Page 34 of Over the Limit

Emotions that already seem to be warring even without flowers.

It’s been crickets. Or almost crickets seeing as how I’ve barely heard a word from Rossi. Not much more than a “working hard with the team” during his time at Sterling. Yeah. That working hard, according to various pictures on my socials, included a few clubs and several bars.

He had all the time in the world to do that, but not a single minute to call his girlfriend or return a text with anything more than a one-word response.

His silence spoke volumes.

Clearly, he wasn’t too upset over not getting to spend the week together because he never once mentioned it.

I fought the urge to pry more—to insert myself—into what he was doing, but I refrained. Rather, I threw myself into my work. Into the gala. But even with being busy with that, I’ve dipped between anger and sadness at his silence. At feeling like I’ve been pushed aside.

And yet this man in front of me is showing me that he’s thought about me.

“Oh.” The lone syllable escapes my lips when I see the stack of books and the few scattered peppermints within the bag. There’s no way he just did that. “You brought me flowers,” I murmur, now understanding what he meant, before looking back up at him with eyes wide with surprise.

“I did.” He nods, a proud expression on his face. “And I was promised they were loaded with lots of good betrayal and attraction to sink your teeth into and to help you relax.”

He bought me flowers.

“Lachlan.” I look at the bag full of books and then back up to him.

He holds his hands up in front of him. “It’s no big deal, really. I was on a rare outing, exploring the city while at Sterling, and I came across this cool bookstore. I thought of you, of our conversation from a few weeks ago, and wondered if you needed ‘flowers’ for when you have some downtime. Or perhaps to force you to pause and relax. It wasn’t anything.”

But it’s everything. Doesn’t he see that?

This is the sort of thing Skylar would do because she knows me so well. And yet, this man, my newest friend, seems to get me too.

Not to mention, he’s Lachlan Evans. He just can’t walk in anywhere. He gets noticed. His actions are reported on. He . . . he made an effort for me. He listened to me.

“I don’t know what to say.” Does my voice sound as overwhelmed to him as it does to me?

“You don’t have to say anything.” His smile is shy. “I promise it’s nothing more than what I said. It’s just books.”

“You mean flowers.”

He chuckles. “Right. Flowers.” He rocks on his heels, awkwardness settling in all of a sudden. “Well then . . . I hope you enjoy at least one of them.”

“I’m sure I will.” I pull one out and run my hand over its spine.

“I have to get back. It was my first free moment and I’ve been lugging these around, so I wanted to get them to you before I creased the cover or bent a corner or whatever it is that ruins a book.” He shrugs. “My mum is a stickler about those things.”

“I love her already.” I laugh. And why do I find the way he says mum so damn adorable?

His cheeks flush as he adjusts his hat on his head. “Okay then. I’ll see you around.”

“Lach?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. Truly. That’s the nicest thing someone has done for me in a long time.”

He simply nods and walks away. I listen to his footsteps as they fade down the hallway. I hear him say hello to a few people.

And then I’m left in the silence of my office with a bag full of books and head full of thoughts.

I sort through the titles again, my head shaking and the smile on my lips soft. Wanting to remember this moment, much like a cork or a bottle cap, I snap a quick picture of them.

The picture is interrupted when my phone rings. If a smile wasn’t already plastered on my face, it would be now.