weeks, life had delivered a swift kick of perspective. And today she was going to act on it. Eva only hoped it was the right decision, and that she wasn’t too late.
Overhead, a pleasant-sounding Kiwi woman announced the boarding of a flight to Auckland, where Angela and the kids had been a few weekends ago. The house had been so quiet with them away, a reminder of what her life would be like when she returned to New York.
A text pinged on her phone, and she fumbled it in her attempt to pick it up quickly.
From Marc. Finally landed. Be off in a few.
Short and to the point—businesslike, just like all the other texts and conversations they’d had in the two months since he’d left and Eva had basically run scared. He’d only asked where they stood that one time on the phone, and she hadn’t had the courage to bring it up again.
Because if she had to be honest with him, she’d have to tell him the intensity of her emotions, which only grew stronger every day.
But enough was enough. In eight days they were embarking on a journey that was bigger than all of them, and Eva would not allow romantic tension or drama to mar that experience.
I’m here outside the coffee bar.
Once she hit Send, Eva put down her phone and fiddled with the bundle sticking out of her purse. Had it been a horrible idea? She’d had to exhaust Joanne’s contacts to find someone nearby with an early crop in order to get ahold of this particular flower—but it had to be the king protea. The cellophane encasing the single flower crinkled as she rubbed it between her fingers, admiring the white bloom. Once fully open, the triangular petals would burst from the center like a sun, creating a five- to ten-inch flower head that was as majestic as it was beautiful.
This was silly. What man wanted a woman to give him flowers?
“Hey, Eva.”
Her head snapped up and she stood abruptly, knocking her purse to the navy-blue carpet at her feet. “Oh. Hi.” The sudden movement sent a tiny twinge through her ankle, but thanks to kinesiology tape and as much rest as she could manage when training for an ultra-marathon, the pain had lessened considerably.
Marc looked rumpled and exhausted, though a full day of international travel would do that to anyone. But it was more than that. The smile he gave her didn’t show in his hazel eyes. Those seemed lax around the edges, as if weighed down by great sadness. He’d shaved his beard, but the five o’clock shadow gave him a slightly rugged appearance.
One bag resting on his shoulder and one roller suitcase at his feet, he advanced, then looked as if he might back up again. He stuck his hands in his jean pockets.
“How’s your ankle?”
“Doing much better, thanks.” She’d told him about her sprain a few days after the injury occurred, once she was certain she’d be okay. “I’m still grateful the sprain was so minor.”
“Me too. Is everyone else at the house?” His gaze scanned the surrounding area, as if he’d rather be anywhere but here.
Only one way to tell how badly she’d botched things. Eva squatted, picking up her purse—and the flower. Rising, she took a deep breath. “Yeah. I wanted . . . well, a moment alone with you to . . .” Ugh, why was this so difficult?
Eva had memorized a whole speech—a laughable notion for her—but it flew out of her brain now. “I got this for you.” She shoved the bloom at him.
“Um . . . thank you?”
Eva twisted her hands together. “It’s a king protea. It has a lot of different meanings. Like daring. Transformation. Change.” She swallowed. “And courage.”
When he stepped close, she caught a hint of the pretzels he must have eaten on the plane, combined with the spicy scent that was all his. How did the man manage to smell so good after twenty-four hours in and out of airports?
He tilted his head, gripping the flower to his chest. “Okay.”
The word wasn’t dismissive—in fact, just the opposite. He’d invited her to finish explaining.
Eva closed the final gap between them. She lifted a trembling finger and touched the flower, whose petals had only recently separated from a tight bulb—anticipating. Preparing to bloom. “The others were already fully open, ready to be displayed and admired. But I felt like this one was a better representation of us.” Her hand moved to his arm,