Page 22 of Until Tomorrow
“Don’t think too much about it, Evie,” he said quietly, as if reading my thoughts.
“Oh,” I let out softly. All of them were from Logan. Suddenly, the flower arrangements weren’t so wonderful, even to my drunken self. My eyes burned, and I blinked rapidly. “All of them?”
“He got a little drunk tonight with his credit card nearby,” Elliot told me.And apparently, he got great delivery service.There were so many arrangements for such a short time. He crossed the distance between us, took my cheeks in his hands, and kissed my forehead. “Go to bed, dancing queen. I’ll have all of these gone before you know it.”
“Elliot,” I gasped and grabbed his wrist. His eyes widened as I leaned closer. “I danced with Miss Foxy Moxy to ‘Dancing Queen’! You should’ve seen me! I got up on the table and danced with her, and then she gave me this crown. For my birthday.”
“I would actually pay good money to see that.” He laughed.
“I have videos!” I exclaimed. “And I sang!”
“Was it as good as your YMCA-Macarena mashup coming out of the elevator?” Elliot asked.
“So much better!” I stumbled as I tried to show him the twirl I’d done on the table.
“Okay, dancing queen, let’s get you inside and to bed,” he ordered. “Giddyap!”
“Yippee ki-yay, m—”
“Shush, you,” he cut me off as he took my key and opened the door. “We don’t swear at the help. It’s rude.”
“I’ve got this.” I waved him off. “Night, night, Elliot! Love you lots!”
“Happy Birthday, short stuff,” he called out as I slammed the door on him. I kicked off my heels and threw my bag in the corner. I didn’t care where it went. Everything in my home was a mess.
Instead, I sashayed my way to the kitchen and found the birthday ice cream I’d left for myself. I’d meant to drown in ice cream today, but at the last minute, I decided to go out with Amelia and her wives. I also met her friends Loren, Jack, Katy, and Avery—all a part of the same polycule, but my drunken self would need a refresher on the dynamics. I wasdrunkby the time they showed up.
As I shoveled spoonfuls of mint chocolate chip deliciousness in my mouth, my mind drifted to the flowers outside my door. For as dumb as it was, I kind of wanted to keep one of the arrangements. Logan had always been fantastic at picking out flowers, and the ones in the hall were no exception.
“Oh, fuck it,” I muttered. I hurried to my door and peeked out, looking for Elliot. A good number of arrangements were already gone while he was nowhere to be seen. Taking my chance, I snatched up the nearest one, slammed the door, and locked it like I’d somehow be in trouble with Elliot for keeping my own flowers.
I wouldn’t.
I buried my nose in the gorgeous combination of roses and lilies with a little groan of appreciation. The aroma was heavenly. As I set the arrangement down on the island, I found the note tucked in the middle.
Nothing good could come from my reading a note from Logan. Especially not one he’d written drunk.
But sometimes, I was a masochist—emotionally only. I was a goddamn baby over physical pain.
I wanted to read what he’d sent, no matter what the fallout would be.
“At least the paper is nice,” I muttered as I took out the pretty pink note card that the florist had used. They’d even sprayed it with some kind of perfume.
How do I love you #32—I love your soap.
I snorted because that wasn’t what I expected to read.
Seriously. I have no idea what you use, but it smells amazing. I’ve gone to every stupid soap store I can think of, and none of them smell like you.
I laughed, unable to help myself, as I pictured Logan going through soap displays at various stores. If only he knew I bought from a local girl who made flower-pressed soaps as a hobby.
I miss you and your flowery soap.
PS—the bartender says me loving your soap doesn’t count as a reason to love you. I call bullshit. It makes you smell like you. I miss that.
I seconded the bullshit. Loving my soap because it smelled like me was a fantastic reason to love me.At least, while I was drunk, it was a good reason.I’d have to follow up with that thought in the morning.
I read the note again and again, absorbing every word in the stupid little thing. And each passing read left me with the same conclusion:Logan didn’t want a divorce.
