Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 147966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 740(@200wpm)___ 592(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 740(@200wpm)___ 592(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
Anyhoo, I’d dumped the flowers—shock probably—before pulling them straight back out the wheelie bin. Even if I couldn’t bear to look at the blooms, someone would, or should, appreciate them.
Mon cœur, the first note read.
Blue hyacinths represent constancy. Forget-me-nots mean exactly what their name promises. I have not forgotten you for a single hour, Primevère.
Nor will I ever.
The day before was red chrysanthemums and ivy. I’d dropped that arrangement off at the cardiac ward.
Mon cœur,
Red chrysanthemums say I love you.
Ivy means fidelity; a bond that endures. I know flowers cannot undo what I have done, but perhaps they can say what I should have said before you left.
A different arrangement every day. Different blooms and different meanings. He’s going to run out of flowers at some point, though. Not to mention words. I hope it happens sooner rather than later.
Mon cœur,
Primroses. I must be as courageous as the bloom while I am without their namesake.
While I am without you.
White tulips ask for forgiveness.
I’m sending both because one is the truth and the other is the hope.
This was my favorite card, though I won’t ever admit to almost keeping the arrangement that was simple and sort of pure. I also won’t admit I’ve been carrying the card in my backpack since. Such a pretty sentiment from someone who deserves a throat punch.
I wish he would stop sending me flowers and words because they just make me think of him. Bad enough that he invades my dreams. Because there is no hope. None. There is no future for us. He needs to stop finding beautiful ways to make me miss him.
“Flowers.” Lavender sets down her fork.
“Yep.”
“Every day?”
“Every day for three weeks now.”
“Bunches?”
“More like…” I cast my eyes to the ceiling. “Tasteful displays. Vases and things.”
“Big?”
I shake my head.
“Red roses?”
“He’s not dumb.”
“Huh.” She pats her napkin delicately to her mouth.
“It’s weird, right?”
“What’s weird is this is the first time I’m hearing this. Your apartment didn’t look like a jungle last week.”
“I don’t keep them.” My answer is choppy and halting.
“Brutal.” She reaches for her water glass. “The man is obviously obsessed.”
I snort. “Not even.”
I’m out to lunch with my sister who is approximately 97 weeks pregnant. And while I can’t believe I’m initiating this conversation with her, I know I need to speak to someone about Luc. I’m weakening and I know I shouldn’t!
Not that I’ve seen the man since he turned up at the hospital with his apologies and his words of love. Oh, I’ve received plenty of flowers and prettily worded notes, but that’s the extent of his reappearance in my life. Unless, of course, you count how he seems to be on my mind all of the time. And that I am not happy about.
I mean, was it not torturous enough to make me love him, that he had to come back into my life to remind me of the things I like about him when I’m busy? Busy trying to learn how to unlove him?
“So flowers. After he just… turned up at the hospital?”
“Without a word of warning and pretending to be lovesick.” I pull the crust from the garlic bread. “Maybe I should’ve just called security.”
“Don’t eat all that. I ordered it for the baby.”
“The baby wants garlic bread?” I pull a doubtful face as my gaze drops to her rotund stomach, sitting above the waistband of her leggings and under a bright red T-shirt. She reminds me of Winnie the Pooh, not that I dare say so.
“Yes, this baby wants garlic bread. And an ice cream afterwards. She’s a very hungry bubba. She also wants sushi, a wedge of Brie as big as her mama’s head, and a margarita that comes in a glass the size of a bucket. But she’ll have to wait for all that, won’t she?”
“Until she’s at least ten.”
“Only for the margarita.” She gives a sly smile as she reaches for her water glass. “So what I’m hearing is you took my advice and had a holiday fling with la billionaire bleu. Thanks for the news. The belated news.”
“You’re welcome.” A whole world of discomfort swims through my answer. I’m not big on sharing. I shove the chunk of garlic bread in my mouth.
“But ohmygod!” she says, leaning in, all big eyes and entertainment. “He is well fit, Prim. What did I tell you about older men!” She holds up her hand for a high-five.
“I can’t believe I expected sensible advice from you,” I lie, as my hand meets hers, my lips twitching with a smile. Lavender’s advice is usually blunt but very good.
“Down to business, then.” She grabs a fry from my plate and pops it into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully before beginning again. “It was only meant to be a summer fling but you both caught feelings.”
“Catching feelings is worse than catching herpes. At least for herpes you can prescribe an antiviral.” I put my elbow on the table and my head to my fist.