Page 40 of Defending her Heart

“Who are they from? Is your ex trying to get back with you?” Abby, one of the fourth-grade teachers, asks.

The staff knew I was in a relationship with Jason, but none of them ever met him. And when I learned the truth and dumped his ass, I was beyond devastated and completely mortified. I never told anyone why we broke up, they just saw the aftermath.

I never socialize much with my colleagues anyway, but I became more reserved. It’s best to keep professional and personal life separate, especially in a private school setting like Revere.

“Or are you dating someone new?” Abby comes over and smells them. “These are totally new love kind of flowers. They even smell like you.”

“They do?”

I’ve been wearing gardenia perfume ever since Jason and I broke up. He used to comment on how much he loved my scent, and wanting to burn every memory, every part of my life with him, I dumped my old lotions and perfumes and went to Target to find something new.

I found a matching lotion and spray that was a little pricier than my go-to scent, but it was worth having a fresh start. And I loved the smell. I had no idea what flower it was and didn’t care. It was fresh and clean. A little fruity even, but not like a fruit salad.

I lean in and breathe in the gorgeous bouquet. It does smell like me.

“Oh, those are gardenias. Quite expensive since they’re not in season right now,” Sharon says.

“Open the card.” Abby nudges me with her elbow.

There’s no doubt who they’re from, but I’m not about to let my colleagues know I’m hot for the father of one of my students. Not that it breaks any rules, but I’d never hear the end of it. They already know I attend almost every home Revolutions game in wicked good seats, courtesy of my best friend who’s married to one of the star players.

There’s a lot of Monday morning chatter after every game. They used to hound me for details about Walker and his teammates, but when they realized I wasn’t about to give them any dirt, they stopped pestering me.

“I’m dying, Kendall. Open it.” She takes the card out of the bouquet and shoves it in my face.

“Easy, Abby.” I take the card from her and shove it in my skirt pocket. “Whoever it’s from, they’re just a friend. I’m not dating anyone.”

“I predict that’s about to change. If you don’t want him, send him my way.”

I roll my eyes. “The sender could be an oaf. Or a criminal. Or a narcissist.”

“Please. An oaf wouldn’t have the brain cells to put together a cluster like this.” She touches the top of one of the white roses.

“I’m sure the sender didn’t put this together either. This is the work of a professional florist. It’s pretty easy to click a button on the computer and order anything these days.”

The card is burning a hole in my pocket and I’d give anything for Abby to leave me alone so I can read Nash’s message.

“Well, he’s not a criminal either. These flowers had to cost a fortune. A criminal wouldn’t want to waste money on flowers this exquisite.”

“Your rationale makes no sense.”

Ignoring me, she continues as she fingers one of the green, waxy leaves. “And a narcissist would send these to himself. My request still stands. If you don’t want Mr. Moneybags with a romantic heart, give him my number.”

I finish the last bite of my sandwich and stuff my empty containers in my lunch box. Brushing off the crumbs from the table to my palm, I scoot my chair back and stand.

“The kids will be back from recess soon.” I brush off the crumbs in the nearby trash and scoop up my flowers and my lunchbox. “Have a great rest of your day.”

“You’re killing us, Kendall,” Abby calls to my retreating back.

Hell, these flowers weigh a ton. I make it back to my classroom and find a safe place for the monstrosity where my students won’t knock it over, then slip the card from my pocket. The message is handwritten in what I believe to be Nash’s script.

These flowers reminded me of you. I hope you’re having a wonderful day.

Nash

Simple, sweet, short, and to the point, but my heart didn’t get the memo. It beats erratically in my chest.

On Friday, I receive a fruit bouquet—heavy on the strawberries—with a similar note.

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