Flower(19)

“Anytime.” Holly’s eyes widen, and she looks at me like she’s trying to gauge my reaction, like maybe I don’t realize who’s standing in the shop with us.

“I was hoping I might be able to borrow Charlotte from you for the evening, if you don’t need her to work?”

He probably thinks he’s so clever, forcing me to take the night off by buying up the whole store. As if it’s some grand romantic gesture. But it only makes my chest constrict tighter, the irritation swelling across my skin, making me want to scream. This is just another one of his games.

“She’s all yours,” Holly says.

“No,” I interject sharply, turning to face him. “You cannot borrow me. I am not a thing to be borrowed.”

The intensity of his gaze drives through me as he turns to look at me straight on. “That’s not what I meant, Charlotte. I just need to explain. I need you to know that I didn’t lie to you.”

“I don’t care...” But my voice trails into a whisper. I glance at Holly for a second, but she’s just staring, her jaw literally hanging open. “You need to leave.”

A shadow passes over his face, his eyes intent on me. He’s probably not used to anyone telling him no, but he pushes his hands into his jean pockets and backs away. “Okay,” he finally says. “I’m sorry. I won’t try to see you again.” He studies me for another moment, then pivots around and pushes out into the fading light, the sun just barely lost over the city skyline.

I force myself to move, walk to the front counter, where Holly still stands paralyzed, her expression frozen. “Did I miss something?” she asks. “Did Tate Collins just ask you out?”

I shake my head. “It was more like a demand.”

“And you told him no?” Now she sounds like Carlos.

“He’s been coming here for over a week,” I say, aware that that’s not really an answer.

“Wait. Mystery boy. He was the one who sent you the roses?” I watch the awareness dawn in her eyes.

“The creepy stranger who stalked me and embarrassed me in class with a flower delivery? Yes, that’s him.”

Her posture relaxes. “Okay, so what happened to make you despise him so much?”

I avoid her eyes. “I went out with him Friday night, against my better judgment, but he lied to me. He didn’t tell me who he was. He let me make a fool out of myself.”

“Wait, wait.” Holly holds up her hands; the stack of silver bangles studded with charms slides down her forearms. “Slow down. You went on a date with him and you didn’t know he was Tate Collins?”

“I know, I know.” I grimace. “I just...didn’t recognize him.”

“And let me get this clear. That’s why you won’t go out with him again, because he didn’t tell you up front who he was, even though most of America—scratch that, most of the world—would have recognized him right away?”

“It sounds stupid when you say it like that.” I grab the broom from the closet, start sweeping up some of the leaves that are scattered over the floor. I feel suddenly awful. There’s a wrenching twist inside my gut.

Holly clucks her tongue. “Charlotte. He’s probably so used to girls falling all over him, it was refreshing that you didn’t.”

“Maybe,” I acknowledge, remembering when he stepped into the flower shop that first night. He had looked at me like he was waiting for something—probably for me to realize who he was. But I never did. And he kept coming back to see me; he kept finding reasons to walk through that door. Maybe Holly’s right. “But it doesn’t matter,” I tell her. “It’s over now.” His words replaying in my mind: I won’t try to see you again.

“Do you like him?”

I shift my jaw to the left, biting down on the truth, on how I really feel. “No. I mean, I don’t know.”

Holly leans forward against the counter. “He obviously really likes you. He bought out the store just to spend an evening with you, for God’s sake. And I know you have your rules about boys, but you’re a smart girl, Charlotte, and you’ve always been so responsible. Don’t be afraid to live a little.” The fine lines around her eyes pinch together as she smiles. “Just ask yourself... Did you tell him to go away because you’re not interested in him, or because you’re afraid you are interested in him?”

A feeling begins to swell inside me, expanding swiftly, as if all it needed was Holly’s permission to take form. Not anger this time, much as I try to hold on to that. I can’t deny the way I feel when I’m around him, the sensation of petals blooming in the core of my stomach. The way his eyes track over me, like he really sees me. The way he listens when I speak, like he can’t wait to hear the next word from my lips. “Okay,” I admit. “Maybe I’m interested.”

“It’s not too late,” she says, nodding to the windows. “His car is still outside.”

I turn and see headlights at the curb, the silhouette of his sleek black car outlined against the street. I hesitate.

“Go,” Holly urges me. “Let him explain himself, and then decide if you want to see him again.”

A smile breaks across my lips, and I walk around the counter, giving her a hug before I turn and run for the door.