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“I’m glad you’re home. I saw your former girlfriend on my way in.”
“Yep, it’s over. About a year and a half too late, but not too much damage was done.”
“She seemed okay.”
“Because she’s already with another guy. She’s okay.”
“Ugh. I’m sorry, son. Even if you don’t want her, it’s still hard to hear that someone else does.”
“It’s a relief, Pop. I’m not kidding. There won’t be any fighting.”
“If you say so. Once she discovers you’re with someone else, there might be trouble.”
“She already thinks I’m seeing Wendy Adams, and it’s not true.”
“The nurse?”
“Right. I’m interested, and I let her know I was today.”
“Don’t let it fade, son. If you think she’s interested too, grab it while you can.”
“Like how? I already talked to her.”
“Send her flowers.”
“Ha! No way.”
“I’m serious. She’ll be shocked.”
“I don’t know her address.”
Charlie got out his phone and Googled Wendy Adams. “Do you know what town she lives in? Or how about her street?”
He thought back to the dog fiasco. “She lives a couple of blocks from my apartment.”
Charlie scrolled through his phone. “Does Westwood sound familiar?”
“It’s the next street over from the apartment complex.”
He read off an address and Oliver keyed it into his phone.
“Now go to 1-800-Flowers and send her a bouquet of red roses. Trust me on this.”
It took a few minutes, but it was successful. “They’ll be delivered tonight before eight.” He looked at his phone. “It’s five there now.”
“Good job! I know it wasn’t cheap, but it’ll be worth it. Are you ready to eat? I’m starved.”
“Let’s go.”
At seven thirty that night, just as Wendy pulled into her driveway, a delivery truck drove up to the curb in front of her house.
She waited at her car. A man in casual clothes carrying a gigantic covered bouquet of something got out of the side door of the truck.
“Delivery for Miss Adams,” he said.
“Place them on the porch, please.”
She was too suspicious to open her door in the dark with a strange man lurking, so she waited until he drove off. Who would send her flowers? She couldn’t think of anyone but a patient she’d had that week, a frail, little old man in the trauma center after a car wreck, who had regaled her with his spy stories of the French resistance during World War II.
