“I guess what I want to say is…”
Everyone holds their breath.
Including me.
From the corner of my eye, I notice a man watching the scene intently, unable to peel his eyes away; his wife/girlfriend/date sits beside him, running her fork boredly through a pile of mashed potatoes, having lost his interest because he isn’t missing this spectacle for the world.
I notice the bouquet next to her—red roses.
Shit.
Why didn’t I think to grab flowers?
Because you were in a rush, dude, in a damn hurry to get here.
I sidestep to the table where the lovebirds are sitting, lean in, and ask, “Mind if I buy those off you?”
He looks decidedly confused and shocked by the fact I’m speaking to him. “I’m sorry, w-what? Buy what?”
“The flowers.”
He grabs them and thrusts them at me. “Take them.”
“Hey!” The girlfriend/wife/date protests, but it’s too late; I have the flowers clutched in my forgetful palms and am already on my way back to Posey’s table.
“Thanks.” I glance over my shoulder. “I owe you.”
“Did he just steal flowers from that guy’s date?”Anna whispers loudly.
“He tends to steal things that aren’t his,” Posey informs the table as if coming to my defense, which only makes me sound like a fucking thief.
“I’m not sure if I should be horrified or impressed,” Molly admits. “He’s anything if not industrious.”
Industrious indeed.
I hate that I have to address the entire table of her dang friends every time I open my mouth, but if I get down on my knees, it’ll look like something it isn’t. Plus, God forbid it looks like I’m begging for something.
“These are for you.”
Posey takes the flowers. “Thanks.” She gives them a sniff, then sets them on the table in front of her. “They’re lovely.”
I glance back at the dude and his date; he gives me an encouraging thumbs-up.
Dammit—I just know this is going to end up on the internet…
I should have thought this through a little more before I jumped on an airplane and flew all the way here.
Too late now, gotta make hay while the sun shines.
“Basically, Posey…I came all this way to tell ya that…” I shuffle on my heels. “I guess what I want to say is that I miss you.”
Is it just me, or did more than one of these women put a hand to their heart and sigh.That’s a good sign, yeah?
“Things should be more exciting than they are—after the announcement and all, I kept waitin’ for the energy to kick in and for the adrenaline rush now that things are gettin’ goin’.” I suck in a breath. “And I started to ask myself why I wasn’t feelin’ it. So I came to tell you that I miss you. And I think…” Why do I keep pausing like an amateur? I’ve screamed at more men and thrown more insults on a football field, screamed at referees and coaches, been sworn at by my teammates. Fans. Crowds of people but this? This has me tongue-tied. “I think what I’m sayin’ is that I’d like to…uh.”
Fuck.
“Uh.”