“Oh, thank god you’re okay.” Mitch pounced over and enveloped me in a hug, his warm woodsy cologne scent tickling the happier places in my brain.
I pushed back out of the embrace. I wasn’t in the same state of apparent relief as he was. “Of course, I’m okay.”
And the flowers, so many flowers, they all announced his guilt. Mitch only ever bought flowers when he was apologizing for something. He must’ve boughtDaisy’s Delightsout.
“I tried calling you and calling you.” His face was tight with concern, but he kept his distance to a reasonable four feet. Totally out of arms reach, which was never a bad thing.
However, I doubted his concern and needed to verify at least something of truth, so I pulled out my phone. Indeed, there were several text messages and voicemails.
“I have some explaining to do.”
“Do you ever.” I slammed the door to the apartment and the picture hanging near the door rattled on the wall from my wrath. My arms made a tight knot as I crossed them over my chest. “How could you?”
“I can explain, and you have every right to yell andscream.”
It was going to be that kind of fight, was it? Instantly my blood boiled, and my heart pounded in a rage of anger. He hadn’t even admitted to anything, and I was ready to scream or run as my adrenaline was sky high.
“Can we talk in the living room?”
We were a corner apartment, and that particular room didn’t have the paper-thin walls the kitchen or our bedroom had. We only found out how thin they were when our neighbour called out her lover’s name in throes of passion, and Mitch confirmed the guy’s name when they passed in the hall and wished him a good day.
I marched into the living room and counted three bouquets. One on each of the side tables and a giant one on the coffee table. The couch cushions had all been fluffed and under the floral aroma something else tickled at my nose. It was the cleaner we used. Mitch had entirely scrubbed clean the living room. What was he hiding?
“What’s up with Jasmine?” A woman I didn’t know and yet had such intense hatred of.
“Jasmine is an old friend.”
“How old?” I never checked on her birthdate but pegged her slightly older than us.
“From my high school days.”
Oh, that kind of old. I glared. “You didn’t go to school in Seattle.”
“You’re right, I didn’t. Jasmine used to live here on the island.”
“There was no way that’s possible. She’s as much an urban chick as I am a small-town gal.”
“It’s true.” Mitch sat on the couch. “Won’t you sit down?”
“I’d rather stand.” This way, if I needed to, I could storm out. I still hadn’t set my keys in the bowl and my purse hungacross my body.
Mitch nodded and smoothed his hand over the cushion. “Jasmine’s from Campbell River.”
Not big urban like Victoria, but way bigger than Cheshire Bay.
“So what?”
“You asked.”
In a round about way. “Quit stalling.”
My head was pounding and starting to ache, and there wasn’t anything I could take to settle it down. I pinched the bridge of my nose.
“Headache?”
“Yes.”
“Probably from all the flowers?” Rather than wait for the answer, he walked into the kitchen and came back with a can of fresh coffee grounds. “Smell this.”