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“I do hate that word, Clara,” Mrs. Jo reminded her.
Clara apologized, and then Damar turned his gaze to me.
“You didn’t take the new furniture? But, honey, your stuff is … well …”
“It’s old and gross,” Clara finished for him.
“It is not gross,” I defended my furniture. Although it was a little gross. The sofa frame at least.
“That stuff has seen better days, love,” Jim said with more gentleness than Clara.
He was right, but I wasn’t going to agree with him. Instead, I got out the party horns and handed them out. Everyone took one while they continued to talk about the new furniture and paint color that Mrs. Jo had chosen. It was brighter and happier-looking in here than it had been before.
There was a knock on the door, and Damar looked at me.
“That can’t be the food. I just ordered it. Who else are we expecting?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No one.”
Mrs. Jo moved past us and toward the door. “It’s my birthday. One never knows what will appear at the door.”
She swung it open without checking through the peephole first. Something she was normally very vigilant about.
Dean stood there with a vase full of the brightest pink roses I had ever seen.
Mrs. Jo squealed like a young girl and reached for them. After that, a series of events began to quickly take place.
Clara gripped my arm so tightly that her nails dug into my skin as she chanted, “Oh my God,” over and over.
Damar stood in silent shock, and Jim slapped his hand over his mouth after shouting, “Holy hell!”
I stood where I was, saying nothing. Except wincing from the pain that was being inflicted on my arm at the moment. However, I didn’t say anything to her about it. The pain was keeping me centered. Because Dean was standing there with flowers for Mrs. Jo, and they must have cost a fortune. It was sweet. It was kind. It was thoughtful. He wasn’t supposed to be any of those things. Dean Finlay was arrogant, self-absorbed, and used to getting whatever he wanted. This, this … gesture was not what I’d expected of him.
“Come in, come in. Meet everyone. Well, except Brielle. You know her,” Mrs. Jo told him, seemingly oblivious to the starstruck people in the room. “We have plenty of cake. Brielle made a lovely one. Last year’s looked like a penis, so we are very impressed with how far her cake-decorating ability has come in one year.”
I closed my eyes, wishing she hadn’t brought that up. When I opened them back up, Dean was looking at me with amusement in his eyes. Damn penis cake was never going away.
“I’ve never had a penis cake,” he said to me.
“It was meant to be a rose, but it was a Pinterest fail,” I said, feeling my cheeks grow warm.
“I’m going to need an explanation,” Damar said finally. “Dean Finlay is in this apartment. Not only does Mrs. Jo know him, but so do you?” he asked, looking at me.
Mrs. Jo walked toward the kitchen to set the roses in the center of her table, ignoring the questions. So, everyone’s gaze swung to me.
“I, uh, well …” I looked at Dean.
I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to tell them he owned the building and was currently living in the penthouse. Was that a secret? He’d been very visible the day of the fire, but he’d gone back into hiding, it seemed.
“I own the building.” He held out his hand to Damar.
Damar shook his hand as he stared at him in awe. “Damar Helter. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Finlay,” he said.
“Just Dean,” he replied.
Then, he moved on to Jim, who I was worried wasn’t going to be able to speak. He seemed too nervous, but he managed to introduce himself.
Clara could wait no longer and was up and over to Dean in seconds. Her back was to me, but I already knew she was flashing him herman magnetsmile. I would also get a tongue-lashing for not telling her about his living in the penthouse sooner. Especially since it was clear I knew him already.
