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A man like Ethan Knight, has never been on my checklist. Now my body buzzes with excitement as a thousand ‘what ifs’ flow through my mind.
A knock on the door startles me and propels me onto my feet. I hurry to the door only to be met by a delivery man with his arms full of flowers. Not just one bunch of flowers, but three. The moment I open the door the floral scent fills the room.
“You’re a lucky lady,” the delivery guy smiles as I sign for it and bring the flowers into my apartment.
It doesn't take me long to realize I don’t have any vases, because I never expect to have bouquets of flowers here, so I improvise.
I fill jugs with water and place the bouquet of lilies in the kitchen, the roses in the bedroom and the peonies on the small coffee table in my living room. The heady scent rushes through me as it takes over my apartment.
My hands are shaking as I open the envelope and pull out the hand written card Ethan had attached. Men like Ethan usually have someone else write the message on the card or they have the florist to send a card over. But I know his handwriting. I’ve seen it on notes and receipts at the club.
The message he wrote warms me more than the flowers themselves and I can’t help it, I can feel the giddy flickers of hope sparking in me. The anticipation of romance…
Thank you for finally agreeing to go out on a date with me. I know your favorites are sunflowers, I just thought I’d introduce some of my favorites. I’d like your opinion on some plants for my garden, I suspect you’re a bit of an expert. We’ll call it a second date.
I haven’t considered that Ethan might have favorite flowers. I’ve never dated a man who had an actual favorite flower or even thought of plants in that way. It makes sense though, he pays such close attention to every detail. It’s clear in the way he dresses, the smooth skin of his hands and well-manivured nails.
He notices the small things about me too, like my love for flowers. Reason tells me not to take him seriously, not to raise my expectations, but something deep in my gut says it’s already too late.
I get ready for my coffee date with Beth and all the while, small things about Ethan float into my mind. His smile, the shallow dimples that appear when he’s really smiling, a whole hearted smile that creases the corners of his eyes. The way he opens every door and ushers me through it. He really is chivalrous, a proper gentleman.
“So you’re a florist now?” Beth asks, making her way through to my bedroom. She doesn’t knock or expect me to want any privacy. It’s been that way with us for years.
“I have a confession,” I say, blushing instantly. Talking to Beth about Ethan will expose the hope I have secretly been nursing and I’m nervous about what she’d have to say.
“I gave in and finally went on a date with Ethan,” I cover my face out of embarrassment.
Beth is the picture of shock and falls onto the bed with a bounce, her body limp as her mind races behind her eyes. She stares at me waiting for the details I am already getting ready to share.
It becomes strangely important for her to like him or at least see what I see in him, so I decide to start right at the beginning. Meeting Ethan at the newsstand, his grim view on love and how he didn’t give me a second glance until I saw him again at the club.
“He filled my locker with sunflowers, he never speaks down to me or treats me like a second class citizen. He notices everything, absolutely everything,” I gush, my words tumbling out of me in one heated breath.
It’s as obvious to Beth as is it to me that I’m falling into old habits. I’ve raised my expectations and am romanticizing every single one of our interactions. Setting myself up for inevitable disappointment.
“Yes, but you told me all this before, and you still didn’t want anything to do with him,” Beth says.
I lead her into the kitchen and pour us both a cup of coffee. “There was an incident,” I say, reliving the horror of being grabbed and shaken. Being screamed at in a room full of people and no one doing anything about it until Ethan came straight to my aid. “I couldn’t say no, Beth. I kind of owed him one,” I shrug justifying my change of heart to both of us.
“You don’t owe him a single thing,” Beth says sternly. “You owe it to yourself to make the right choices for you. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Beth’s words interrupt my thoughts every time Ethan comes to mind. She’s right, Cameron Robinson is right, and when I repeatedly said no to Ethan, I was right too. But didn’t I deserve to be happy? Couldn’t I enjoy this moment without making anything of it?
I moved from floating on the idea of Ethan to beating myself up over ever thinking of him in that way until I got to work and started my shift. I decide it would be best to continue avoiding him, avoid any awkward moment where I go from being his date last night to being his server. It makes things weird. Should I be offended if he tips me? Should he treat me with the same gentle care he did on the helicopter here in the club?
It’s clear to me now that agreeing to the first date in the first place was a mistake. A horrible, fun, thrilling mistake. He doesn’t believe in love anyway, so he has nothing to offer me, nothing real anyway.
Poker night is a welcome distraction from my thoughts. The gentlemen are in high spirits, the tips are great and it feels like nothing can spoil their night. I serve a round of drinks when a man’s hand gently circles my wrist.
“Hello, pretty lady,” he says flirtatiously.
I jump instinctively, fearfully. The last time one of these men touched me it wasn’t pleasant.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Edward says.
Edward Spencer is an associate of Ethan’s. I know him because they spend hours every day arguing, negotiating, and planning. Edward spends more time at the club than Ethan and usually keeps to himself if he isn’t entertaining some gorgeous model.
“I have something for you,” Edward coos just as Ethan walks behind me and sits down at the table with him. “First, I’m going to need you to smile for me,” he says, his gray eyes twinkling.
