Page 4 of Blood and Buttercups

“I’ll take a dozen in whatever colors you like.”

“Your girlfriend is a lucky girl,” I hint lightly as I collect stems. “Most guys don’t buy flowers every week.”

Looking delighted, he says, “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

I glance over. “Your mom then?”

He shakes his head.

“Sister? Aunt?” I pause. “Elderly neighbor?”

Amused, he meets my eyes. “I put them in a vase when I get home and set them on my kitchen table. I like it best when they start to wilt.”

I stare at him, flummoxed. “You like it when they…wilt?”

“It means it’s time to see you again.”

Olivia lets out a happy peep and then presses her lips together.

Even though my best friend is excited, I’m hit with an unexpected wave of guilt. But I don’t have a boyfriend anymore. Kevin made that abundantly clear.

“Thank you for the flowers.” Ethan takes them from me while I stand here like a fool. He then places a fifty-dollar bill on the table. “I’ll see you next week?”

“Next week?” I parrot.

He smiles and turns to leave. As he does, something snaps inside me. Anger flares up, hot and irrational. Kevin wants to see other people? Fine with me.

“What about tomorrow?” I blurt out.

Ethan stops, turning back with raised eyebrows.

“What I mean is, I’m free tomorrow if you want to…”

What am I doing? I don’t want to go out with Ethan. I barely know him.

But I really hate Kevin right now, and this feels like justice. Plus, it might help me move on. Ripping the bandage off and all that.

Without a word, Ethan walks back, plucks a business card from my holder, and writes an address on it.

“It’s a restaurant,” he says as he hands it back. “It’s good.”

“What time?” I ask, my voice breathy with guilt-riddled nerves.

“Seven?”

“It’s a date.”

He offers me another smile, this one a touch flirtatious. “Yes, it is.”

2

What have I done?

I made a date with a complete stranger. Sure, Ethan seems nice enough, but what if he’s an axe murderer?

It’s the nice ones you have to watch out for. For example, Kevin seemed nice, and see how that worked out?

I stare at my phone, ready to heave it across the street. It’s been over twelve hours, and Kevin hasn’t texted. Not once.

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