Page 108 of I Saw You First

Tamsa grins. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

She turns toward the main staircase, and I follow, but I stop when I see the stage below. Beautiful, brilliant bouquets on amps and speakers and small tables fill the space. There must be at least two dozen. Red roses. Bright pink tulips. There’s an arrangement of all orange in a black spiderweb vase, and a “cake” made entirely of pink and purple carnations. The exact bouquet that appeared at the media desk at Christmas and another, the one that Wil brought me when I was sick. A year’s worth of flowers, it seems, all four seasons, every holiday.

“What in the world?” I murmur as Brianna—Brianna’s here, too!—brings out another bouquet from backstage, an enormous vase of sunflowers. Sunflowers! In March!

“This is where I leave you,” Tamsa says. “I’ll see you down by the stage later. In the meantime, go meet your destiny at the bottom of the stairs.”

“My… destiny?” I turn to her but she’s hurrying in the other direction.

When a song starts to play over the speakers, “Oh! Darling” by The Beatles, I know. I know what’s at the bottom of the stairs, as if the exact bouquets he sent me weren’t enough of a giveaway. I grasp the handrail, afraid I might tip and tumble if I don’t get a handle on my racing heart. I start down the steps.

And there he is. A man—my man—in a Dark Side of the Moon T-shirt, dark hair, one half of his face bathed in blue light. Like that very first night.

It feels like starting over.

He looks up and catches my eye.

“Wait there,” I say.

He nods.

My stomach dips as I approach him. I feel that delicious swizzle, even though we’re still at least a foot apart.

“Hey,” he says, low and growly.

“Wil.” I shake my head in disbelief. “What’s going on?”

“What’s going on is that I’m about to grovel and beg for your forgiveness, Abbey Rhodes.”

That sounds perfect. “Wait,” I say, “first tell me how all of this happened.”

He takes a step forward and lifts my hand, turning it so that he can plant a kiss on my palm. I nearly lose myself in the sensation, the swizzle that courses through me.

“I called in a few favors.” He drops my hand from his mouth but doesn’t release it. “I rented out the venue, ordered the flowers, and enlisted the help of a few friends.” He smiles, and my heart flutters at the sight of it. It’s been so long, too long.

He rented out the venue. Rented out! And all those bouquets must have cost a fortune.

“I’m an idiot, Abbey. I’m an idiot for listening to my dad, for pushing you away. I’m an idiot for so many reasons. Even so, there are a few things I know for sure. First, I love you. I want to bring you a bouquet of flowers every week. I want to take you to La Cuchara for queso, even when it’s not a celebration or payday. I want to listen to Pink Floyd records with you, and The Beatles. I want to spend as much time with you as I can, Abbey Rhodes, and I’m begging you, please. Believe me.”

He holds out his left arm and rotates it to reveal a new tattoo on the inside of his forearm. The four Beatles in black and gray, walking across a street and the crosswalk panels. The famous Abbey Road cover.

“Oh,” I breathe out. I sweep a finger across the image. “It’s beautiful.”

“I needed a piece of you,” he says and I melt.

I have so many unanswered questions. I start with an easy one. “Why are there so many flowers?”

He’s still so serious as he says, “I’m making up for lost time. I should have been buying you flowers every week since that first day I saw you at The Golden. Twenty-eight bouquets, one for every week that I’ve known you.”

“That’s too expensive, Wil!”

“I’m loaded, remember?” he deadpans.

“You could have gotten away with twenty-six. You already got me two.”

“Those doesn’t count.”

“Why not?”