eye. “You have nothing to apologize for. Just focus on getting better and know if you ever need an ear, I’m here for you. Okay?”
I nod, feeling as hopeful as I do awkward. “Thanks, Abigail.”
“Anytime.”
There’s another knock. “That has to be Sterling,” Stella says, rubbing her hands together, no doubt already envisioning gobbling up her food.
“That’s my cue.” Abigail hugs me once more before turning for the door. Except, when she opens it to leave, it’s to a man who is most definitely not Sterling.
"Where would you like these?" asks the uniformed delivery man.
My roomie turns to look at me. "Where would I like what? I didn't order anything."
"Are you Emmalyn Price?"
"Yes, but—"
"Your name’s on the label," he says, cutting me off.
"I guess put it on the coffee table."
He nods and then turns around, stepping back into the hall, only to return with the largest bouquet I've ever seen.
"Good Lord! Who do you think it's from?"
Stella gives me a droll look. "You know who it's from."
"They're gorgeous." But why would Sterling send me these?
The delivery man turns back toward the door and I move to close it behind him, but he stops me. "Not quite finished yet, ma'am."
I cast a confused look Stella's way, expecting her to be equally as mystified. But she's not. Nope, my secret-keeping roommate sports a very knowing look.
He makes two more trips in and out; once with a standard, nondescript brown package, and once with a humongous cellophane-wrapped gift basket. "That's it," he says, shutting the door behind himself.
"Thanks," I murmur dazedly, but he's already gone.
Stella, meanwhile, is grinning like a loon. "Girl, just wait. He actually tried sending this stuff to the hospital while you were there, but they told him he couldn't. So, he arranged this instead."
"Why?"
"Babe." Stella looks at me like I'm utterly clueless. "He's got it bad for you, and he did all of this when he thought you were never gonna speak to him again. So..."
"I-I don't even know how to process this, much less where to begin."
The front door swings open, and Sterling walks in.
"Might I suggest starting with the card attached to the flowers, then the package, and then the basket." He winks. "Go on, dig in, and I'll heat up our breakfast sandwiches. I told them not to so they wouldn't get soggy."
Stella gives him a thumbs up. "Smart man."
I move to the couch as if on autopilot, perching myself on the edge of the cushion. My hands tremble as I reach for the envelope. It’s larger than your standard bouquet-card. Much larger.
My hands tremble as I slide my finger beneath the flap and slide the contents from within it into my hands.
Emmalyn,
I have so much I want to say to you. So much I need to say.
Before I plead my case, I need you to know something…
While you were in the hospital, I took care of things. I took care of Rob. That jackass will never hurt you again. I made sure of it, with a little help from my dad.
That might have crossed some boundaries, but I’d do fucking anything to keep you safe. Anything.
I understand, after everything that’s happened, if you never forgive me, but please know I will love you always, and I'll be here for you no matter what.
If you find it within your heart to give me a second chance, I'd count myself the luckiest man on earth.
Yours,
Sterling
“He…he’s gone?” I ask as a whole host of emotions divebomb my heart.
Sterling stops what he’s doing and turns to fully face me. “Yes, Emmy, he’s gone.”
“And he’s not coming back? Not ever?”
“Not ever.”
I debate asking him more, but honestly at this point, I’m so relieved to know I’m out of Rob’s reach, I just…don’t. I’m sure I’ll eventually grow curious, but today’s not that day.
"Thank you," I whisper, sagging back against the couch. "For everything.” I swipe my index fingers beneath my eyes, wiping away my tears. “The flowers are beautiful.”
"I'm glad you like them. I picked each bloom myself."
"Why?"
"Well," he says, taking one sandwich from the microwave and swapping it for another. "The purple hyacinth, because it symbolizes asking for forgiveness. Yellow lilies because I'm thankful you're still here. The roses, I imagine are fairly obvious. And, the daffodils are for new beginnings. I know they don't really go together—the florist damn sure tried talking me out of it—but they all mean something and, yeah." He shrugs, trying to play it cool.
Meanwhile, I'm on the verge of tears over his thoughtfulness.