Page 81 of The Wright Man

He just stared at me for a long second. Tense. Brows pulled in slightly. Irritated, clearly—but he was holding it in.

Finally, he nodded. "Rain check… aight."

He stood, slow and casual like we hadn't just danced around a landmine, and walked into the kitchen without another word.

I didn't move until I heard the fridge open and the suction seal pop. Then I exhaled, shoulders sagging like someone had finally released a valve.

Relief. But not peace. Never peace.

Just another temporary ceasefire.

I picked my wine back up. Drained the glass in one long sip.

My phone buzzed against the arm of the couch.

A text from Maleek.

Maleek : Riq tried to lift a 70lb kettlebell and farted so loud I thought a pipe burst. Send help.

I snorted before I could stop myself, then slapped a hand over my mouth to muffle the sound. My face cracked into a grin so fast it almost hurt. It was stupid. So stupid. But it was so him. And so us.

I started typing back, something equally dumb, when Gavin's voice floated out from the kitchen.

"Where'd these come from?"

I looked up.

He was standing in front of the kitchen island, carton of juice tilted to his mouth like a damn animal. I saw the backwash hit the opening and knew I'd be throwing it out tomorrow.

Of course he was pointing at the sunflowers.

No fancy vase. No satin ribbon or florist's card. Just long stems and bright, open faces that reached toward the light like they had a purpose.

Right next to Gavin's roses.

I didn't flinch. Didn't pause.

"A gift I got today," I said evenly, slipping my phone screen-down onto the couch. "From one of my older clients."

Not a lie. Not the whole truth either.

Gavin scoffed. "Kinda funny, sitting next to mine like that. Real Beauty and the Beast lineup."

He laughed to himself, clearly amused by the contrast.

I laughed too. But not for the same reason.

Because I couldn't help but look at them—his dramatic bouquet and Maleek's simple offering—and see the difference so clearly.

One was a performance. All polish. All show. The other was thoughtful. Warm. Measured. Real.

The roses said, Don't be mad at me.

The sunflowers said, I see you.

And for once, I didn't feel crazy for knowing the difference.

Chapter Thirteen