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I watch him go, the familiar ache in my chest threatening to overpower me. This moment reminds me that it is always like this with Fredrick - a whirlwind of emotions that leaves me reeling in his wake and feeling nothing but pain.
But this time, things will be different. This time, I won't let myself get caught up in the storm of his sudden reappearance in my life.
As he disappears through the door, the jingle of the bell signaling his departure, I take a deep breath and force myself to focus on the task at hand. But the sunflowers seem a little less brighter somehow. Still, the arrangements and orders needed to be finalized, and I can't afford to be distracted by thoughts of a past that was better left buried.
Fredrick may have come back into my life unexpectedly, but I won't allow him to disrupt the fragile peace I have worked so hard to build in his absence.
This flower shop is my sanctuary, my refuge from the chaos of the outside world and the people in my life. And I won't let anyone, not even him, shatter the contentment I fought so hard to maintain.
A moment later, the bell dings again, warning me that someone has walked in. I glance up into Fredrick’s eyes, a sense of impending doom settling within my belly.
“One more thing,” he says, his tone gritty and dark. “I need flowers.”
I nod. “How can I help?”
“I need a wisteria arch.”
I tilt my head, wondering why anyone would get something like that for a funeral. But I’m not sure I want to tell him his idea is inappropriate. A wisteria arch is more in line with a wedding than a funeral. I must have hesitated too long, because his eyes narrow and he settles back onto his heels, and his arms cross his chest.
“I can do that, but not at the last second like this,” I say.
He arches an eyebrow. “Last second? Oh, I don’t need it now.”
Well, that leaves the funeral. So, what does he need a wisteria arch for? And does he remember they are my favorite flower? I know how I can find out the answer to at least one of those questions. “Okay. What would you like me to put on the card?”
A sinister smile spreads across his face. “Oh, no card needed. This is for a wedding.”
An icy chill settles into my bones. “A wedding?” I want to ask who is getting married, and he must see the questions echoing in my eyes, because he nods his head.
“Yes, a wedding. My wedding.” He sounds so pleased, but all I can think about is how much it hurts to once again be left out of the loop. I didn’t know he was engaged. Had I misunderstood the whole point of his visit?
I force a smile to my frozen face, my heart sinking at the news of his upcoming wedding. The realization hits me like a ton of bricks - Fredrick isn't back to rekindle our past flame or apologize for running away without so much as a goodbye all those years ago.
He is here to rub the news about his new beginning in my face; a new beginning that doesn't include me. As much as I try to suppress the hurt, it bubbles up inside me, threatening to spill over.
Then I remind myself that this is for the best. If he marries someone else, he’ll have no reason to come back here to me.
So, why does that thought hurt?
“Congratulations,” I say, hoping my bright voice doesn’t sound too forced or false. The air feels heavy around us, thick with unspoken words and tension that leaves my lungs burning and starved for oxygen.
I can’t believe he’d done all of this; showed up here, made me think about the past, only to turn around and tell me he has someone else in his life. What a cruel game.
His smug smile wavers slightly, as if he senses that I’m not actually happy for him, but that I’m mad at his childish, awful behavior.
“Thank you.” His voice holds no hint of remorse. Instead, he sounds like everything is going to plan. “I don’t have the date yet, but I’d like the reservation on the books, and I’ll have a solid date in a few days.”
Well, that is certainly an odd way to do things. Everything about this moment feels like a set-up, but I’m not about to accuse him of something that ugly.
Instead, I plaster on a fake smile, nodding and jotting down the information he provides with a somehow steady hand. “Of course, just let me know, and I’ll make sure to have everything ready for you,” I say, my voice coming out much colder than I intend.
I don’t want him to know that deep down, I am seething with a mix of hurt and anger at his audacity. How dare he waltz back into my life and drop this bombshell on me? Why would he want me of all people to handle any aspect of his wedding?
To hurt me, of course.
There is no other logical explanation. But in that moment, I promise myself I’ll never let him see how much his words cut through me.
He seems to hesitate before turning as if to leave. Then he swivels back toward me, his eyebrows knitting together.
