Page 65 of The Promise Of You

She does and sits down, always game for some juicy gossip or drama.

“Hypothetically…” I start. I have to be careful, because Game Nights is gossip town on steroids. “If a man were to do a gesture to apologize…” I let her fill in the blanks.

She tilts her head at me, watching me squirm.

“What…” I continue. “What should he do.”

“What did this hypothetical asshole do?”

Aww fuck. Can’t she just help me out?

“This is all hypothetical, Haley.”

“Well, if this hypothetical asshole hypothetically broke a teacup she really liked, he could go out of his way to find a hypothetical replacement teacup, and with the new teacup send along twelve or twenty-four very real, long-stemmed roses.”

“Let’s say he didn’t break a teacup.”

“Okay. So he rear-ended her. He could send a gift certificate to get her car detailed and twelve or twenty-four long stemmed roses.”

“Let’s say—”

“Just get off your ass and send her two or three dozen roses.”

“I can’t do that! That’s a romantic gesture.”

She rolls her eyes. “Women love roses, and it depends on the color of the roses, but fine. Send her an expensive bouquet. Don’t be cheap, for chrissakes. And look up the meaning of flowers.”

“The what?”

She stands and raps her fingers on my desk. “Google the language of flowers. You need to work at this.”

Then she’s gone, and I get behind the bar, thinking about Chloe the whole time. The evening drags on.

That night, from my apartment right above the pub, I start my internet search about the meaning of flowers.

Let me tell you, I had no idea.

It’s past two in the morning when I hear voices and engines running in the back parking lot. It happens a lot with the restaurant staff. They’re never loud, but in the middle of the night, you pick up on things.

I never paid attention to it when Kevin Murphy was still there. His business, not mine. Now I feel differently. And I know the restaurant’s been closed for a while. At least three hours, if not more. The twins swung by after they helped close the place so the girls could go to Game Nights.

I leave the lights out, the glare from my computer screen and the reflection from the streetlamps guiding me through the open space of my apartment.

Samuel and David are hauling cases in a car. Not empty cases. The guys are straining, and the car does a little thump when they drop the cases in the trunk. It looks like bottles, but they’re not empty. Not for consignment. The two guys go back inside.

Besides, I thought Samuel was out tonight. That’s what Trevor said. I’m sure he did. Hospital. Made me proud, but I’m not stupid enough to brag about it. He even said Eric, the prep cook, had commented on how well dinner service had gone, considering they were down their chef for the second night in a row.

Samuel and David are coming back out, each carrying a bulky package. I can’t tell what it is. Food? Linens?

They close the trunk, get in the car together, and drive away.

Maybe they’re catering a dinner tomorrow? Maybe it wasn’t booze, but… what? Tools?

Maybe.

Or maybe not.

I wish I could talk to Chloe about it. But the way things are between us now, she wouldn’t even believe me. And I can’t blame her.

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