Page 66 of Down Bad

But something about how he stays so close makes me feel like my presence is the one thing keeping him from losing his shit.

Is he really just doing all of this for me?

Am I torturing him by bringing him here?

I think I keep expecting Diego to get bored. Or to finally reach his limit. To be over it once and for all. To give up on me and this town and his borrowed suit and just leave. Every encounter risks that. Every friendly face. Every breath.

Instead, whenever I turn around, there he is.

Soon, we’re seated at the table. Lance wasn’t kidding; we have a full-on view of the stage from the right side, only one other table in front of ours, filled with the Evanses—Cassie, Fabian with his girlfriend Nadia, and her daughter Vanessa with boyfriend Robby. It makes sense Lance would sit here; he and Cassie are in business together with his fashion design.

Our table is small. Lance’s boyfriend Chad is seated next to the Kings: Tyrone and Omar with their daughter Kelsey, who appears dramatically bored. I’ve invited the Kings out for my movie nights several times, but they’re always busy or got stuff going on. They live way out in the boonies near Lance and Chad’s ranch and have dinners at each other’s houses, feeling at times more attached to one another than to Spruce. Lance actually confessed that to me one of my movie nights when he was a little tipsy: my gatherings help him feel more connected to everyone in town. I felt a pinch of pride. I am quick to greet them and introduce Diego, though it doesn’t inspire much conversation beyond some initial small talk. I laugh at something Chad says, then fall into awkward silence when the topic changes to something about ranch life, sipping my drink and ignoring the nervous sweat dripping down my back.

Diego leans into me. “That one of yours?”

I’m confused for a second until I follow his line of sight to the flowery centerpiece on the table. “Oh, that? Yeah, it is.”

He nods thoughtfully, then eyes the floral arches around the perimeter of the space. “But not those.”

I peer at them, too. “Right.”

He eyes the stage. “And not those things, either.”

He’s referring to the potted plants that dot the lip of the stage from one end to the other, each one perfectly identical to the next as if they were copy/pasted. “Nope.” Then I give him a look. “You can actually tell which ones are mine and which ones aren’t?”

He shrugs and crosses his arms. “Yours are better.”

I smirk. “You’re just saying that.”

“I don’t just say shit.” He nods over his shoulder. “You see all those stupid arches coming in? All those big pots on the way in? So full of extra doily shit, looked like a crafts store barfed into a dump truck of garden scraps. They all try too hard. It’s annoying.” He crosses his arms as his eyes settle on the centerpiece. “Yours … they’re less showy. You let the flowers speak for themselves.”

I blink.

Dumbfounded.

As distracted as I might be with Diego’s presence tonight, the sight of the other floral arrangements were not lost on me since the moment we arrived. Huge. Embellished with extra decorations between all of the flowers, long spikes of wood, lengths of bamboo, shiny golden ribbons—all matters of glitz and glamour.

Glitz and glamor that I don’t have.

And with every hyper-colored arrangement in the giant vases and flower arches we passed coming in, I felt smaller and smaller.

Who would even notice the centerpieces at this point? Who would notice my cute Wishing Blooms logo and consider hiring me for their event? Who would care?

Diego notices. Diego cares.

“Why’d these people only hire you to do some of the pieces?” he asks suddenly. “Why not all of them?”

I shake out of my thoughts. “Huh? All of—?” I nearly laugh. “My little shop? Doing all of the flowers for this big event? No, no. I wouldn’t be able to pull off all of this on my own.”

“Not with that attitude.”

I look at him. “Seriously, I’d need ten of me.”

“You could do it. And better.” He kicks back his drink.

I’ve never thought anything of it, Cissy asking me just for the table centerpieces each year and nothing more. I always figured it was because she knew I was a small flower shop and didn’t have a big factory with dozens of employees at my disposal.

I just told myself I was lucky to be in business at all, what with my parents away and leaving me in charge. What is it about Diego that makes me question things I’ve just let be?