His eyes fire, the reaction to my words so strong that I can feel his heart pick up speed under my hand.
“Yeah? And it’s my job to make sure you never forget that, baby.”
I shake my head, knowing that I’m not going to get him to realize that I don’t care if all we’ve had time for the last six days is a few hours here and there that he’s made to come to my house. Before I can speak, though, his head comes up and he flips us while taking my mouth in a deep, slow, kiss.
Then he makes me come for the fifth time.
TUESDAY
I hear my doorbell just as I had finished signing my name to the bottom right corner of A Beautiful War. Bam starts barking at the chime, and I drop my brush to go answer it.
After Nate left last night, I haven’t left my studio. The sun set and rose while I worked feverishly to finish. I feel like I’m about to drop, the exhaustion so strong, but every bit of my sluggishness is worth it after the signature I just penned on the canvas.
“Flowers for an Emberlyn Locke,” the gruff voice greets when I open the door. “Here,” he continues and thrusts a clipboard at me, just giving me enough time to take it before turning and walking toward his truck.
“Oh, okay,” I mumble and sign my name next to the huge X he had scribbled.
“Here. There’s more,” he huffs and thrusts a huge vase of roses into my hands.
“More?”
“Yeah, lady. More. As in eight more.”
I look at the roses in my hand, judging there to be about two dozen bright red buds before snapping my head back up. “Are you sure?”
“Been doing this for twenty years. I don’t get my orders wrong. Nine vases, twenty-four roses in each, to an Emberlyn Locke at this address. The only way I’m wrong is if you’re not really Emberlyn Locke.”
“I am, but this is a lot.”
He gives me a weird look, holding out the second vase impatiently. “I’m just doing my job.”
I struggle to hold both, so while he stomps back to his van, I turn to place them down on the table next to my door. I wisely stop questioning him and hope there’s, at least, a note on one of these.
His surly demeanor doesn’t slip until the last vase is in my hands. Then I get a smile from him before he turns to leave. “See you tomorrow,” he oddly says over his shoulder before slamming his door.
Tomorrow?
WEDNESDAY
Sal, my new florist best friend, showed up just as I was returning from dropping my last painting off at the gallery. When his van had pulled in, I had been juggling my keys and the bag of fast food I had grabbed on my way home after I realized it was past noon and I hadn’t eaten yet. Since he had to wait for me to put that down before I could sign and take the next enormous floral display, I had asked and gotten a very impatient ‘Sal, as in Sal’s Flower’s’ before he pointed with a weathered finger toward his van.
I just shrugged and took the flowers.
Since his order yesterday, I was quickly running out of space. I figured it was wiser to just place them on the floor until Sal left, then find somewhere for them.
When he handed me the last one, number nine, I got the same grumpy wave as he trudged to his van. “See you tomorrow.”
Uh? He can’t be serious.
I look down at my feet, seeing just the top of each rose. A sea of red that only two hundred and sixteen roses can make. The scent of roses has already overtaken my house, but all I can do is smile.
I don’t look for the card right away, knowing it’s here, but walk around my house trying to find a home for each vase. With the last one in hand—and no other option—I place the last four in the middle of my kitchen table before plucking the card I see off one of them.
His handwriting is rough and slanted, just as it was on yesterday’s card. Of course, the one yesterday had just said, ‘Yours, Nate.’ Today’s corny line makes me smile when the first made me melt. I drop the card on the table before pulling my phone from the back pocket of my shorts.
“Hey,” he hums in my ear as the sound of shuffling papers comes over the line.
“You know, pretty soon I’m going to be sleeping on roses.”
He laughs.
“Thank you, honey.”
“You sound happy,” he muses softly.
“And you sound tired. Do you need anything?”
He’s quiet for a second, more paperwork shifting around. “Just you, Em. I’ll be over later, but don’t wait up.”
“It’s wine night with Nikki, so there’s a good chance I’ll still be up when you leave Dirty.”
“I hope so. I miss my girl.”
I laugh. “It’s been two days, Nate.”
“Two long-as-fuck days.”
I don’t respond because he’s right. Instead, I change the subject.
“My mom asked if I would be at family dinner tonight. I told her no, but … uh,” I trail off, not sure how to word what I really want to ask. Something I’ve been wondering, but not willing to ask and add to his stress.
“I got the same call from my mom. Not a surprise, but her question was actually whether we would be at family dinner.”