“Nate, you don’t have to prove anything to me.” My belly flops, and I shift to lean up a little more, giving him a brush of my hand against his hair. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. I understand and don’t hold it against you that you’re needed at the club.”
“That might be the case, Ember, but you deserve better.”
“I deserve you,” I whisper.
His eyes fire, the reaction to my words so strong that I can feel his heart pick up speed under my hand.
“Yeah? And it’s my job to make sure you never forget that, baby.”
I shake my head, knowing that I’m not going to get him to realize that I don’t care if all we’ve had time for the last six days is a few hours here and there that he’s made to come to my house. Before I can speak, though, his head comes up and he flips us while taking my mouth in a deep, slow, kiss.
Then he makes me come for the fifth time.
TUESDAY
I hear my doorbell just as I had finished signing my name to the bottom right corner of A Beautiful War. Bam starts barking at the chime, and I drop my brush to go answer it.
After Nate left last night, I haven’t left my studio. The sun set and rose while I worked feverishly to finish. I feel like I’m about to drop, the exhaustion so strong, but every bit of my sluggishness is worth it after the signature I just penned on the canvas.
“Flowers for an Emberlyn Locke,” the gruff voice greets when I open the door. “Here,” he continues and thrusts a clipboard at me, just giving me enough time to take it before turning and walking toward his truck.
“Oh, okay,” I mumble and sign my name next to the huge X he had scribbled.
“Here. There’s more,” he huffs and thrusts a huge vase of roses into my hands.
“More?”
“Yeah, lady. More. As in eight more.”
I look at the roses in my hand, judging there to be about two dozen bright red buds before snapping my head back up. “Are you sure?”
“Been doing this for twenty years. I don’t get my orders wrong. Nine vases, twenty-four roses in each, to an Emberlyn Locke at this address. The only way I’m wrong is if you’re not really Emberlyn Locke.”
“I am, but this is a lot.”
He gives me a weird look, holding out the second vase impatiently. “I’m just doing my job.”
I struggle to hold both, so while he stomps back to his van, I turn to place them down on the table next to my door. I wisely stop questioning him and hope there’s, at least, a note on one of these.
His surly demeanor doesn’t slip until the last vase is in my hands. Then I get a smile from him before he turns to leave. “See you tomorrow,” he oddly says over his shoulder before slamming his door.
Tomorrow?
WEDNESDAY
Sal, my new florist best friend, showed up just as I was returning from dropping my last painting off at the gallery. When his van had pulled in, I had been juggling my keys and the bag of fast food I had grabbed on my way home after I realized it was past noon and I hadn’t eaten yet. Since he had to wait for me to put that down before I could sign and take the next enormous floral display, I had asked and gotten a very impatient ‘Sal, as in Sal’s Flower’s’ before he pointed with a weathered finger toward his van.
I just shrugged and took the flowers.
Since his order yesterday, I was quickly running out of space. I figured it was wiser to just place them on the floor until Sal left, then find somewhere for them.
When he handed me the last one, number nine, I got the same grumpy wave as he trudged to his van. “See you tomorrow.”
Uh? He can’t be serious.