Page 80 of Kentrell

But I knew who sent them. I didn’t need a signature.

The moment the first delivery came through, I’d texted him a photo. He tried playing it off, but he eventually admitted to it.

By the second bouquet, I was smiling.

By the third… I was dialing his number.

No answer.

That was five hours ago.

And I hadn’t heard from Kentrell since eight this morning.

Now, fresh out the shower and still warm from it, I moved through my living room, catching the light fragrance from the vases spaced throughout the space like soft little reminders of him.

I paused at the one near the TV console and leaned in to sniff it again. The eucalyptus hit first—clean, cool, unmistakable—followed by the soft sweetness of the roses. That particular combo always felt a little too intimate. Like the way Kentrell’s hand had moved up my thigh as we kissed in that secluded booth Monday afternoon. The memory sent a shiver through me, goosebumps rising as if he were still there, fingertips trailing fire along my skin.

I didn’t want to admit how much I’d been thinking about him today. But it was true.

And now, wrapped in my black satin nightie, bonnet secure, wine glass in hand, I couldn’t help but wonder?—

Where the hell was he?

Why hadn’t he picked up?

And what kind of man sent three bouquets to your office, then disappeared?

I sank into the couch, legs curled beneath me, Scrubs reruns playing in the background. My wine was smooth. My skin still soft. The night quiet.

But my mind?

Loud as ever.

Something about the silence felt off.

And I wasn’t sure if I was hoping he’d call me back…

or praying he didn’t.

The stem of my wine glass had barely warmed in my hand when my phone lit up on the cushion beside me.

STACIA.

I smirked and answered with a lazy, “Wussup, Pooh?”

“Hey Bae,” she said, her voice dipped in silk. “You sound relaxed. Did you finally make it home?”

“Mmhm,” I mumbled into my glass. “Showered, lotioned, bonneted... the works.”

“Oh good. You sound soft,” Stacia teased. “Because I got a call Monday, and I need you in a safe space before I unpack it.”

I rolled my eyes, already knowing. “Let me guess—Ayesha.”

“Yup,” she giggled. “Said you was all jittery and nervous 'cause Kentrell popped up on that ass mad you was on games and didn’t wanna have dinner with him.”

I sighed, smiling despite myself. “She’s so dramatic.”

“But was she wrong?” Stacia drawled.

---