The first arrangement arrived at nine-fifteen.
White roses. Dozens of them, spilling out of a vase so large the delivery guy had to use both hands. The card said I miss you in Marcus's handwriting, and I dropped it in the recycling bin before Veyna could read it.
"Wow," she said, watching me do it. "Bold move from a cheater."
"Ignore it."
The second arrangement arrived at ten-forty.
Red carnations this time. Different delivery service. The card said You're making a mistake.
Veyna picked that one up before I could intercept. Read it. Set it down very carefully on the counter.
"Sam."
"I know."
"That's not romantic. That's—"
"I know, Veyna."
By noon, we had five arrangements crowding the café's front window. Different flowers, different services, same handwriting on every card.
V
