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Petalswas empty, but the florist looked frazzled.
“Hi. Can I help you?” she greeted without turning my way. She darted from one side of the shop to the other, rounding her way back behind the counter.
“I’d like to buy some pink peonies for my girlfriend. How many do you have?” I asked, getting straight to the point. The middle-aged woman didn’t look interested in small talk, and neither was I.
“How many do I have?” The confusion on her face made me nervous. It wasn’t like I was asking about marijuana. I only wanted pink flowers.
“Yeah, how many? I’ll buy whatever you have available. They’re my girlfriend’s favorite. I want to surprise her.”
“Huh...” She stood chewing on her bottom lip as her eyebrows knitted together.
What the hell? They’re just flowers.
“Is there a problem? Do you not have pink peonies? I’m pretty sure my girlfriend mentioned how she always bought them from this flower shop.” If this woman told me she was out of the delicate flower, I would throw a major tantrum. Roses would never do for this special night.
“Your girlfriend said that?” She tilted her head, considering me.
I nodded. The shopkeeper blinked, oddly.
“Is Miranda your girlfriend?”
“Yes!” Now we were getting somewhere. My eyes widened when a smile appeared on the woman’s round face.
“Miranda Bradford?” Her smile grew wider.
“That’s her.”
“Well, I just love her! She’s the sweetest thing. I keep a supply of peonies just for her.” I proudly smiled as Miranda was spoken of fondly. “Is she feeling well? She usually calls first thing Monday morning, but I haven’t heard from her.”
“Yeah, she’s fine.” It didn’t occur to me to think otherwise. “I’ll take all of the peonies you have.”
“Coming right up!”
Ten minutes later, I was back in my car headed west on the 10. Miranda had talked about her “mental checklists,” and I realized I was utilizing my own mental checklist: wine, flowers, brownies, engagement ring. I guessed that you eventually rubbed off on each other when living with someone day in and day out.
There was nobody I wanted to rub off on me more than Miranda. She was positively amazing.
Just after five o’clock, I pulled into my parking spot in the garage. I hopped out of my black Mercedes, popped the trunk, and loaded my arms with bags, the flowers, and my suitcase. There was no time for multiple trips unloading the car with less than an hour before Miranda arrived home. Or at least I hoped she’d be home at a reasonable hour. Either way, time was ticking, and I had a romantic scene to assemble.
Carefully, I carried everything to the door with the biggest grin on my face. I glanced back at her parking spot next to mine, relieved her BMW wasn’t there.
Outstanding. My plan was coming into place perfectly.
The house was dark when I entered. It struck me as odd, but the thought quickly flitted away. After placing the bags on the dining table, I broke into a frenzy. I went to the cabinet in the kitchen where Miranda stored vases and selected several for the peonies.
Floral arranging wasn’t my forte, but they didn’t look half bad. I placed them around the house in what I thought were ideal spots.
Naturally, Miranda was far better at setting the stage for romance, but I was giving it my all. Either way, I knew she’d love it. Any time I’d planned something special for her, she’d gushed over my efforts.
“I’m in like Flynn!” I laughed, clapping my hands for what the night would bring.
As I continued preparing for my grand proposal, I couldn’t shake this feeling something wasn’t right. I surveyed the bags, finding nothing missing.
I shrugged off the uneasiness, chalking it up to lack of sleep—and guilt—and proceeded on to the next task, arranging the brownies on a silver platter as Miranda would do. After I retrieved two wine glasses from the cabinet, I opened a bottle of Chianti to let it breathe.
Why was it so dark in here? I pulled back the curtains obstructing our magnificent ocean view. I exhaled, checking my Rolex for the time—5:37 p.m., enough time for a quick shower.
I couldn’t wipe the grin off my face as I tore off my clothes and threw them into a pile on the bathroom floor. Usually, I would separate the everyday items like underwear and socks from the dry-cleaning stuff, but there wasn’t time for that.
