I sat up in bed, unfolded it and read his note:
Good morning,
You are so beautiful even when you’re asleep, that it was all I could do not to kiss you awake, Sleeping Beauty style. I knew how tired you were, and how you’re determined to do all this yourself. Let me help if I can. I’ve missed you.
I made breakfast. Yesterday I stopped at the bakery and got the good sourdough you like. It makes kickass French toast which I left in the skillet on the stove. Take the lid off and heat it up so it’s crispy. Don’t microwave it—you deserve better than mushy toast, even if it takes a whole five minutes of your busy day.
Did I mention I’ve missed you? I’m not working this weekend. Ghostbusters and popcorn?
Damon
I smiled to myself, and thought this must be what beaming felt like, when you’re so happy that your cheeks hurt from grinning too hard. That was the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to me, and here it was, written down where I could keep it forever. I actually pressed the note to my chest and held it, like I was Anne of Green Gables or some other melodramatic girl in an old-timey romance story. His words felt sweet and funny, like he was, but also secret, intimate. A note a man writes to his wife when he leaves before she’s awake, when he’s made her breakfast.
I grabbed my phone to text him: I love the note. I love everything. I love you. I stopped myself before I hit send, my face flaming. I couldn’t do that in a text message. I couldn’t risk saying it at all. He’d done so much for me, for my business and been such a good friend, I couldn’t impose on him that way, expect him to deal with my messy feelings when he was such a good guy and it would be so awkward. He was nice to me, thoughtful. It was a big leap from being an extra-nice roommate to imagining he felt the same way I did. I was reading too much into a couple of really considerate gestures on his part. Michelle brought me a muffin sometimes for breakfast and I didn’t go around trying to French kiss her. This was probably like that, I told myself, so calm the fuck down.
I settled for texting: Thanks for breakfast that was so sweet!
Because I was a damn coward.
I heated my breakfast and was eating it when I got a reply: You better not put that kickass toast in the microwave.
I laughed and sent back: So yummy ty
You microwaved it didn’t you. You’re killing me.
I shook my head, grinning my face off, You will never know. Gotta keep the mystery alive.
RU flirting with me, wife???
Never. Too mysterious to flirt. Just eating toast and kicking ass.
He sent back a heart eye emoji. Did that mean he loved my sarcastic reply about flirting? Did that mean he loved texting me? That he loved the French toast? That he loved me? Did it mean I was fucking thirteen years old and trying to analyze an emoji? Yeah, that last one, definitely. I wanted to smack myself in the face. I dumped the rest of my toast and got ready for work.
Things were going great on that end. My post-coital panic had sent me into a frenzy of workaholic hiding out. So the repairs had been finished, and Nicole and my dad had helped me with the laminate flooring I got and helped me patch some drywall. I repainted it a soft sage green with white trim. I had gotten a slightly cheaper replacement cooler and used the rest of the insurance money to help cover the cost of the flooring. I put in a huge chalkboard I got at a yard sale and practiced some hand lettering off a YouTube video till I could manage some fancy-looking writing for a daily quote about flowers. It made the shop feel more like mine now that I owned the building and had redone it with a nice, clean fit and finish to my own taste.
I’d ordered new stock, advertised a grand re-opening special for the first week for buy one get one half off bouquets and potted plants. I was running a 10% off on grapevine wreaths with silk flowers and bows I’d made and 15% off artificial cemetery arrangements, too. I made some up in advance and got my part-time help rehired as well. The people in Rockford Falls and even as far away as Overton had been so good to me, placing orders as soon as they saw I was ready to open back up. It seemed like everyone I knew was ready for a new wreath for their door or a bouquet of flowers to cheer up a friend. I was thrilled to be flooded with orders, doing the math in my head as I wrote out instructions for each arrangement.