Opening the fridge, I get the pitcher of juice, and it almost slips my hand when I turn around and see Tristan standing in the door frame. I head over to the table and fill a glass with the juice. From the corner of my eye, I watch as he walks over in my direction and takes a seat across from me, my heart in my throat.
He takes a glass and pushes it toward me. “Thanks,” he says after I pour juice into it.
Gulping it down, he carries on without looking at me, “I just want you to know that I'm not giving up, Carolina.”
I turn away from him, drink the juice, and head to the sink, not planning to respond.
The chair scrapes over the floor when he stands up. “By the way, the flowers you received were from me. You can't imagine my happiness when I saw you smell it and smile.”
I received a b
