I tucked the girls cozy in their beds and walked to my room to get ready to head to Alexa’s shop. As much as I wanted to sprint into the kitchen and read the card, I wanted to get out of my mom’s crosshairs more. She followed me to my room, her eyes focused on me, reading every awkward movement I was making around my bedroom.
“So, what’s the deal with the flowers?” She finally broke the silence.
I turned to face her, expecting her to be judgmental.
“I have no idea, Mom. I haven’t even looked at the envelope yet. I don’t really want to.”
Her eyes softened as she walked over and sat on my bed, patting the open space next to her. I went over and sat down.
“You like him, Kacie.” I searched her eyes as she continued, curious where this conversation was headed. “I can tell. Why the hesitation?” She reached up and played with a strand of hair trailing down my back.
I immediately relaxed and rested my head on her shoulder. A mother’s touch is so powerful; it makes you feel like the bad is actually tolerable.
“Mom, he’s a hockey player, a professional hockey player. That type of lifestyle doesn’t fit into ours.”
“That’s pretty presumptuous of you. You’ve spent two days with him. What can you possibly know about his lifestyle?”
I had no answer for her, she was right.
“Go to Alexa’s, talk to her. You need some girl talk, not advice from an old lady.” She patted my knee and stood up, heading for my bedroom door.
“You’re not an old lady. You’re a pretty cool mom, and one of my best friends.” I walked up behind her, wrapped my arms around her shoulders and hugged. Her hand reached up and squeezed mine back.
“Thanks, Kacie, now go read that card. Maybe give Brody a shot, he had a cute rear end.” She winked at me and closed my bedroom door.
I grabbed the card on my way out of the house a few minutes later. No way was I going to read it with my mom staring at me … but once I got to my car, I tore the envelope apart. It was a standard sage green card from Alexa’s shop and the inside read…
My brain went into a fuzzy euphoric state. I couldn’t believe he was still thinking about me. I was sure that once he went home and got back to his life of—whatever hockey players do—he’d forget I even existed. This wasn’t fair, to me or to him, I definitely needed to text him and tell him thanks for the flowers but that we weren’t possible. Just the thought of sending that text deflated me, but I was very good at compartmentalizing my thoughts, so I put that one away to deal with later. Right now I had sweet and sour chicken on the brain as I stopped at Chang’s Kitchen and picked up take out for Alexa and me.
The bell clanged as I walked through the bright red door of The Twisted Petal, which closed an hour before but Alexa hadn’t locked up yet. I turned back and spun the silver latch to the left, jumping out of my skin when I heard Alexa bellow, “Three days since what? When did you meet Brody Murphy, and why the hell is he sending you flowers?”
I paused and leaned my forehead against her shop door, not ready for her onslaught of questions. When I turned to face her she was standing by the counter, her jet-black hair pulled up into a messy bun, hands on her hips, tapping her foot impatiently.
“I’ll tell you all about it. Can we just eat first? I’m starving.”
“You didn’t know who he was?” Alexa exclaimed, rice flying out of her mouth and all over me.
“Keep your dinner to yourself, drama queen. No, I didn’t know. How could I know? I watch baseball, not hockey.”
“I thought everyone in the state of Minnesota knew who he was. I almost dropped the phone when he said his name, then I thought it was a post pubescent teenage boy pranking the shop, then he gave a credit card number and said they were for Kacie Jensen at the Cranberry Inn. I almost dropped the phone again.”
A twinge of jealousy sprouted in my stomach and grew taller as Alexa told me about the rest of her conversation with Brody. I would have given anything to hear his voice again.
“Did he kiss you?” Her eyes sparkled, desperate for juicy details.
“Nope, nada.”
“Kacie, you have this guy crazy enough to send you flowers and you haven’t even kissed him yet?”
“It wasn’t like that, he wasn’t like that. He was really sweet,” I sighed, “but God, I felt it, Lex. Every time our bodies accidentally touched—when he brushed past me and his hand rested on the small of my back and when he smiled at me from across the dinner table—it was there. This ridiculous pull, this tension. It was totally there.”