Page 120 of Merging Wright

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Jane doesn’t mention the notes, but she’s received them. I leave them folded on the nightstand by her bed in the guest room and they’re always gone the next day.

“What’s your favorite flower?” I ask as we pass like ships one morning.

Jane’s brows pinch.

“A husband should know these things about his wife,” I explain with a timid smile.

Skepticism rests in her eyes as she tips her head. She chews at her bottom lip. “I’m certain my husband will figure it out.” Her blue eyes narrow behind yellow-rimmed glasses. She hasn’t worn them in a while, and I want to bare her of everything but those frames.

“What if I’m wrong?” The desire to reach for her, tug her to me, and hold her tight is strong. She’s so beautiful, it hurts my heart. But I’m here to woo, not smother.

“Then you work to make it right.”

Somehow, I don’t think we are talking about flowers.

Taking my best guess, knowing what I know about Jane, she wouldn’t like something garish like red roses. While considered symbolic of romance, they don’t say Jane. She is classic and refined but stable and strong-willed.

I leave her white calla lilies one morning. Jane thanks me, but there isn’t any emotion behind her gratitude.

Another day, I offer a bouquet of white tulips which are rare for December. She fights a smile and sticks her nose into the flowers, but something still isn’t right.

On the third day, I offer her something different.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a plant. The florist told me it’s called a pothos. It’s sturdy, long-lasting, and vibrant. This says Jane to me.” I pause, glancing down at the vaguely heart-shaped leaves of the bright green plant. “I’m also told they’re really difficult to kill. Not that I want to harm you, but it expresses resilience, persistence, and a desire to thrive. That’s my Jane.”

Jane glances up at me, her expression blank. Her teeth hold in her tender lower lip.

Swallowing down the sour taste of what I’m about to say, I add, “It’s also a common house plant, and I thought you might like it for your new house.”

Her brows lift. “I haven’t found a house yet.” She hugs the plant against her chest, dropping her gaze from me.

I scratch under my chin, the hair bristling. “I know.”

“How?” Her head pops up. Those blue eyes are my undoing.

“Small town, remember?” I smile and Jane weakly offers me one in return. It isn’t the smile she shares with others. It isn’t the smile she once gave me. But it’s something.

She nods. “I’m going to watch HGTV.” She told me she watches the channel when she can’t sleep. She looks tired. Still sad. I haven’t been in her bed since the night of her return. But God, I fucking miss her.

Has she been lonely in bed like I am? Has she missed me beside her?

“Can I watch with you?”

She softly laughs. “Don’t you feel like you’re living HGTV?”

What I feel is I’m living my worst nightmare. I’m co-existing with Jane instead of spending my life with her. Baby steps, Mach.

“We could watch a movie, instead. A couch date.” We haven’t watched one since our Guardians of the Galaxy marathon. I want to give Jane all the dates. Day ones. Couch ones. Vacations and holidays. Every date on the fucking calendar.

“Guardians of the Galaxy, again?” Her growing smile teases me.

“Or a rom-com,” I suggest, recalling her laughter when she watched them with her sister.

Jane purses her lips. “Maybe we can just see what’s available.”