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“Max.” It was nothing more than a proclamation of my name, no joy, but no aggravation either. That was a good thing, though maybe she was showing restraint because we were in a public place.
“Hey.” I said, “You’re looking for daffodils? For the planter box?”
I sensed she suppressed the urge to say, “Duh.” She was holding a packet in her hands, but if we could talk daffodils, or flowers in general, it would be mighty hard for her to be mad at me. Or that was my hope.
“Do you know what you’re looking for?” I asked, grabbing the packet called Giant Trumpets. With a mix of yellow and white petals, I’d planted several packs in Mrs. J’s box. “These are long-lasting. And tall. And they’re colorful.”
“So, you’re a daffodil expert now?” she said, with a hint of sarcasm, taking the packet I offered.
I didn’t take offense though, because I detected a trace of amusement in her eyes. “And they bloom in early spring,” I added, giving her the full benefit of my knowledge.
She studied the information on the back of the pack and without looking at me said, “That’s exactly what I was looking for. Ones that bloom first.”
“Then they’re perfect,” I said, and taking a deep breath, I burst out, “Tay, I swear I didn’t have anything to do with the story in the Times. I never told Millie where you lived, and Millie had no idea. She didn’t even write that last paragraph. She sent the story to Addison for proofreading, and Addison must have somehow added in that bit about where you live. I don’t know how she found out, but you have to believe that Millie and I had nothing to do with it.”
There it was—my heartfelt plea for forgiveness, my sincerest apology. But it was met with a wall of silence. And that was worse than someone retaliating. Indifference hurt. My stomach knotted. “And for the record, it doesn’t matter where you live,” I said. "I mean, to me it doesn’t matter. I don’t care.”
She lifted her eyes to me, and I was both intimidated and excited as she scrutinized me so closely. “How did you I know I was here?”
“Millie and I went to the Club, but you weren’t there.” I returned her gaze, my fluttering heart beating to its own drum. “So we went to your house. Your Dad told me.”
Taylor’s stare continued, and it felt like we were in a contest of who would blink first, who would look away. It wouldn’t be me; I was happy to stare at her face for the rest of eternity. Taylor’s teeth drew down over her lower lip. “For a minute I thought you were randomly buying plants,” she deadpanned.
My smile was delayed, unsure if she was mocking me. The butterflies in my stomach were rampantly out of control, and I was a goner for the girl who played tennis like a champion, who liked dogs, crunchy granolaandflowers. But I didn’t flinch or waver, not a bit. It would take a deadly laser beam to break eye contact.
“Are you okay?” I asked softly, because deep beneath that steely gaze, I sensed her vulnerability, a girl who served missiles and pummeled her opponents with cannonball precision, yet looking misplaced and adrift, searching for something in the packet of daffodils in her hand.
She looked down at them and said, “So...I should get the Giant Trumpets?”
“Yes. And Suncatchers are good for mid spring, so they’d bloom after the Trumpets.” I pulled another bag off of the hook.
“They’re pretty,” she said.
“Okay.” I scanned the racks. “Do you prefer yellow or white?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Yellow.”
“Red Devon,” I said, reaching for a bag. “They have big yellow petals and an orange center.”
“So why are they called Red?”
I winced. “Good question. I don’t know.”
“Okay, they’re pretty too,” she said. “I’ll take a packet of them as well.”
She made a grab for them, our hands entangling as I passed it to her. The touch of skin sent a rush of warmth through me, and she fumbled the bags, her reflexes quick as she stopped one from falling.
“Sorrrrrry!” I assisted in the catch, our hands now clasped, clutching bags of daffodils between us, and it was like we were in that childhood gameFreeze,and someone had yelled out the word, and we were joined together, neither of us moving. And both of us refusing to yield. When it was certain that the bulbs were no longer in danger of falling, when the passing of seconds became awkward, I said, “I can take them.”
She handed them to me, fingers grazing against one another as if the passing of objects was an act of holy reverence.
“Max.” She lowered her voice, my name uttered breathlessly, like she was gasping for air. “Max, I know it wasn’t you. Or Millie. I’m sorry I thought it could be either of you.”
“You had every reason to—”
“I’m pretty sure it was Addison.” She cut me off sharply. “I didn’t realize Gwyneth was her mother and that she ran the store, and I bought my headband from there, but I had to put it on an account and my address was in the computer, and that’s how Addison knew where I lived.”
Her rapid-fire response had my brain scrambling to keep up, but it was a relief to know that Millie and I were in the clear. “Hey, it’s fine,” I said, “but I’m still sorry you had to go through that.”
