I’m officially the worst person who has ever lived.
“Should’ve gone for yellow daisies,” Brandon mutters under his breath.
I shoot him an incredulous look.Really?
Adam approaches the desk, smiling now that he’s recovered from his confusion. “I just wanted to see how you were doing after Friday. You weren’t answering my texts, and I didn’t see you at church on Sunday . . .”
“I’m sorry. I meant to get back to you, but the weekend got away from me.”
Adam shrugs. “It’s all good.” He extends the bouquet to me over the counter, and my heart melts a little. Sure, they’re not yellow daisies, but I appreciate the gesture.
Rounding the desk, I accept the flowers from him, hyperaware of Brandon’s presence.
“What are you doing for New Year’s Eve?” Adam wonders, glancing over at Brandon as if to include him in the conversation. But he’s rifling through his mail, pretending to be absorbed by a task he’d normally have me do, which tells me he’s only sticking around to eavesdrop on our conversation.
Doesn’t he have anything better to do right now?
“Um, nothing that I can think of. Why?”
Adam tucks his hands into his pockets and rounds his shoulders nervously. “You should come to my parents’ New Year’s party. I’d really love to have you there.”
“Oh . . .”Great. Just how I want to ring in the New Year—avoiding Yolanda.“Maybe. Jamie and Rebecka might be hosting New Year’s this year.”
“Jamie and Rebecka have already RSVP’d, so they’ll be there, too,” Adam replies cheerily. “That is, if they aren’t tending to a newborn by then.” He laughs good-naturedly.
“Oh.” Duh. I should have known. Rebecka is due any day now. “Okay. Well, then . . . yeah. I mean, maybe. Sure.”
Adam’s grin widens as I set the bouquet on the front counter, right in front of Brandon’s face, effectively blocking his view of us. I fluff the petals, pretendingto appreciate their crisp, vibrant beauty as one of Brandon’s eyeballs peeks voyeuristically through the mass from the other side of the desk.
These poor flowers, is what I’m really thinking as I stroke their petals. Plucked for someone else’s momentary pleasure. Just like me. I’ve been deflowered by a man standing in this room, and it won’t be long before my petals begin to wilt and fade, too. It already feels like I’ve lost a few.
How depressing.
When Adam’s gone, I carry the vase around the desk and place the sweet-smelling arrangement on top of the standing desk converter. The bundle is so big that I have to move my monitor over so it fits. There’s a card tied to the neck of the glass, and maybe it’s because I fell and hit my head on Friday, but I get a random flutter of excitement in my stomach when I sit down and open it.
Evie,
Have I ever told you how much I appreciate our friendship? I’m so glad we reconnected. I’d love for you to join me for Bible study this Thursday, too. Abi really wants to see you again, as well.
Text me any time.
Love, Adam
My cold black heart feels nothing when I read his words, but I can appreciate how sweet they are. If anything, I feel . . . guilty. Sighing, I trace the loops of his neat penmanship, feeling deeply troubled. Do I continue seeing him as a friend, potentially stringing him along in the process? Or do I cut off communication with him completely because I know I’ll never return his feelings?
What would I rather Brandon had done, if things had been different? If he hadn’t been a selfish jerk? I swallow uneasily, even more troubled by my answer. Neither. I wouldn’t have wanted him to do either . . .
Opening the filing cabinet beneath the desk, I tuck the card inside, unable to bring myself to toss it in the trash.
Brandon grimaces. “You’re keeping that?” he asks, acting like I’m saving used toilet paper.
I frown up at him. “Why wouldn’t I keep it?”
He pauses, then nods. “Right. Of course you’d keep it.”
“Of course,” I repeat, arching a brow.
Curious now, I watch as he slides a hand down his tie, straightening it a little. His nervous tick. Why is he acting so weird? “It’s, uh, been a long morning. I’m just going to . . .” He gestures toward his office, then hurries off.
