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Just because a man is perfect doesn’t mean he is perfect for you.
Rhys turns his plate around a few different ways, rearranging it on the table as he clears his throat. “Can I be honest with you?”
“Always.”
“I had a feeling.” He breaks the edge of the calzone, where it’s all crusty bread, and pops it into his mouth. I know this is not a you-can’t-break-up-with-me-because-I’m-breaking-up-with-you scheme, because it’s not Rhys’s style. “At first, when you came back, I was excited. I used to think—or maybe hope?—that the acting bug was just a phase. That you would grow up and realize your place in the world is here. But even though you’ve done some pretty awesome healing here, I’m not gonna lie, you don’t look happy. And I’ve seen you happy. Something is missing, and that something isn’t Paul. I know, because I’ve seen videos of you on YouTube when you were performing in The Seagull. You looked alive on that stage. You look less alive now. And the truth is . . .” He smiles sadly. “I deserve more than an unhappy, unaccomplished girlfriend who’d always wonder what could have been. And you deserve more than settling for a job you didn’t want in the first place.”
Like magnets, we both stand up from our seats, fumbling away from the table, and crash into a hug. My face is buried in his shoulder. I whimper, and for the first time in over a year, I feel like I’m on the verge of crying. I don’t know what devastates me more. The fact that Rhys is not my one, or the fact that I know who is.
A man who is never going to have me.
An enigma who has love only for his dead fiancée.
The day after my date with Rhys, I wake up to an empty house. With Georgie at work and my parents gone for the weekend for a wedding, I decide to tidy up the place. Afterward, I pay a visit to Mrs. E, an elderly neighbor. I promised I would drive her downtown for a book club meeting. We stop beforehand to enjoy a key lime pie and some tea and catch up.
When I pull my parents’ car in front of my porch, an odd vision comes alive in front of me. Of a man standing in front of my door, his silhouette tall, imposing, and dark—so dark I can feel the temperature dropping around him—holding a bouquet of flowers. I kill the engine and sit back, glaring at the unbelievable sight in front of me.
I can’t see his face, because he has his back to me, but I can see the flowers, and they’re not the romantic red roses Rhys brought over yesterday. No. They’re gorgeous and colorful and surprising. Red dahlias and purple orchids and pink tulips and yellow gazanias. Pale lilacs and orange marigolds and beautiful daisies. It is rich and dazzling and giant and messy. So messy. It takes my breath away, just like the man who is holding it.
My pulse quickens under my skin, and my stomach dips. I draw in a breath, the oxygen hitting the bottom of my lungs. I push the driver’s door open and make my way toward him, up the stairway to the front porch. He turns around when he sees me through the reflection of the screen-and-glass door, his face betraying nothing.
I stop in front of him. I want to fling my arms around his neck and hug him, but I don’t know what’s appropriate and what’s not. I don’t know what we are to each other. He is the kind of man who never shows you where you stand with him.
“You’re . . . here.” I blink, still wondering if it’s all a dream.
A dream or a nightmare? Can you put your heart on the line again?
He hands me the flowers, completely at ease, like the last time he was here didn’t end up in a third world war.
“For you.”
“That’s . . . a lot of flowers,” I observe.
“One for each facet of your personality,” he remarks dryly. “I’ve yet to determine whether you’re too sweet or too assertive.”
“You didn’t sue me.” I narrow my eyes at him.
“Yeah, well, I thought it would be a terrible inconvenience if I ever decided to date you.”
“If you decided to date me?” I arch an eyebrow, grinning. This is not how one asks a woman on a date. At the same time, every cell in my body blossoms. I’m so excited, there’s a real possibility I am about to throw up on his shoes. Which I absolutely cannot afford to replace, seeing as I’ve yet to start my new job and am still paying the bills on a vacant apartment in Manhattan. “Last I heard, you shredded my contract in front of an audience at Calypso Hall. Not exactly the stuff love declarations are made of.”
