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“You got it,” she replies cheerfully. “How’s Charlotte doing?” she asks, directing her attention to me.
Sometimes, I hate that question, and I’m sure Charlotte does too. Because truly, how honest is anyone expected to answer that? Does she want to know that Charlotte cried herself to sleep last night while I held her? That today is going to be absolute misery for her as she buries the little girl that she always saw as a little sister? I know that Chloe is just being nice, and she always has been kind to Char and me. I also think that I’m hyper-protective of her today, and someone asking about her good or bad has me on edge.
“She’s doing all right,” I say honestly and hand Morgan more than enough cash and tell her to keep the change.
Chloe folds a little white bag and hands it to me. “I threw in an extra croissant,” she whispers. “Tell her hi for me.”
My heart warms at the gesture. “I will. Thanks.”
“There’s my girl!” Cameron’s voice booms from behind me.
I turn around and ask mockingly, “Are you trying to scare the quiet and polite customers?”
Cam shrugs and walks over to the swinging door that lets you behind the counter. He pushes through and walks up behind Morgan, wrapping his arms and practically his entire body around hers.
“As cute as this nice moment is, Cam, either help her finish my coffee or fuck off. I have to get going,” I say, mostly playful.
He holds his hands up and peels himself off of her. In a matter of seconds, Charlotte’s drink is done and in my hand.
“Thank you, guys.” Shooting a look at Cam, I say, “Not you.”
“That’s fucking rude, Goldy.” He laughs and turns back to Morgan, unable to keep his attention away from her for too long.
That I understand. Charlotte has the same gravitational pull to me that Morgan does to him.
Making the fast drive home, I zone out until I pull into the garage. I have, like, five minutes to make this arrangement and get my ass inside.
Leaning my phone in my cupholder, I lay the flower bundles out on the seat and cut the rubber bands and paper holding them together. I read online that I’m also supposed to cut the bottom of the flowers at an angle. Not sure why, but I will listen to the Google gods.
Emptying the water bottle into the white vase, I dump the packet of floral food into it and stir until it’s blended. Then, stem by stem, I cut each one and assemble them inside the vase until it resembles the photo on my phone.
“I think it looks pretty damn good,” I mumble to myself as I admire my work.
Grabbing the empty bag from the grocery store, I throw all of the garbage in it, tie it up, and set it by the door inside the garage. Then, I grab the flowers, coffee, and pastries before unlocking the door and heading inside.
All of the lights are still off downstairs, meaning she is still asleep or just hasn’t wandered down here. Kicking my shoes off, I ascend the stairs and turn into our bedroom.
Walking over to her side of the bed, I set everything down on her nightstand and sit on the bed next to her.
“Good morning, baby.” I stroke her cheek, whispering, “Char, you’ve got to get up. We have to leave soon.”
She starts to squirm in the blankets. Leaning down, I kiss the top of her head, then her temples, her nose, her cheeks, and her eyes. They flutter open as I pull away.
God, she is so beautiful.
Her voice is raspy and sleepy as she says, “Good morning.”
She yawns and sits up onto her elbows. The flowers catch her attention, or maybe it was the coffee, but regardless, she turns toward the nightstand.
“Oh my gosh, you got me flowers and breakfast?” she asks, sounding more awake with each word.
“Yeah,” I say, feeling my cheeks heat up.
“They’re beautiful.” Her voice is barely audible as she throws herself up and slides her legs off the bed beside mine. “Thank you.”
She rests her head against my shoulder, and I lean mine against the top of hers.
“You’re welcome.”
