Page 14 of King of Lies
I walk down the stairs and down the street toward the bookshop and let the cool air wake me up and fill my lungs. I never lose the smile on my face.
Maybe fairytales do exist after all?
I reach the parking lot behind the bookshop and jump in my car. I drive through my favorite morning coffee shop and get a breakfast sandwich and coffee that I consume while driving across town to run some errands.
I pull into the parking lot of the grocery store and park my car. I get out and grab a shopping cart, slinging my purse into the baby seat at the top and push my way into the store. I like to start strong in produce thinking that I’ll stay strong through the rest of the store but that’s another lie I tell myself. I do grab some fruits and vegetables, things to make salads, etcetera. But things always derail somewhere around the cold cereal and frozen pizza aisles. I just can’t seem to help myself.
I pay for my groceries and then load them up in my car and drive home. I haul my bags up to my second-floor apartment and unlock the door. By the time I put everything away I’m too exhausted to make a decent lunch so I pull a half-eaten tub of cottage cheese from the fridge and a spoon from the drying rack by the sink and I settle in with my e-reader and my lunch. I dig in and get lost in my book until there’s a knock at the door. Startled out of the story, I drop my spoon where it clatters to the tabletop.
I push my chair back and wonder who would be at my door? Maybe Rhys came back. With a smile on my face, I pull open the door without looking through the window or the peephole. A man I’ve never seen before is standing on my doorstep with another bouquet of flowers.
“Stella Reyes?”
“Yes.”
“These are for you,” he says, passing me the lavish bouquet.
“Thank you.”
I take the flowers inside and put them on the coffee table. They’re huge and ostentatious and like nothing I’ve ever been given before. This is not something that you buy yourself or receive for any old thing. This is a tall opaque white vase filled with pure white orchids with stems so full of blooms that they drip down the sides. The kind that costs way too much to buy. The kind a wealthy businessman could order.
This is the kind of thing that someone buys for someone special.
Or a lover.
Is that me? Am I that person? Could this glamorous man, who’s obviously well-traveled, have seen a good bit of the world and actually want me? I just can’t wrap my mind around it. But when I stop and think of him and that kiss on my doorstep, my toes curl into the carpet and my breath comes a little faster. The fact of the matter is, Rhys makes me think of things that no one else has ever inspired in me before.
It’s exhilarating.
And it’s terrifying.
Like it has a mind of its own, I watch my hand reach out and grab the linen envelope nestled in the white fluffy petals of the orchids. I flip the lip back and pluck out the card, letting my eyes wander over the neat, masculine scrawl.
Stella,
I can’t stop thinking about you. Tell me that you think about me too.
-Rhys
I feel my breath catch in my throat. Rhys does not hide his feelings—his attraction to me—at all. No one has ever paid me attention like he does, and I’m not sure what to do with it. But I’d also be lying if I said I wasn’t attracted to him, too. But, what to do with it?
I don’t know how long I sit here staring at his note and the gorgeous flowers, not to mention the ones from before. The ones where he asked me to take a chance on him. I want to …I just don’t know how.
I jump when my phone rings. I was so lost in my own thoughts—dreams and fears—that I’d completely lost track of time. I grab my phone from the coffee table and look at the screen. It flashes withUnknown Callerand still, in my heart, I know exactly who it is. A thrill goes up my spine.
“Hello?” I answer.
“Hi,” he purrs in his deep brogue.
“Thank you for the flowers. I like them,” I blurt out and wish that I could have played it cooler than I did. But then again, maybe I don’t when I hear the smile in his reply.
“I’m glad, Hen.”
I don’t say anything, letting the line go quiet, and he doesn’t either. I’m beginning to get nervous, wondering if this was a mistake. What more can I possibly say that won’t make me sound like an idiot.
“How was your day?” he asks.
“Okay. I don’t work until later in the day, so I ran errands and cleaned my apartment.”
