Page 85 of Blush Crush

Cole should be here any minute.

I stare at my reflection, scrutinizing my outfit. I’m assuming this will be a casual setting so I decided on stovepipe jeans and a pale pink cashmere sweater.

But if I keep staring, I’ll end up changing, and there really isn’t time for that now.

I’ve never met a boyfriend’s parents. Probably because I’ve never had a real boyfriend.

I guess I still don’t.

It’s not like I don’t already know the Bentons. Cristina comes to the shop on occasion and Bill and my dad have grown particularly close since their retirements. But knowing them doesn’t necessarily make any of this easier.

I already feel guilty enough lying to my siblings, and I’ve been staying away from my parents just to avoid the topic. But I know my mom knows. She’s texted me a handful of times asking about Cole and wondering when I’m going to bring him around.

I haven’t answered her back.

If we pull this off correctly, no one should ever find out the truth—that it’s all fake—but that doesn’t stop the guilt from stewing in my stomach.

The Bentons want Cole to get married and start a family. And Cole just wants them off his back. I’m nothing more than a decoy until he doesn’t need me anymore. Until the wedding has passed and he can resume his regular lifestyle.

A bitter taste crawls down my throat when I think about Cole going back to the way he used to be. A revolving door of casualflings that he’ll flaunt around town. People will probably laugh behind my back that I ever thought I would be the one he’d change for.

A knock rasps on my door and I open it to find Cole with a playful smile stretched across his face and a bouquet of pink roses in his hand, and suddenly I can’t remember what dark alley I was letting my mind wander through. I’m having a hard time remembering much of anything.

“Are those for me or for your mom?” I don’t want to get my hopes up. A man has never given me flowers before so it’s safer to assume that’s not what’s happening now.

He huffs a laugh. “No, doll. They’re for you. Pink roses are your favorite flower. My mom’s more of a tulip lover.”

He knows my favorite flower? I’m almost certain I’ve never told him. At least I don’t think I have.

“How do you know those are my favorite flower?”

He looks at me like it’s a ridiculous question. “Gee, I don’t know. Maybe all the pink roses at Novel or all the pink roses you have here.” He waves his hand at my home decor, including the faux pink roses at the center of the small dining table behind me. “Or the fact that you buy yourself pink roses when they go on sale at Harvest Grocers.”

Well, I guess I’m a little more obvious than I thought. Or Cole is much more observant than I would’ve guessed.

He hands them over to me and I think I imagine a slight blush hit his cheeks but it’s gone before I can determine if it was real or a trick of the eye.

Cole is not a blushing kind of guy.

Our fingers make the briefest of contact in the exchange and I ignore the little zing that hits me because of it.

I’ve just never been given flowers.

And these ones are particularly beautiful. The bulbs are fully open and the petals are the prettiest shade of pink. A bit of a rare find for January.

Bringing them to my nose, I take a quick inhale, breathing in their unique perfume.

The entire time Cole is watching me, a small fascinated grin tugging at his lips.

“What’s the occasion? Are these to butter me up for something? Am I going to have to assure your parents what a nice boy you are?”

The grin softens, like it might turn into a real smile, but it never fully blooms. His eyes bounce between my face and the bouquet as he drags a hand through his hair, making him look more disheveled than normal. “Uhh, I’m not sure.” He shrugs. “My mom asked me to pick up olive oil and I saw those and they made me think of you so I bought them. Is that…okay?”

My heart swells at the simplicity of the gesture. No grand thought. No apology. No bribe. They’re just-because flowers.

I’m forced to blink a few times to push back the burn of tears. I can’t cry, that would be silly.

“Thank you,” I whisper, suddenly feeling shy.