He’s nervous, I think, and it makes me feel unbearably tender toward him. Unbearably tender in general. Like taking off the bandage of a wound that’s freshly healed, exposing the new flesh to the harsh world, hoping it doesn’t get injured again.
“Grey,” I say, lost for any other words.
“You don’t have to use them,” he says, quick to respond.
I shake my head, fighting back tears that I can feel forming behind my eyes. I don’t know what makes me do it. Maybe it’s his uncharacteristic self-consciousness. Regardless, I want to reassure him. Want to reassure myself that he’s different from what I thought, and that maybe I am too.
So I press up on my tiptoes and wrap my arms around his middle. He stands stock-still for just a moment before meltingagainst me. It’s the only way I can describe the way his body softens, curling around mine. Not just his arms, but his shoulders, his back, his head, dipping into the curve of my neck.
“Thank you,” I say, directly into his ear. “That’s one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me.”
“Then you have shitty friends.”
“You’re my friend,” I say, and when he laughs, I can feel it slipping down my spine.
“I’m your boyfriend, remember?” His tone is teasing, but we’re still holding each other, arguably way too long, and it feels intimate. Flirty.
“In name only,” I say, wondering if he can hear how breathless I sound.
“I don’t know, Fin,” he says, his voice still light. “This doesn’t feel like in name only.”
He’s right, and it should make me pull back, make some kind of snarky comment. But I don’t, and I think I feel a rush of air seep out of him when I slide my hand over the length of his spine. I don’t know what I’m doing, whatwe’redoing, but I don’t want to stop.
The bell above the door jangles, and we snap apart, eyes wide as we stare at each other. Maybe it’s because I’m so lost in whatever bubble we’ve formed around ourselves that it takes me so long to notice who is standing in the shop. Who the customer is that interrupted whatever was going on between us.
Gus. And Eloise.
When I finally look at them, Eloise looks like she’s watching the end of her favorite rom-com, her hands steepled beneath her chin, a sappy smile on her face. The way Gus is watching us is different, his expression hard and unreadable, twin divots creasing the space between his eyes. I don’t understand it.
“You guys aresocute,” Eloise bursts out. That makes me finally snap to attention, breaking the last vestiges of the spell I’d fallen into with Grey.
I plaster on a smile I hope they can’t tell is fake, then I practically jolt out of my skin when I feel Grey’s hand land heavily on my hip. A gesture so simple and easy that it shouldn’t send wavelengths through my body, lighting up my every cell.
“Thank you,” I manage to get out. “What can I do for you?”
Their expressions change then, turning into something disappointed, toddlers told they can’t have ice cream for dinner. Eloise moves closer, her bottom lip jutting out just the tiniest bit. Almost like a pout.
“We had a florist booked for the wedding, but she had to back out due to a family emergency and left us totally in the lurch.”
Grey’s fingers tighten on my hip, pulsing, like he, too, knows exactly where this conversation is headed, and he wants to comfort me. Or warn me to stand my ground.
It’s Gus who speaks next, and I feel his voice like a pinprick to my heart. “I know it’s a huge ask, and you can say no, but do you have availability? We’d pay extra.”
Everything about those sentences feels like a knife to my ribs.We.We will pay extra, for the flowers we need for our wedding. The one that doesn’t involve you. I used to be the other half of thewewith Gus. I used to think that one day, I’d make the floral arrangements for our own wedding. I even practiced them when things were slow. I knew exactly what flowers I would use, that we would have a spring wedding at Misty Grove, in the flower fields at dusk. It would be magical.
And now he’s planning a wedding with someone else. Marrying someone else. And he wants me to make the bouquet forherto hold.
I want to say no. I want to throw a fit, to rage, to tell him this is too far, too much. That he shouldn’t have asked this of me. But Ican’t. There’s a lump in my throat so thick I know I won’t be able to say anything but yes.
So I do. And I manage to tell them I’ll email them before my throat closes up. They leave, the happy jingle of the bell sounding too loud in my ears.
When I turn around, Grey is still there, watching me with hard, concerned eyes. His jaw ticks, and I know he’s angry. At Gus for asking this of me. At me for not standing up for myself. At himself for not stepping in.
“I’m fine,” I lie, waving the whole thing off with a twist of my wrist.
“You’re not,” he says. His voice is so different from the way it was when it was pressed into my skin just a few minutes ago. That was a mistake, I know. Holding on to him like that shouldn’t have happened, not when I’m so obviously not over Gus. Or maybe I’m over him, but I’m not over what he did to me, how it made me feel. Like I’m not enough.
I can’t fall into Grey, into whatever feels like is growing between us, not when I’m still so broken. He’s looking, he said, and I think I believe him. I think I can reframe the past few years, see him searching for love the way I was. Trying people on for size and never finding the one that fits just right.
