Page 40 of Back On Ice

It was amazing. And theconnection. The way he looked into my eyes as he made love—No. We didn’t “make love”. That would require actual love. And we’re not there… right?

Right. We had sex. Totally hot, non-committal, mind blowing, passionate sex.

And I really,reallyhope it happens again. In a purely sexual-desire kind of way. Because we’re not in love.

Abbie and I have been texting non-stop since that night. She hooked up with Jake, but insists they’re both just having fun. If only I could figure out how to get my heart on the same page as hers.

Shit. I look at the page I just typed and realize I’ve been one off when going down the list for the arrangements, and every single one has the wrong picture next to it.

I sigh, erasing all my work from the last thirty minutes.

My mind goes back to Saturday night, to our conversation at the bar. He said he hadn’t wanted to ghost me but had to because of his dad. I desperately want to know the entire story. What was so terrible that he felt like he had no choice but to leave me behind?

I’m scared of what it means if he tells me the entire story, and I agree with him that he had no choice. That I wasted nine years of my life being angry at him for something he had no control over. But I’m more scared of what it means if he tells me and it doesn’t justify any of his actions.

It’s like Schrodinger’s cat.

Or in this case, Schrodinger’s deep, dark secret.

We haven’t really been able to talk about what happened between us yet. Sunday night, Hart’s Flowers went into full on crisis mode when I received an email from our suppliers that we wouldn’t be getting any of the trillium flowers we’d special ordered for a funeral happening today. Apparently, the refrigeration system in the truck went out, and all the flowers arrived on site wilted.

While not necessarily a flower for a funeral, they were the deceased's favorite flowers and their children were adamant that we acquire some for the service. I spent all of yesterday calling different flower shops to see if they had any, and drove halfway across the state to pick up some from a city on the border of Connecticut. I made it back to the shop at around ten at night and was up until one in the morning making the arrangements for them to be picked up today.

Now that we’re out of crisis mode, Carter and I are supposed to meet for lunch today to talk about the plans the contractordrew up. Once he has my sign off, he’ll take it to the council. It’s important to me to meet with Carter to clarify a few things and go over the timeline before making anything final.

I check some entries for the books before my alarm goes off on my phone, telling me it’s time to leave for lunch.

“I’ll be back in an hour!” I call out to Kerry, who is in the back doing arrangements.

“Take your time!” she responds and I smile, loving that I can trust her to take care of the place while I’m gone.

When I get to Sal’s, the man himself is behind the counter. He’s pushing eighty now, but still loves running this place. He’s in his normal uniform, red and white striped apron and all. “Hey there, Sophie!” he says from behind the register.

“Hi, Sal.” I give him a warm smile. “I’m meeting Carter here. Has he come in yet?”

Sal smiles knowingly at me. “He’s at your usual booth in the back.”

Of course he is.

Butterflies flutter in my stomach at the sweet gesture, and I make my way to ‘our’ booth.

His hair is wet and pushed back like he’s just stepped out of the shower. When I reach him, the scent of his body wash fills my nose, telling me he has, in fact, done just that. A tight blue t-shirt stretches across his pecs, making his icy eyes pop as they rise to meet mine.

I don’t miss the girls in the opposite booth ogling him as I approach.

“Hey, Cart.” I use his old nickname without thinking about it.

Carter stands up, looking at me up and down in a way that suggests he’s evaluating my body language. Probably wondering if I’m freaking out since it’s the first time we’ve seen each other since we… reconnected. I give him a small smile, communicating that I’m okay, before he sweeps me into a brief hug.

“Hey, Angel,” he murmurs into my ear before pecking me on the cheek.

He slides back into the booth, and I’m still standing there, fingers pressed to where his lips touched my skin.

I need to snap out of it.

“You have the files?” Attempting to brush off the awkward moment, and ignoring the dirty looks from the girls in the booth near us, I slide into the seat opposite of him. I need to talk about us, but I am too chicken to start there.

He looks at me another moment like he might not let me get away with the diversion, then nods. “I do,” he confirms. “I’ve put sticky notes on the pages that you emailed me questions about so we can cover them easier.”

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