Casanova(74)

I knew where they’d come from. Of course I did. Only one person had ever given me white roses, but this many was insane.

I watched in stunned silence as Delivery Man came in and out of the house another three times, each time carrying another two bouquets of roses. “There are no more, are there? I think they’re going to be living in sinks as it is.”

He chuckled, his iPad back in his hands. “No more. There’s a card, though. Just need you ta sign this.”

I scribbled my finger across the box on the iPad screen. “A card?”

“Yeah. ‘E wanted us to write ‘sorry’ ninety-six times, but I told him ‘e was havin’ a laugh if ‘e thought I was gonna do that. So I wrote a little ‘times ninety-six’ down there in the corner for ya.” He handed me the card, and sure as hell, he was right.

He had done that.

I smiled at him. “Thank you.”

“I dunno what ‘e did,” Delivery Man continued as he walked out of the house. “But that’s an all right apology, that.”

“Yeah. It’s something.”

“Have a good day, miss.”

“You too.” I slowly shut the door as he got into his van.

My feet stuck to the laminate flooring as I walked into the kitchen and took in the scene before me. Eight bouquets of white roses, twelve a piece. Ninety-six white roses.

Ninety. Six. White. Roses.

Brett Walker had lost his damn mind.

I grabbed my phone from the coffee table and when I was back in the kitchen, snapped a picture of them. I had to stand on the chair to get them all in frame, and I stayed standing there as I texted the picture to him.



Me: Um...I’m assuming these are from you.



I jumped down off the chair and leaned against the kitchen side. I had no idea what I was supposed to do with these flowers. I didn’t have enough vases for them. Hell, I didn’t have enough space for them, never mind anything else.

Ninety-six.

Why on Earth would he send me ninety-six roses?

Twelve? Twenty-four? Hey, even thirty-six—sure. But ninety-six?

More knocks sounded at my door, and I pushed off the counter with a sigh. Please, no more flowers.

“Yes?” I said, swinging the door open.

Brett stood there in the doorway, his hands in his pockets. “I figured you’d want an explanation.”

“For the greenhouse exploding in my kitchen, or...?” My lips twitched into a tiny smile. “That would be wonderful.”

“Can I come in?”

I stepped aside for him to come in and shut the door behind him. “I just have one question,” I said, leading him into the kitchen. “Why ninety-six?”

“Well...” He shuffled in after me and lifted his blue-gray gaze to mine. “I wanted to give you something to show you how sorry I was, and since it’s always been roses...there are ninety-six months in eight years. I was going to go for weeks or days, but I figured four hundred and seventeen or almost three thousand roses was a little bit of overkill.”

“But ninety-six was the perfect number?” My lips pulled to one side again.

He shrugged a shoulder. “It fit well in bouquets of twelve. I just wanted to say I’m sorry. For everything. For every day I hurt you.”

I believed him. His lips were turned downward, and he looked at me with the kind of raw honesty you couldn’t fake.

Honestly, right now, all I wanted to do was walk forward, wrap my arms around him, and hope he’d do the same right back. I didn’t, though. I held on to the urge and pushed myself up onto the counter. I scooted back a little and gripped the edge.

“I’m not angry with you anymore,” I said quietly, looking into his eyes. “Well, I am. I’m angry at why you said it, but not what you said. But...I’m sorry too. If I could go back, I would have told you I’d heard it. I would have always left, but you would have known why.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I do. None of this would have happened if I’d just been brave enough to tell you I’d heard.”

“None of it would have happened if I’d never have said it.”

“Oh, I know. It’s almost entirely your fault.”

Brett smirked. “Almost entirely?”

“I was trying to be nice, but whatever.” I rolled my eyes. “It’s all your fault. But I didn’t make it better, I just made it worse. So...I’m sorry.”

He shook his head and walked toward me. He hesitated for a second before he rested his hands on my knees and looked up at me. “I’m sorry, Lani. I never considered for a moment that you could have heard what I said, but if I had...I would have chased you. You know that, right? If I thought for a second I was why you left, I would have come after you until you knew I didn’t mean it.”

“I know.” My voice broke a little. “But I forgive you, Brett. I can’t believe I’ve hurt over something so ridiculous for so long.”

“It’s not ridiculous.” He parted my thighs and stepped forward. His eyes bored into mine, and I bit my lower lip when he framed my face with his hands. “You’re not nothing. You never have been nothing. You’ve always been nothing less than absolutely everything to me. And if anyone should have been brave back then, it should have been me. I should have told you how I felt.”