a half panic. “Your hair has never looked better. It hasn’t been heat-styled in years. You’re tan, and you’ve always had a perfect figure. Relax, you’re a knockout. Believe me, I’d tell you if you were a hot mess.”
This did make me feel a little better. She would tell me. She had literally no filter.
This morning I’d plucked my eyebrows and made an appointment to have my hair trimmed. I did a teeth-whitening strip and a mud mask, and afterward I felt slightly less despondent. But I was still so nervous. I hadn’t cared about what a man thought of me since Brandon, and suddenly I was obsessed. I felt like I was shaking out a dusty party dress I’d left balled on the floor of my closet for two years, hoping it still fit and the moths hadn’t destroyed it.
I walked Tucker to the grooming department at the back of the store and stood waiting to check him in at the counter, thinking of Jason and chewing on my lip.
A woman in a dark-blue PetSmart shirt greeted me. “Checking in?”
“Yes, he just needs a nail trim.”
She leaned over and looked at Tucker. “No problem. And who do we have here?”
“Tucker.”
Something flashed across her face. The groomer behind her jerked her head up to stare at me, and the two shared a look.
“Are you Sloan?” the first woman asked.
“Yeeeees,” I said, looking back and forth between them, unsure what was happening.
“One moment.” She grinned, putting up a finger. “Just wait here.” Then she darted into a side door. When it opened again, a giant vase of sunflowers floated out.
“Oh my God,” I whispered. “He didn’t.”
The woman heaved the vase onto the countertop. “These are for you,” she said, beaming.
I stared at the arrangement in shock. “How?”
“Your boyfriend called us this morning and said he wanted to surprise you when you came in. We’ve been waiting for you all day. It’s so sweet!”
My stomach flipped at the word “boyfriend.” He wasn’t, of course, but my stomach didn’t care.
The flowers were stunning. Red roses were mixed in with the huge yellow blossoms, and flowering branches gave it extra height. It was easily the largest arrangement I’d ever gotten. It must have cost a fortune.
“There’s a card,” the woman said, turning the vase to the little white envelope.
I plucked it free and slid a shaking finger under the seal.
There were two square boxes drawn on the small paper, with the words “yes” and “no” written above them.
Sloan, do you like me? Check one. —Jason
I laughed out loud and had to slap a hand over my mouth.
I handed Tucker over for his nail trim and called Jason. He answered groggily, but I could hear the smile in his voice. “Good afternoon, Sloan.”
“You are too much. How did you know where to send these?”
He sounded like he was stretching. “You said you were going to PetSmart. I know generally where you live. I googled it.”
“They’re beautiful.”
“I was accused of not being properly motivated once, so I stepped up my game.”
“You really did,” I said, looking the flowers up and down. “But you shouldn’t have done it.”
“Did you read the card?”
I blushed. “Yes.”
“Did you check a box?”
“Maybe.”
“Are you going to tell me which one?”
“Definitely not.”
“Then that’s my question for the day,” he said, the smile in his voice coming through the phone.
I sighed. “I checked yes.”
“Good,” he said. “I like you too.”
Chapter 9
Sloan
♪ A Beautiful Mess | Jason Mraz
There was a small wet spot on my kitchen tile. “I think I’ve got a leaky pipe,” I told Jason over the phone. I started pulling out all the cleaning products from under my sink and dabbed at the damp surface with my finger. “Ugh, it’s definitely wet under here.”
“I can have a look at it for you when I get back,” he offered, a hopeful edge to his voice.
Jason was coming home tomorrow. He was packing his hotel room up as we spoke and heading to catch a flight in just a few hours. My stomach flipped again. It had been roiling for days in anticipation of meeting him in person. I was a mess. My eyelid twitched mercilessly from the stress.
“No, you’re not coming over here,” I said again. “I’ll meet you like we planned.”
“Come on, at least let me meet you at a restaurant. What kind of date is Starbucks?”
“It’s not a date,” I reminded him, sliding a bowl under the slow drip.
“Oh, that’s right. It’s an appointment.”
We’d known each other for two weeks, and