Page 17 of They Are Mine

Soft. Sweet. The same colors she always wears.

I don’t even think about it. I get them.

Because Juliet is the kind of girl who deserves flowers.

And I want to be the kind of guy who gives them to her.

The address she sent me leads to a quiet street, just outside of town.

When I turn onto her driveway, my eyebrows lift.

Her house is… exactly what I would’ve pictured.

Big, but not in an over-the-top way. Warm. Pretty. The kind of house that has gardens under the windows and a front porch meant for drinking coffee on a slow morning.

I pull in behind her car. There are no other cars.

My stomach flutters.

Maybe her friends aren’t here yet.

Or maybe, I grab the bouquet from the passenger seat and shake that thought off.

It’s fine. I’m probably early.

I step out, roll my shoulders, and head up the steps. The house smells good even from outside. Like flowers and something warm, vanilla, maybe.

I knock.

A second later, she’s there.

Juliet.

Smiling, beaming, glowing.

Fuck, she’s pretty.

Her blonde hair is loose tonight, soft curls framing her face. She’s in a sweater, off-the-shoulder, pink, of course, and a white skirt that brushes against her thighs.

She sees the flowers.

Her lips part, and for a second, she just stares at them.

Then she says, “Oh my god.”

She reaches for them, hands delicate as she runs her fingers over the petals.

“You brought me roses?” she says, voice so sweet, so surprised, like this is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for her.

Heat creeps up my neck. I almost feel dumb for bringing them. “Uh, yeah. Just, you know. Thought you’d like them.”

She presses them to her chest like they’re something precious. “Noah. These are beautiful.”

Jesus Christ, she’s gonna kill me.

She grabs my wrist, tiny fingers, warm grip, pulls me inside.

“Come in,” she says, already heading toward the kitchen. “I need to put these in water.”

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