Page 39 of No Match Found
I could’ve just said tulip and been done with it.
But not really. He would’ve asked me what I liked about tulips, and my answer would’ve given me away, like my foot-tapping and lackluster debriefing had given away what I thought of Jeff.
Besides, I’d promised the truth, and that was the truth: I was apathetic about flowers.
“Lemme get this straight,” Grant said, resituating himself so that he faced me even more fully. “A man you’re falling in love with brings you two bouquets—one of roses, one of dandelions. You’d have zero preference?”
“No.” To be honest, I wasn’t totally sure what dandelions were. I always got them confused with daffodils. But it didn’t really matter. The point stood.
I thought of the one time Chase had brought me flowers. He’d been so proud of himself—and just as disappointed by my lackluster response.
It wasn’t that I hadn’t been grateful. I just didn’t find them romantic like so many women did.
“And if he brought you marigolds?”
The way he said it made me think there was something particular about marigolds that should break through my weird indifference.
“I probably wouldn’t know he’d brought me marigolds. I don’t know which ones those are. I assume they’re gold?”
He laughed. “They’re the ones that symbolize jealousy, grief, and cruelty.”
“They don’t inherently mean those things, though.”
Grant shrugged. “A dot on a graph doesn’t carry inherent meaning, but you derive meaning from the context.”
I didn’t respond right away, thinking about his point, which was actually a good one. But it didn’t change my response. “I still don’t have a favorite flower. Maybe if I knew their meanings, I’d feel more strongly about them, but they’ve always seemed more for show than anything. And they die so fast.”
He smiled—a genuine one. Almost soft.
I liked it. Maybe more than I should have.
“Fair enough,” he said.
The nearby street lamp flickered on. The kids were gone, the park was covered with a blue-hued light, and the car that passed had on its headlights.
I straightened the hem of my dress and got up, wondering where the time had gone. “I should go.”
He stood.
“Are you heading back to the office?” I asked.
“Nope. My hotel’s not too far. I’ll just walk.”
Right. I had forgotten Grant didn’t live here. He was living the hotel life so that he could watch me be awkward on first dates and write about it later.
What a weird thing. And for some even weirder reason, I’d agreed to it.
He picked up the donut box and handed it to me, but I shook my head.
“Come on,” he said. “You know you want them.”
“I’m going home to a fridge full of food. You’re living out of a mini-fridge. Besides, you bought them.”
He pulled the box against his hip. “Thanks for breakfast, then. See you tomorrow?”
“See you tomorrow.”
I was getting used to “tomorrow” including Grant.
