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“It’s been a few days and I don’t know…” He shrugs. “You were on my mind so I decided to stop by with lunch and flowers.” He nods toward my desk. “You still like sunflowers, right?”
“Oh. Yeah, I do.” I look over to the flowers and then back to him.
“I remember you had a backpack covered with them in school, so I figured they were a safe choice. And the salad from The Chop Shop is the Greek one with no onion.” His face softens as I feel my heart do the same. “I figured that was a safe order too since it had feta cheese.”
“Wow. You were listening to me?”
Damien huffs out a laugh. “Did you think I wasn’t?”
“I don’t know,” I reply with a shrug of my shoulders. “I guess I’m just impressed.”
“I can be very impressive,” he says with a bounce of his eyebrows.
“And there you go, having to ruin a good moment.” I turn around to head to my desk and pick up the flowers, smelling them for good measure. The scent brings back memories from home, where my parents used to have sunflowers planted along the fence line of our property. I loved those flowers—drawing them, painting them, and yes, I even had a backpack and journal covered in them. It’s part of the reason I have a tattoo of one now too.
“Thank you,” I say once more as I spin to face him.
“You’re welcome.” And then he’s clearing his throat. “So, uh…are you busy Friday night?”
“What?”
“I mean, I was wondering if you maybe wanted to hang out or something?” Perhaps I’m reading him all wrong, but suddenly Damien seems…nervous.
“Hang out?”
“Yeah, you know, like friends do sometimes.”
“Oh. Well, that would be great…” His smile becomes blinding. “But I actually have plans Friday night with the girls.” And then it falls.
“Ah. No problem.” With his head hung low, he turns for the door again.
“I’m sorry. It’s just this club grand reopening that Penelope has to go to for work, and she’s making us all go. I’m free Saturday though,” I counter.
“I’m busy all day.” He runs a hand through his hair and turns as if he wants to escape. “Look, it’s no big deal.”
“Damien…”
“It’s okay, Charlotte,” he says over his shoulder. “I understand. Have a good time. And enjoy your lunch.” And then he’s gone, leaving me standing alone in my office with a dull ache in my chest that I’m not sure what to do with. I’m not sure how long I’m standing there either, feeling defeated and thoroughly confused, but a voice startles me back to reality.
“Who in the ever-loving Christ was that?” Helen comes around the opening of the door, eyes wide and smacking her gum.
“Damien.”
“Dear Lord, honey. I didn’t know they make them like that anymore. Either I’m too damn old or I’ve been married too long to remember what a man that could fuck you up against a wall looks like.”
“Helen!” With my hand over my heart, I stare slack jawed at my assistant. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak like that.”
“Oh, Charlotte. This old bird may be slow when it comes to moving around these days, but the kitty that rests between my legs is still feral like a jungle cat.”
“I…I don’t even know what to say to you right now.” I guess a handsome man can turn any woman into a siren.
“So, who is he?” she asks, taking a sip from her water bottle.
“He is...my boyfriend,” I choke out.
“Oh, lucky girl!”
“Yeah. It’s…complicated though.”
“Why?”
With a sigh, I turn back to my desk and start opening the brown paper bag. “We’ve known each other for a long time, and now things are…”
“Messy,” she finishes for me.
“Yes. And confusing.”
“Well, just remember that love isn’t supposed to be confusing. It’s just supposed to feel right.”
Love. Yeah, there’s no love happening between Damien and me. And bless her heart, but I can’t ever say that to Helen. I’ll just have to remember to break the news to her gently when Damien and I end this little charade in a month or so.
“But I’ll tell you this—the way that man was looking when he walked in here with that bag was anything but confused.”
“What?” I glance back at her.
“He’s got it bad for you, sweetheart. So stop questioning everything and just see where this man can take you. And it looks like he could take you to bed and show you a damn good time.”
Shaking my head, I hold back my smile. “Get back to work, Helen.”
“Yes, boss,” she chuckles through her words as I sit down at my desk and open the salad that Damien brought me, reeling with the way he looked when he left.
Was he really that disappointed that I couldn’t see him Friday night? And why was he even asking in the first place? It’s not like spending time together would help him or me in that case, and the more I wonder about this, the more confused I begin to feel.
Just brush this to the side, Charlotte. You need to focus. Your job is what matters at this moment, not the feelings of your fake boyfriend.
Fake. Boyfriend. Right?
Then why does this gesture from him not seem so fake after all?
