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There was no reason for me to be texting him at nearly three in the morning, other than the obvious—and I’m not ready to go there.
I’m tempted to call Kendall and tell her about the texts and the tulips—which, by some odd coincidence, happen to be my favorite flowers—but I resist. She’d twist it all around, and next thing I know, I’d be thinking that Marcus is still interested in me instead of being well on his way to marrying Emmeline or some other equally perfect woman.
No, I need to forget all about Marcus and his weirdly nice payback message. It means nothing—and certainly not that he’s still interested. This thing between us is over, and now that he let me know how stupid my texts were, I’m sure I won’t hear from him again.
My conviction holds until the doorbell rings as I’m feeding the cats.
“One second!” I yell out, trying not to stumble over Mr. Puffs as I set down his plate and rush over to the door. I don’t need a repeat of the other week.
There’s no one at the door when I open it, but there is a package on the doormat.
My pulse jumps.
I’m not expecting a delivery.
The box is small and light, so I have no trouble lifting it. Heart pounding, I carry it into the kitchen and set it on the counter, then grab a knife to slice through the tape.
Inside is another box, a much prettier one with the Saks Fifth Avenue logo on it. Opening it, I gape at the contents inside.
A white cashmere scarf, one just like the cheap Chinese brand I put on my Amazon wish list for Christmas—except it’s by some Italian designer and looks a thousand times more expensive.
What the hell?
I rummage through the box and find a note.
From your wrong person, it says.
* * *
“Okay, so let me get this straight,” Kendall says on Friday morning, when I cave and call her from work after another sleepless night. “You texted him by accident at three in the morning on Thursday, and he’s already sent you two gifts?”
“Yes!” A woman browsing through the mystery section gives me an annoyed look, and I sink down in my chair, so I’m half-hidden behind the counter. “Why would he do that?” I continue in a hushed tone. “And with those notes? Do you think he’s just toying with me?”
“Why would he toy with you? Emma, pull your head out of your ass. He obviously still wants you. He sent you… what? Flowers and a scarf?”
“Yes. A huge bouquet of tulips and a white cashmere scarf, just like the one I was hoping my grandparents would get me for Christmas, but infinitely fancier. How did he know I needed a scarf? Or that I love tulips, for that matter?”
“Most people like tulips, and he must’ve seen you without a scarf. Either way, what does it matter?” Kendall’s voice rises in exasperation. “He sent you gifts. That means he’s still really into you. Did you at least text him a thank-you?”
I bite my lip. “I wanted to, but—”
“Okay, seriously? You need to get on that. Like, right now. Text him a thank-you and say you want to see him again.”
“Kendall—”
“Don’t you Kendall me. Text him and call me back when it’s done.”
“Excuse me.” The woman who was browsing the mystery section approaches the counter, her broad face creased in a disapproving frown. “I can’t find the latest James Patterson.”
“Of course.” Hanging up on Kendall, I jump up, glad for the interruption. “Let me show you where it is.”
As I lead the woman through the bookstore, I try to forget all about Kendall’s instructions—and the man who’s the cause of my turmoil.
* * *
I still haven’t worked up the courage to call or text Marcus by the time I get home. Partially, it’s because I have no idea what to say. Is he messing with me, or is this for real? Should I be mad or grateful? The gifts he sent me are outrageously expensive—I know, because I looked up the cost of that scarf online—so I should decline them, at the very least. But that would mean getting in touch with Marcus, which brings me back to my dilemma about his intentions.
What is he after?
Does he still want to date me, or is this all just a game to him?
I’ve fed the cats and am halfway through my own dinner when the doorbell rings again.
I jump up and rush over, but the FedEx guy who left the package on my doorstep is already getting into his truck.
The box is heavy for its size. I bring it into the kitchen and slice through the tape, my hands shaking.
Inside are books, each in a hermetically sealed plastic pouch.
Gulliver’s Travels, Gone with the Wind, and The Count of Monte Cristo.
