Page 45 of Fierce

Enchantment

When the doorbell rang the next afternoon and the voice at the other end said, “Floral delivery,” I wasn’t even surprised.

“Somebody’s sending you flowers again?” Karen asked from her spot on the couch. “Let me guess. Your non-elderly suitor. Mr. No-Scrabble.”

“If you’re feeling well enough to be snarky again,” I told her as I twisted the locks on the door, “I’ll choose to take that as a positive and ignore the rest.”

It was my friend from the previous week, I discovered when he rounded the final turn in the staircase carrying, yes, a huge vase of lavender roses—and a white plastic bag. “This isn’t all,” he said, handing both of them over.

“What do you mean?” I was a little distracted by the sight and smell of a dozen perfect, fragrant blooms. I knew exactly what kind they were, too. My favorite ones of all. Nuage.

Hemi had remembered, and my heart turned over despite myself.

Enchantment.

And then I remembered something else. You know what I want. I’m willing to date you for it, if that’s what I have to do. And, apparently, willing to send flowers, too.

Which was the truth? My heart said one thing, and my head—and Hemi’s own lips—said the exact opposite.

“Be right back,” the delivery guy said while I was still trying to figure it out.

He was puffing when he came up the second time. “It had to be the fifth floor,” he complained.

I wasn’t listening. It was a second vase of roses, just as many, just as big, but these were yellow. And there was another bag, too. A heavy bag.

I set them down on the dining-room table with everything else. Between the two vases, Hemi’s earlier gift, and the bags, there wasn’t a bit of room to do any eating there at this point, and I almost laughed.

I reached for my purse, and the guy looked at me and sighed. “No tip. You have no idea how much that hurts me to say. But if he finds out you tipped, there goes my fifty bucks, and I got plans for that money. Who is this dude?”

“He’s somebody very…nice,” I said lamely. And completely untruthfully. Whatever Hemi was, I didn’t think nice described it.

“No shit,” the guy said. “Hang onto him, will ya? I can use the extra change. Especially since I didn’t tell my wife about it.”

I laughed, and he left. I locked the door behind him, then turned to Karen, who was off the couch and checking out the flowers.

“Hey,” she said. “These yellow ones are for me.”

Oh, no. Total dirty play.

She was opening the envelope and pulling out the card, then reading it aloud. “Yellow’s for good health, and for friendship. Hope you’re feeling better. Hemi.” Huh. That’s pretty cool. What does yours say?”

“Um…” I was still trying to get over that, but I took my own card and opened it. And didn’t read it aloud.

Can’t wait for Paris. Can’t wait for you.

“So…what?” Karen asked, and made to grab it from my hand.

I snatched it back and held it high. “Oh, no. Nope.”

She sighed. “How am I going to be prepared for my future romantic career if you don’t share?”

“I do share. I share all the time.”

“Never the good stuff. And I bet Hemi’s got majorly good stuff. So what did he do yesterday, when I was asleep? Did you guys make out?”

“No. We talked, and then he went home.” I wouldn’t share what we’d talked about.

“What?”She looked at me as if I’d grown an extra head. “Why? Did you tell him off again? Man, Hope, you’ve got to stop doing that. I mean, Vinnie Delmonico from the neighborhood takes us to a Steven Seagal movie for your first date, and then grabs your boob while all the explosions are happening? Like you won’t notice, because it’s all loud and everything? I totally get that. I totally got that.”

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