The scent of freshly cut flowers was intoxicating as I wandered through the shop. Mrs. Whitaker, the kind older woman who owned the place, was helping me pick out a vase to go with the bouquet of lilies and irises I’d chosen. The colors were soft, soothing—a perfect gesture for Leah’s hospital room. But as she prattled on about shapes and sizes, my focus wasn’t on the flowers.
It was on them.
Across the room, at the register, Dominic stood with that girl draped all over him. Her bright laughter rang out, grating against my ears like nails on a chalkboard. She was pressing herself against his side, her hand resting on his arm, her voice oozing with flirtation.
I clenched my jaw, my fingers tightening around the vase Mrs. Whitaker had just handed me.
Dominic didn’t move, didn’t shove her
