Page 117 of He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not

I glance over at him. He did something? The man already brings me flowers daily. What could he have possibly done?

‘Whatyoudid?’

He shrugs, the elevator doors opening and him leaving me behind before he can answer.

‘Dax,’ I say, following behind him. ‘What didyoudo?’

When he reaches our door, he slows, stopping and handing me the keycard in his hand. ‘Go ahead.’

‘You know I hate surprises.’ A detail he’s desperately trying to change.

‘Not this one.’

I slide the key into the door, turn the handle, and step in. The smell hits me first: sugary, powdery, flowery. Thousands of flowers fill the room. On every surface. Of every color. Every kind. It looks like the flowers we’re to use for the weddings have accidentally been delivered to our room. I glance back at him, now standing in the doorway watching me witness this.

‘Seemed fitting. Ya know?’

I bite my bottom lip through the grin, causing him to drop his gaze with a chuckle. ‘We’ve only got a couple of hours, Hols. I don’t know if that’s enough time.’

‘Thank you,’ I say, hugging him, my head on his chest.

‘I’m hoping to make up for every time some asshole has not brought you flowers.’

‘Well, it’s working because just when I think I couldn’t possibly love you more, you go and do something like this.’

‘Maybe I’m better at this relationship thing than I thought.’

He notices an envelope between vases of flowers and flashes it my way. Our names are written across the front.

‘The show’s gift?’

He nods. ‘Remember that massage you wanted eons ago? Here it is.’

I take the coupon he’s handing me. ‘A couple’s massage? Does that mean we have to get naked in front of strangers? Cause that’s going to be awkward. Forthem.’ I laugh. ‘You can’t keep your hands off me when I’m clothed.’

‘For good reason,’ he says, now looking into the envelope he’s still holding. ‘Hols.’ His voice drops. ‘There’s something else in here. For you.’ He hands me the paper, folded into thirds, my name written across the front in black ink.

I open the paper, something falling to the floor as I do. ‘Thank River and your dad.’ I read the written words aloud, looking at the floor for whatever dropped out.

A check. Dax and I exchange looks as I kneel to grab it. Tristan Wells is printed at the top. My heart pounds as I look at the amount. One hundred thousand dollars.Morethan he owed me.

‘Oh my god.’

Dax steps up to me, looking at the check. ‘He gave the money back.’

‘He gave the money back,’ I repeat under my breath, dropping onto the bed behind me. ‘But why? How?’

‘I don’t kn—’

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Dax and I look at one another. He raises a single eyebrow as he stands from the bed, walking to the door and peering through the peephole as though we’re in the middle of a horror film. He drops his head with a laugh, opening it to reveal River and my dad.

‘Whoa.’ River walks in, uninvited. ‘Talk about bringing your work home with ya. Somebody is looking to get laid tonight,’ he says obnoxiously as if I’m not his sister.

‘River,’ Dad says sternly.

Riv shrugs, giving me a sly grin as he and Dax shake hands like they haven’t seen each other in weeks, even though it’s been three days. We thought he’d left town for something to do with the documentary which means we’ve had the apartment to ourselves during that time, and I learned what River meant when he told me Dax cleans after sexcapades. He sure does. Hot pink dishwashing gloves, dancing to ridiculous pop music, and it’s way hotter than I expected it to be.

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