The slam of a door startled me awake. I wasn’t sure when I’d fallen asleep, but by the angle of the sun and the time on my clock, I’d taken a decent-sized siesta after lunch.
The clack of hard soles against the wood floors grew closer, and I sat up in time to watch Atticus step through my doorway. My brow scrunched as I looked to the clock—it wasn’t even five.
“Hi,” he said, then pulled a beautiful bouquet of calla lilies from behind him.
I gasped and stood, closing in on the soft white petals that held a violet center and were surrounded by sprigs of lavender.
“Happy birthday,” he said.
I looked up, our eyes meeting. “Thank you.”
I was floored. The bouquet in my hand was so simple, yet so elegantly beautiful. How did he know I loved calla lilies?
He held out his hand. “Come, let’s
