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And he had been.
A giddy, fizzy sensation washes over me, and I fight it downas best I can, but it’s no use. I like that he did this. That he wanted to apologize by sending me flowers.
It meant he was thinking about me.
Taking a deep breath, I shake my head, focusing instead on why he had to make that apology in the first place. Talk about a grand gesture. The flowers had to have cost him an absolute fortune. Glancing at the back of the torn envelope, I see the name of the floral shop printed in tiny script in the upper left corner.
Oh yeah. I know they cost a fortune. Botanical is the premiere florist shop in the valley—and right down the street from the bakery.
“Who are they from?” Gina asks.
I glance up at her, sad I’m about to disappoint her. My mother’s family has already written me off as a dried-up old maid, I know it. I’m freaking twenty-three, but every Molina woman, including my mother and my aunt, were married by the age of twenty-one.
The way they act, they may as well set me up on the shelf and forget all about me.
“A man I met a few nights ago,” I start, glaring at her when she begins squealing excitedly. She shuts up quick. “It was nothing. We were at that new winery’s open house—remember the one I told you about? We started talking, and then he made me angry, so I stormed off. The flowers are his way of apologizing.”
“Some apology,” Gina says dryly, her gaze still lingering on the bouquet. “Why did you get so mad at him?”
“He insulted our family.”
I knew that would get her riled. She stiffens her spine, her expression gone indignant. “What? How? What an insufferable—”
“I overreacted. He didn’t know who I was.” I shrug, trying to act like he didn’t bother me too badly, but he so did. If I think about it too much, I could get angry all over again.
Angry and some other emotion I’d rather not focus on at the moment...
“He didn’t know who you were? Who is this imbecile?” My aunt is outraged on my behalf. Gotta love her. “Everyone knows the Molinas!”
“First of all, I’m a Knight—” I start.
“And a Molina,” she adds.
“Right.” I nod. Proud Italians are the worst, as in the most stubborn people of all the land. At least my family is. “And he’s not from the area.”
My entire family tends to forget there’s a whole other world outside of their Napa Valley glass bubble. As a child, I found it very secure. As an adult, I view them as narrow-minded and self-important. Sometimes.
Didn’t you act a little self-important with a certain someone a few nights ago?
I frown. Really didn’t need that reminder.
“Where’s he from?” she huffs.
“I don’t know. He didn’t tell me. But I knew he was a stranger. I’ve never seen him before.” I’m lying. Yes, he’s a stranger, as in not local. But I know where he’s from. I can’t tell Gina I did a background check on him, though. Then she’d ask why, and I’d have to tell her, and I’m sorry, I don’t have time to answer questions right now.
I need to work. It’s all I do lately. I definitely don’t get out much; the event where I saw Gage had been a social-working thing, so that doesn’t count.
Otherwise, I’m so busy I’m either here at the bakery, helping out my parents, or having long meetings at the bank tryingto straighten out our financial mess with an advisor who’s worked for my dad since before I was born.
Then I go home late at night and collapse into bed, only to start all over again the next morning.
Talk about living in a sheltered little bubble. I’m the complete embodiment of it.
“Well. He sounds horrid.” Gina sniffs.
I hold back from rolling my eyes. My mother’s younger sister loves to rush to judgment. It’s one of her finer qualities, my mom always says. Her steadfast loyalty is always appreciated. And we work well together, despite her occasional moodiness and uneven temperament.
Of course, she could probably say the same about me, so...
