends on it. Maybe I should be offended by his boldness, but…I’m not.
I’m so not.
“Must’ve said something good,” Rhonda says with a low whistle after she completes the call.
I say nothing. Just pick up the heavy vase and start carrying it to the little office area where the assistant physical therapists have a shared desk. I carefully set the arrangement in the center of the mostly clean desk, then take a step back, admiring my flowers.
They’re absolutely gorgeous. No one has ever given me flowers before. Not like this at least. I received flowers from my parents when I graduated eighth grade and high school. Mom would bring me bouquets for our last band performance of the year. Jordan gave me a beautiful corsage on the night of our senior prom, but he never brought me flowers. Not that I can remember. Honestly, I didn’t need the gesture. If I’m being honest with myself, I just wanted him.
But now, the gesture feels…awesome. Like Jordan Tuttle is making this grand statement that he wants me.
That’s heady stuff.
My phone buzzes and I check it to see I have another text from him.
What do you think?
Pressing my lips together, I contemplate what I’m going to say. I go for simple first.
They’re beautiful. Thank you.
He answers me quick.
I mean about dinner tonight.
So impatient. I ignore his question and tell him:
I don’t know how I’m getting these flowers home.
What do you mean?
I commute to work. I don’t own a car.
Seriously?
I start to laugh. Yes. Seriously.
I’ll come pick you up, he says.