Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 66570 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66570 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
“Yes,” I admitted.
“I thought so.” She drew in a deep breath. “He is a bit mixed up in the head right now, but he regrets how he acted. I know he wants to talk to you.” She held up her hand before I could speak. “I am not here on his behalf or to beg you to listen to him. I’m here because you’re my friend and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I’m fine.”
“Liar,” she accused affectionately.
I sat on the edge of my desk. “It was so…amazing, Holly. He was so amazing. Funny and sexy. Sweet and passionate. Our night—” I paused and swallowed. “I have never experienced anything like it. It felt like a beginning.”
“And then he acted like a jerk,” she finished for me.
“Yes.”
“Can you forgive him? Try again if he asked?”
I blew out a breath. “I don’t know. Part of me wants to…”
“The girly parts, you mean?” she asked while waggling her eyebrows, looking totally ridiculous.
I laughed. “Well, those parts are willing, but I can’t risk him doing this again and my getting hurt.”
“I know,” she said softly. “If I could say one thing?”
“Go ahead.”
“Of anyone I know, Simon would be worth the risk. He told me how incredible he thinks you are. He admitted he got scared and fucked up. He regrets it.”
“Does he know you’re here?”
“No. I didn’t come here for him. I came here for you. I just think…” She paused then rushed out the words. “I think the two of you are meant for each other.”
“Pretty strong words for one date.”
“Evan and I knew the first night we met.”
“That’s rare.”
“That’s exactly what Simon said,” she replied with a smirk. “See, perfect.”
I rolled my eyes, and she held up her hands. “Okay, I’m done. But whatever you decide, I’m here for you.”
I hugged her. “Thanks.”
Tuesday, I did my errands, getting everything I needed. I made another trip to the school and organized my supply closet. I looked around, pleased at the cheerful room. As always, I looked forward to the start of the year. Getting back into my routine, being with my little charges every day. I loved summer and the break, but I was ready to jump into the school year.
The next day, I gave the classroom one final inspection. I was ready. The open house would start at one and end at five. It was always a busy time, but I enjoyed it.
A rap on my door startled me, and I looked up to see Ella from Bunches of Love, the local floral shop, at my door.
“Hey, Ella,” I greeted her. “What’s up?”
She walked in, carrying a large vase of flowers in her arms. Bright blossoms, deep greens, and wispy grasses overflowed from the large pitcher they were in. “Delivery,” she said.
“For whom?” I asked.
She smirked as she set down the arrangement. “For you.” She fluffed a grass head, the wispy end dancing under her touch. “Took me a while to find everything requested for the arrangement. The sender was quite particular.” She winked. “Enjoy.”
She left, and I approached my desk, staring at the flowers. Daisies, asters, Queen Anne’s lace, and bachelor’s buttons mingled with carnations, alstroemeria, baby’s breath, and tiny roses. Lacy grasses and a multitude of greens made it a stunning creation. The vase was beautiful, the mix of colors in the glazed porcelain setting off the flowers. A card was attached, and my hands shook as I stared at my name written in a bold, masculine script. I opened the envelope, reading the simple words.
Amy,
Regret is a small word for what I feel.
I’m sorry is inadequate.
A conversation is what I beg for.
Please.
Yours—Simon.
I touched a soft petal, stroking the velvety texture. All the flowers were my favorites I had listed at dinner. He had listened and remembered. Gone to a great deal of trouble to get them for me. It occurred to me that he had ordered them from the local florist, not a nearby town. Although Ella wasn’t a gossiper, I knew a few of her staff liked to talk among themselves. They would notice this unique arrangement and who sent it to me. It might start unwelcome chatter about us.
Except there was no us—was there?
I reread the card. Yours—Simon.
Was he mine? Did he want to be? Did I want to talk to him?
I rubbed my eyes. I did want to talk to him. To find out why. Have him explain to me what happened.
But was I ready for it? Was he?
I picked up my phone and sent him a text.
Amy
Simon, Thank you for the flowers.
They are beautiful.
Busy at school with the open house.
Perhaps a conversation can happen after it is done.
I had hardly set the phone down when it buzzed with a reply.
Simon
Amy,
Not as beautiful as you.
When you’re ready, if you’ll listen, I’d like to talk.
I’ll wait.