Does He Know Me At All?
I stifle a sigh as I open the door to an enormous bunch of flowers with a pair of legs sticking out of the bottom. It’s not the delivery person’s—I say person because I currently have no idea if they’re male or female—fault, after all. Not their fault that my ex-boyfriend really doesn’t know me at all.
Realising I haven’t yet spoken, I say, “Yes, can I help you?”
“Oh, sorry,” a voice says. “I have a delivery for Miss Brooks.”
“That’s me.” I reach out and carefully take the bouquet, stepping back to place it in my hallway. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I see now that the delivery person is in fact a woman around the same age as me, hair pulled into a ponytail and a genuine smile on her face. “You’re a lucky woman,” she adds, gesturing to the flowers. “He must r
