Page 89 of Love, Academically
He pushed the door open and was hit with honey-sweet warm air.
“You’re early! I’m going to be another ten minutes!” she shouted from upstairs. “Have a cookie! I tried something new. Let me know what you think.”
Without waiting for a reply, either a hairdryer or a vacuumcleaner started up and Rhys couldn’t really see Lila hoovering right now.
How did she know it was him? It could have been anyone banging on her door. An axe murderer could be unashamedly stuffing his face with the most delicious cookies with a hint of honey (and was that mint in there?).
Fifteen minutes, three cookies and a glass of water later (and some clattering from upstairs), Lila hobbled down the stairs in a knee-length pink dress, bare legs, one boot on and the other in her hand, a handbag slung across her chest and two jackets over her arm.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t—” she stopped. Her eyes tripped across his chest to his hands, gripping the flowers way too tightly.
She looked back up at him, eyes wide and soft. There was a confused question buried in her eyes, as if no one had ever bought her flowers before. Perhaps they hadn’t.
“Here,” he said, holding them out like a bomb.
“Rhys,” she said, voice quiet. The boot bumped on the soft carpet and her jackets fell from her arm. Lila accepted them reverently. “What are they?”
“They’re protea. South African flowers,” he said, watching her eyes dart around the bouquet, trying to look at all of them at once.
“They’re so, uh—”
Her eyebrows drew in, trying to find words to describe the alien-looking flowers.
“I know. I thought you’d like them,” he said, suddenly concerned. “It’s okay if you don’t like them.”
“I love them. Absolutely love them!” Lila said, squashing them to her chest. “I’ve never seen flowers like this before.”
A smile tugged at his lips as her eyes flicked between him and the flowers in her arms.
“I can’t remember the last time someone bought me flowers,” she said earnestly. “Thank you, Rhys.”
She was so easily pleased by something so simple, it hurt his chest a little to think that no one had ever cared enough before to give her gifts. Just something small to say that someone was thinking of her. Which he was, all the fucking time.
He watched her find a vase that looked like a large toucan, and she plonked the flowers in, wrapper and all. What the fuck?
“I’ll do them properly later. I want to study them and give them some time,” she explained.
Rhys was absurdly pleased with that. He had spent hours (and an awful lot of money) looking for flowers that matched her. It seemed that no one else had ever thought about what she’d like, what she’d appreciate.
“You look…” he hesitated and she tilted her head, waiting.
Obviously, he took too long because she glanced down at her one booted foot.
“You don’t have to tell me I look nice just because that’s what people do,” she said.
“What? No. I was looking for the right word,” he said, reaching for her. His finger slid under her chin and he tinted her head up so he could see her. “I think you look beautiful. You always do.”
He was rewarded by a pretty, warm blush across her cheeks, before she smiled and stepped away, dragging on her other boot haphazardly.
“I bet you say that to all the girls, Rhys Aubrey.”
He didn’t like the way she said it so flippantly, so dismissively. Who had made her feel so unpretty? Oh yes, Dr Jason McTwatFace.
“No, just you,” he said, just as flippantly as her. She gave him a curious smile and pulled on a purple jacket, pairing it with a yellow scarf.
“Right, I’m ready. Take me to your noble steed, kind sir.”
He chuckled, because she was so dramatic and he kind of loved it.
