Page 88 of Owen Bailey Needs Advice

Annie

There are flowers and a box wrapped in brown paper outside my apartment door when I arrive home from work.

There’s a card attached, and before I open it up to read, I’m certain—Owen. I can’t remember anyone bringing me flowers, and now Owen has twice in one week.

My heart flutters in my chest, and I tell it to calm down. It’s just Owen. My crazy, goofball, waffle-loving Owen.

I toss my laptop bag over my head, crossing it over my chest, and gather up the yellow roses and mystery box. I lug everything inside and spread my haul across the table.

I puff out a tired breath and nibble on my bottom lip. I lift the card attached to my flowers and read:

My Dearest Annie,

Spend an evening trying something new with me. You won’t regret it.

Love,

Owen

My breath turns heavy, and my heart acts as though it may be running for its life. Maybe it is. “Waiting and Willing,” I say to no one but myself. My lips purse at his creativity and how he took my words to heart.

With trembling hands, I pull out my phone, smacking my finger to my sister’s pinned face. Before Kayla can talk, I’m speaking.

“Tell me I’m not going to regret this.”

I read her the note and tell her about the advice I gave him.

“You won’t regret this,” she says.

“But Kayla. We both know…” I trail off, not wanting to say the words out loud.

“You’ve had some bad luck in the past. That’s over.”

“Is it? Or is it just how I am?

There’s a pause on Kayla’s end. She doesn’t have a witty retort for me? “What’s in the box, Annie?”

I peer down at the unopened box wrapped in brown paper. My fingers tremble as they run over the smooth top. “I—I don’t know.”

“Well, open it up, silly goose.” Her tone doesn’t match her words. She’s calm and kind and gentle. No wonder my sister is such a good boy mom—tough when she needs to be, soft when she knows it counts.

“Now?”

“Why not?”

I blow out a shaky breath and run my hand beneath the tape keeping the two halves of the brown paper together. It unlatches easy enough, and the paper comes off in one solid, hefty piece. There is no way Owen wrapped that. He must have had his mom do it for him.

“Well?” Kayla says.

But I haven’t lifted the lid yet. I ignore her plea and pull the top off of the white box—it’s giving me zero clues. I toss away the white tissue paper and chuckle when I pull out a four-inchcream heel that looks as if it’s been hand-painted with yellow-and-pink roses. Even the heel is glossed with a green stem.

“Annie?” Kayla says. “Switch to FaceTime!”

I pull out the other and hold them together, another giggle escaping my lips. “Size eight.” How does Owen know my shoe size?

“Annie!”

With my cell still sitting on my tabletop, I hit the camera.

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