Page 7 of Cohen

Fuck it.

I’m going over there. I have to talk to her.

I’m already out the door before I can try to talk myself out of it again, but I do stop halfway down the sidewalk and change directions. If I’m really going to do this right now, I need to think about what I’m going to say. I also don’t want to show up to her job unannounced and empty-handed. I should at least give her a heads-up so she has the chance to say she doesn’t want to see me or talk to me if that’s the case.

I pull out my phone as I turn and make a beeline for the florist shop that’s a couple blocks from my office. A text and some flowers might not be the most original way to start an apology, but I have to work with what’s available here. I peck out the message as I walk, then take a deep breath and send it.

Hey, I have some time on my hands and I’d like to talk in person if it’s convenient. I’ll be over there in about five minutes unless you tell me otherwise.

Now the ball is in her court for a few minutes. If she doesn’t want to talk, she’ll tell me. Probably. Maybe. But at least I’ll know for sure and I won’t have to keep driving myself crazy with all these guesses and “what ifs.”

“Good morning,” the woman behind the counter at the florist shop gives me a friendly wave as I walk in. “How can I help you today?”

“I, uh, I need to get some flowers for someone,” I answer, immediately feeling like an idiot for stating what’s probably the most obvious thing ever.

She gives me a nod and a knowing smile. “Is it a special occasion? Something romantic?”

I open my mouth to answer and then close it again. How do I ask if she has anything that says, “Sorry I ruined our first date?”

“It’s for someone special," I say instead. “Someone I’m romantically interested in, but who I also… I also need to apologize to her. It’s sort of complicated.” I look around, hoping one of the bouquets on display will feel right. I don’t want anything as cliche as red roses, but I don’t want something as bright and cheerful as sunflowers or daisies, either. “I think something like this?” I point to a vase near the front desk. “Are those lilies?”

She nods. “That’s a good choice. Lilies have tons of symbolism. The white ones stand for purity and virtue, the yellow can mean thankfulness, and pink is obviously for love and passion.”

“Perfect,” I nod, already reaching for them. “That’s exactly what I want. All of those things.”

I don’t know if Delilah will recognize or care about the meaning behind each individual flower, but this is the bouquet that stands out to me and it’s the one that best conveys what I want to tell her, so I’m going to follow my gut one more time.

I just hope it’s right this time.

6

DELILAH

My stomach is in knots as I move from shelf to shelf, tidying books and trying to make myself look busy when all I want to do is run to the door and wait for Cohen to get here.

I was awake most of the night thinking about what to say, how to explain the feelings I have and hoping he’ll understand why I couldn’t follow through with what we both wanted last night.

And yeah, there’s a lot to unpack. A whole lifetime of trying to be perfect for everyone—go to the right school, get the right degree, find a decent, respectable job—but always feeling like I don’t quite measure up. And then this amazing, handsome, understanding guy appears in my life out of the blue and sweeps me off my feet? It’s all so overwhelming, and the last thing I wanted to do was ruin it by moving too fast or giving off the impression that I was more interested in spending the night than spending quality time with him.

Instead, I might have ruined it anyway with my last-minute decision to end the date after that wonderful kiss.

I look over at the door and nibble at my lip as I wait. I’m holding my breath, but I can’t help it. He’ll be here any minute and I don’t know what to expect. Will he be angry? Disappointed from last night? Maybe he’ll give me that old line about how it’s been fun, but he doesn’t see a future with me or feel that special spark that everyone seems to be looking for all the time. That spark thatIfelt over and over again last night.

The door opens and I look away so quickly I nearly give myself whiplash. I need to be calm. I need to at least pretend that I’m calm and collected. But all I can think about is how much I need to apologize and how badly I want everything to work out for the best between the two of us.

“Delilah?” His deep voice makes me melt all over again, just like it did last night. God, why did I push him away? What was I thinking?

I turn and offer a tentative smile as he walks toward me with a bouquet of the prettiest lilies I’ve ever seen in my life.

“I’m sorry,” we both say at the same time, making both of us laugh even though it looks like he’s just as tired and miserable as I’ve been all day.

“Me first,” he says, reaching out and handing me the flowers. “I’m really sorry about how last night ended. It wasn’t my intention to rush you, and I should have been more perceptive when you started to feel uncomfortable.”

I’m so overwhelmed by his apology and his honesty that all I can do is rush over and hug him as my eyes well up with happy, exhausted, relieved tears. I don’t want to cry—I’m not going to cry—but the mix of emotions hits me so hard that I need a few extra seconds to get myself back together.

When I do, it’s my turn to apologize and try to explain what I was thinking last night. “Thank you,” I begin, taking a step back to give him some space again. “For these beautiful flowers and for being so amazing. I didn’t know if you’d even want to talk again after last night, but I’m glad you came over.” I look down at the flowers for a moment and then meet his gaze again. “I like you a lot, Cohen. I felt like we got along perfectly and really made a connection, like we really understand each other.”

He flashes me that familiar smile—a little subdued this time, but still super sexy. “We do. I feel the exact same way.”

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