Chapter 5
For I would that ye knew what great conflict I have for you, and for them at Laodicea, and for as many as have not seen my face in the flesh.
—Colossians 2:1
Ethan jumped out of the car to open the door for me when we arrived back at my shop. I started to open the door before he could get there, but I didn’t want him to think I was pouting or retaliating for the discussion we’d had while eating.
As far as I was concerned, it was a settled matter. It was settled when I realized he was likely never going to stop going with the girl who was his girlfriend, long before I came on the scene. Not counting when I learned he’d also tried talking to another girl around the same time he was trying to talk to me. Admittedly, the other girl he was trying to talk to didn’t bother me as much as his already having a steady girlfriend. It just wasn’t my style to be with someone who had someone already. And fighting over a man was not something I ever cared about doing either. Not ever.
And that included my dear husband Zeke.
Ethan still needed to pick up the flowers he’d ordered, so he came along with me. I unlocked the front door to the shop and turned the alarm off. I then turned the notice on the door to indicate I was back and open for business.
“Let me get your flowers,” I said, then promptly went to the back room to retrieve them.
I came back with the flowers, pleased with how this arrangement had turned out, and set the vase down on the counter before him.
“Nice,” he said. “Very nice.”
“Thank you. I think so. But then, what else would you expect me to say.” I flashed him a satisfied smile.
“May I have a card for it?”
“Sure,” I said. “You didn’t tell me what to put on one, so I didn’t fix one. I’ll be glad to prepare the card for you.”
“Oh, I got it. All I need is a blank card so I can write what I want.”
I pulled out the various cards for him to choose the design he wanted.
“Butterflies,” he said as he picked up one of my two favorites. “Perfect.” He purred the word. “So . . . how much is my damage?” he asked, referring to what he owed for the flowers. I gave him his bill. He pulled out a one-hundred-dollar bill and handed it to me. He laughed a little as I held it a few seconds. “Oh, and you can check to make sure it’s not counterfeit. I won’t be offended.”
I held it up in the air and looked at it, mostly to mess with him. He laughed again as he shook his head a few times. I went to the register and got his change. He wrote on the floral card, then placed it into the plastic cardholder I’d placed in the arrangement.
“Your change,” I said as I counted the money out into his hand.
He stuck the money in one of his coat pockets. “Thank you.” He took my right hand. “And thanks for going to lunch with me today. I really enjoyed it.”
“Yeah, it was nice. And thank you for buying.”
He then leaned down before I knew what he was about to do, and softly planted a kiss on my cheek. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Yeah,” I said, stunned that he’d just done what he did.
He picked up the vase of flowers and smiled. “You really like these? You really think they’re nice?” he asked of the arrangement. “Really?”
“Yes. Why? Is there something wrong? Something you don’t like?”
He smiled. “Oh, no. I just wanted to be sure you liked them.” He held the vase out to me. “Because these... are for you.” He put the vase in my hands, then turned and walked away.
“What?” I said as I stood there with the flowers. “Come back here. What do you mean these are for me?”
He turned back around. “I mean . . . they’re for you.”
“What? You don’t want them?” I tilted my head. “What are you saying?”
“What are you saying?” he asked. “That you don’t want them?”
I shook my head. “That’s not what I’m saying. It’s just I’m not understanding what you’re saying. . . what you’re doing.”
He came back and touched my hand. “These flowers . . . I bought for you.”
“I can’t accept these.” I glanced down at the flowers. I’d done an extra special job with this arrangement. I’d put my best cut of flowers in there; put in more flowers than I even normally did. I looked back up at him with a quizzical look.
“Well, they’re yours,” was all he said. He nodded, smiled, then strolled with his signature, back-in-the-day swag out the door.
After he left, I looked at the card. It merely said, FOREVER.