My girl? Did I just call her my girl?
I did, and it feels right. Because that's what she is.
I tear up the walkway to her bungalow, and rap on the door. Holding the flowers out in front of me, I beam when the door swings open.
"Hey, beautiful," I say, leaning in to kiss her.
She sniffles. "Hey."
"Got these for you. Have you seen that flower truck around town? I passed by it just now and thought of you." I press the bouquet into her hands.
She stares at the flowers, then blinks. "They're gorgeous. Thank you," she says slowly. Then she sniffles again.
I stroll into her house and flop onto her light blue sofa. "You got a cold? Feeling okay? Why are you sniffling? Oh, crap, are you allergic to flowers?"
Because her place is small, and the kitchen is open to the living room, I watch as she bustles around, opening cabinets. She takes out a vase and fills it with water.
"No, I'm not sick," she says. "Not allergic, either."
"Good. Wouldn't want you feeling bad during this last push for the business. How's the project? Sorry to just bust in on you, but I wanted to see you. It's been too long."
All her focus is on the flowers, and she's arranging them in the vase. She carries it over to the dining table, which is where she stacks all of her notebooks. Then she sits at one of the chairs at the table.
She's in a pink cotton dress. The kind that makes me want to spin her around like in those old black-and-white movies. But she's barely looking at me.
"It has been a few days, hasn't it, Remy?" Why does her voice seem so distant?
"Beautiful, come on over and sit next to me." I pat the sofa.
Slowly, she rises and crosses the room. With an uncomfortable look, she perches on the far end of the sofa. I slide over and fold her into my arms.
"Hey. I've missed you," I whisper. "Come here. Kiss me."
I try to tilt her chin up, but she wriggles out of my arms. "Um, we need to talk."
Oh, no. I've never been in a relationship, but I know that those four words —we need to talk— are never good.
SEVENTEEN
Leilani
I hate confrontation.
Probably because of what I went through with Brent. Or because my parents fought like Roman gladiators when I was a kid. Pitched battles, hurled plates, thrown punches, that sort of stuff. Maybe that's why I hung in with Brent for so long. Tolerating a level of verbal abuse was easier than courting confrontation.
But I'm a new woman now, one that doesn't hesitate to face problems head on. I've gotten this far in my new life, so I need to face facts and tell Remy what I saw and how I feel. It's only fair. It’s time I make my feelings a priority.
I rub my lips together and stare at Remy, all sprawled out on my sofa. He's so gorgeous, with his foxy smile and warm eyes, so at ease wherever he goes. Whether it's on my sofa or at a tiki bar with another woman, he just belongs.
Except, he doesn't belong in my home. Not if I have any dignity left. I straighten my spine.
"I saw you with another woman," I say in a clear voice. "At Ice Ice Baby."
His eyes widen. Oh yeah, I've totally caught him. And he thought that a gorgeous bouquet would clear his conscience.
"Hunh? What are you talking about?"
"You were sitting outside in the patio area, about an hour and a half ago. I bicycled past because I was going for a coffee by myself. That's when I saw you. You were laughing, she was laughing. Red hair. Killer figure. Super cute, in a black tank top. Don't tell me I'm insane or that I was seeing things. I know what I saw."
