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“Last time I checked, it’s been a long time since a dick has come in contact with this vagina, all right?”
He laughs. “A simple ‘no’ would have sufficed.”
“And since when do I offer a simple reply?”
“Touché. Well, do you have any idea who they could be from?”
I feel a tiny sliver of hope when I consider who theycouldbe from, but I don’t dare voice that aloud. Especially because that hope is yet another reason why theyshouldn’tbe from him. “No.”
“Pity. They’re beautiful. And I know they’re your favorite.”
“They are.” Instinctually, I reach back and rub the skin on my shoulder where my calla lily tattoo rests, my unique floral tattoo that me and the girls got during the summer between our freshman and sophomore years of college.
When we realized the bond we shared was special, we wanted something to cement that. So we each got a tattoo of our favorite flower on our shoulder, a way to connect us together while still celebrating our individuality.
The truth is, I never really cared for flowers much, but I remember dozens of calla lilies at Jacob’s funeral, so that’s what I chose as a reminder of him as well—a detail only I know, of course.
And then it hits me—the last person who saw that tattoo.
Maddox.
Could these really be from him?
“There’s a gift, too,” Garret announces as he reveals a small white box from behind his back with a yellow ribbon tied on the top.
“Well, why didn’t you say so?” I rip the box from his hands.
“I wanted to make you sweat a little.”
Yanking the ribbon, I turn toward my desk chair and resume my seat. “Tell me why I don’t fire you again?”
“You’d miss me too much,” he tosses back without pause.
When I lift the lid and see what’s inside, I instantly know my intuition was correct.
“What is it?” Garret asks, leaning over my desk.
Twisting to the side, I hide the box from view. “Nothing.”
He narrows his eyes at me and places his hands on his hips. “Really? After all that, you’re not going to let me know who they’re from?”
“You don’t need to know everything.”
He gasps. “But I’m your assistant!”
“Well, then you’d better get back to work.”
“Fine. Whatever.” He throws his hands up in defeat. “I’ll just have to ask around if anyone knows. You know how gossip flies around this office.”
“Good luck with that.”
He shuts the door behind him as I place the box on my desk and take one of the apple-flavored Jolly Ranchers out of the box along with the note inside.
Unfolding the paper, my heart picks up as I take in the masculine handwriting staring back at me, scanning the words at lightning speed for a message.
Penelope,
Calla lilies and anything sour-apple flavored—two things I will never be able to see again without thinking of you.
