Page 46 of Bloom

It’s one of the best days of my life. I’m not sure why it surprises me to discover it.

He enjoys it too. Not in a polite way, not in a way that essentially means “this is bearable.” He really enjoys it. I watch the weight lift off him as the afternoon progresses, his smile spreading as easily as spilled liquid.

I make him happy. I just wish I wasn’t the only one of us who realizes it.

Chapter 26

Hot tea is my nemesis. Who the hell orders hot tea when it’s 100 degrees outside, in a bar with no a/c? Hot tea requires a cup, saucer, tea bag, spoon, lemon slice. The odds of me successfully remembering all of these items are slim. The odds of me wanting to go to this much trouble for an item that costs $1.99 are non-existent.

Once my customer stops bitching to Brian about the fact that I brought her Earl Grey when she specified chamomile, and once I’m done wishing I’d laced her hot water with arsenic, I go back to cocktail, where I have two guys drinking steadily and trying to “accidentally” elbow my breasts every time I come to their table.

Ashleigh stands nearby, smirking. She loves watching me get into trouble. She sidles up beside me after I finish serving the breast-elbowers. “You know, you might want to see if Edward Ferris will give you another chance. I’m guessing you’re better on your back than you are on your feet.”

It’s only 1 p.m. and I’m already exhausted. Too exhausted to put up with her shit, anyway.

“Maybe if you were better on your back, James would give you the time of day,” I retort. Again not heeding my mother’s advice to be smart as opposed to defiant, because now James is single and I’ve just given Ashleigh something to prove.

I’m still stewing over what she said when I get home, so irritated that I don’t even notice the massive bouquet of flowers sitting on the counter at first.

“Someone likes you an awful lot,” says Ginny. I notice her tone, the flatness of it, before I see what she’s referring to.

They can’t be for me. Ryan has given me flowers before, but he’s more the type to steal them from someone’s yard — or grave — than this. And this bouquet is hardly a “come back to me, college girlfriend” one anyway. It says something more along the lines of “Marry me, Kim Kardashian.” It’s that big. Like a bouquet that ate all the others around it right before it left the shop.

I approach the card cautiously. Maybe my father, apologizing? File that under ‘things least likely to happen in this lifetime’.

The card is written in curling, feminine script — clearly a flower store employee did the work — but its contents make my skin crawl.

“Ugh,” I groan. I grab the whole vase and march to the trash can, where I am body-blocked by Ginny.

“Stop!” she screams. “That’s like $500 worth of flowers! Are you crazy?”

I shove the vase at her. “Fine,” I say. “Now they’re yours. But I don’t want to look at them.”

She sets them down and grabs the card off the counter, reading it aloud. “‘Elle, You are the springtime I dreamed of so desperate during the cold winter chills. Edward’ Did he write that? What the hell does that even mean?”

“It’s Wagner,” says Max easily. “Act One of The Valkyries.”

“Damn, Max,” replies Ginny. “The drugs haven’t killed all your brain cells after all.”

James’s voice comes next, a low growl that sends a chill up my spine. “Why the fuck is he sending you flowers?”

I round on him. “And why are you acting like I’ve done something wrong?”

His jaw sets. “I didn’t mean that to come out the way it did,” he says. “That guy just makes me sick. You’re a child and he’s a predator.”

“I’m not a child,” I huff.

“So you like the way he’s trying to buy you with flowers and Wagner quotes?” he demands.

“No,” I reply. “Obviously I don’t since I was about to throw them in the garbage. But the whole situation is disgusting enough without you dramatizing it. I’m not a child.”

“Then show it,” he replies. “Call him and tell him to cut this shit out.”

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” I snap. But there are really no words to express the dread I feel at the prospect.

I wait until they’ve all left for work to make the call. I also time it, conveniently, during Edward’s show. I leave him a voicemail thanking him for the flowers but telling him it needs to stop. “I’m really not interested in that kind of a relationship,” I say, flinching even though I know he can’t respond. I exhale in relief once I hang up. I hate that James was right, but it does feel good to be clear about this at last. Edward returns my call within an hour. I let it go to voicemail, and then I delete it without listening.

**