Chapter Twenty-eight
Emma
I swear I”m gone for forty-five minutes to pick up some basics for the fridge and when I get home, the whole neighborhood has gone to heck. Carefully stepping over several flower arrangements, I make my way to my door, wondering what the heck happened.
Margret opens her door as I set down the bags I’m carrying beside my doormat.
“You must have a secret admirer,” I say, digging my key out of my pocket.
Margret shakes her head, but I confidently keep talking. “They must be for you, they”re not for me. Want help taking them all inside?”
Margret points at the various arrangements. “Check the cards.”
As she says the words, I feel my heart sink, wondering what the heck is going on now. The thick scent of multicolor roses, stunning lilies, various colors of orchids, tulips in every shade, sunflowers, bright daisies, intensely colorful carnations, and so many others fill my nose and the hallway with their perfume.
I lean over and peek at the card on a beautiful arrangement of sunflowers. To Emma. I swear you don’t have to bail me out of jail.
I can’t hold back a laugh, and Margret speaks up. “Trust me, I already checked. They”re all for you.”
“Are you serious?” I ask, unable to believe this insane turn of events. I know exactly who sent them, but I don”t know why. And why so many?
“I am totally serious. Just check for yourself. I checked every single card. Your secret admirer sure is strange.” She sounds like she hasn’t figured out why I’d be interested in someone who said the things she read on the cards, and I hope he didn’t send anything too naughty. Nosy neighbors are the best and the worst sometimes.
I read another card. I’m the world’s biggest idiot, and I know I messed up.
Do you think you can ever forgive me?
I think I’m in love with you, but I’ve been wrong about a lot this week, so go easy on me.
This one kind of looks like a willow, right?
The individual notes tell their own kind of story, and I can”t stop smiling as I unlock my door. I take my groceries in and place them on the kitchen counter and scan the dead flowers gracing my apartment. And internally, I make a plan. I cross the room to the hallway and pick up an arrangement. The tulips would look absolutely amazing on my coffee table, so I take them in there and set them down, removing the vase of dried lavender. If I put all of the faces with dead flowers on the kitchen floor, I can go through and dispose of them properly.
I lose myself in the work one by one, bringing in the beautiful arrangements and placing them just so around my apartment. I quickly realize that I”m running out of room inside but still have tons of flowers in the hallway.
“I”m sorry, Margret. I”m working hard to clean it up fast,” I say.
But Margret brushes off my concern. “Take your time. Enjoy the flowers. They”re beautiful and so are you. Besides, they smell amazing.” She inhales and I relax a little bit. I”m going to have to call Clifton and ask him what changed, but for now I”m fixated on getting the flowers inside into their new homes.
I hardly notice the time passing as I move old vases of dead flowers to the kitchen floor and fill their spaces with the new bouquets and arrangements. And move them to places I wouldn”t typically put them on the floor, around my room, hanging on the walls, windowsills...I have to get clever to keep finding spots for them all.
The room smells like heaven, and I open my sliding glass doors to let in some fresh air. I don’t want to suffocate in the sweet smell of flowers. As I work, I try to figure out what this could possibly mean.
The cards are pretty obvious that he feels bad about what he did and wants me to forgive him, but there’s nothing about me taking him back. Just apologies, jokes, and fun callbacks to our times together.
I”m busy trying to decide what to do with some carnations when there”s another knock at the door.
More flowers? But I”ve already almost brought almost all of them in and I’m out of room. Still, I make my way to the door and open up to hyacinths in purple, white, and pink. On the other side of the bouquet, I lock eyes with Clifton.
“Come in,” I say, struggling to stay cool and preparing myself for whatever he’s about to say and do. He follows me inside, closing and dead bolting the door behind him. “Wow, beautiful,” he says, scanning my place.
“Thanks to you,” I say, crossing my arms and sitting down on my couch. He sits beside me, keeping a respectful distance between us.
“Sorry to barge in like this, it”s been a crazy week. My dad almost died of sepsis.” I see a flash of fear in his eyes, and something inside me melts.
“But he”s okay now?” I ask, hoping he”ll confirm.
He nods his head quickly. “Yes, he”s doing amazingly now.”
“So why are you here?” I don”t feel like beating around the bush or shying away from the important hard questions that I know I need to ask. The way he broke up with me was pretty unforgivable, but it seems like he had a good reason. If I was facing a dying parent I”m not sure that I”d be able to put time into anything or anyone else, even though it was easy for mine to walk away from me.
He raises his eyebrows, as if surprised I”m being so direct. “Well, mostly just to say sorry, partly to let you know what”s going on, and to convey some work news.”
I take a deep breath, worried about what he”s going to say next. He”s already said that he”s sorry. I know about what”s going on with his father, so the only thing left is the work news. Why am I so afraid? Why do I feel like something big is about to happen? Begging my heart to give me a break, I focus on his handsome face and give him all of my attention.
“I’m listening,” I say.
He takes a deep breath. Looks away from me and shoves his fingers through his hair before speaking. “You’re fired.” He pulls a thick, full-sized envelope from inside his jacket pocket and holds whatever it is with reverence while taking a deep breath.
I don”t know what to say or do, I can”t even move. He”s firing me? “Is this because of your dad or because of us? Why am I losing my job?” At least he came in person to tell me this bad news. “Thanks for not firing me over text,” I say, and his gut flexes as if I’ve punched him in the stomach.
“You’re welcome. It’s the next part I couldn”t do over text.”
I don”t even know what could be worse than getting fired, but I”m honestly terrified at this point. Unable to say anything, I wait for him to speak. He finally offers me the envelope of paperwork and his incredible eyes meet mine.
“You are the proud new owner of the law firm.”
Silence chases the words as I struggle to comprehend what he just said. “What?” I ask, feeling like an idiot.
“You own the law firm now and you can”t turn it down because I had a lawyer outside the company draw up the paperwork and everything is airtight.” His eyes are sparkling with joy and mischief, and I try to contain my excitement. There”s no way he”s telling me the truth.
“I can”t afford to buy the firm.” I”m afraid that I”m misunderstanding what”s happening right now.
“But you did.” He seems confused and I try to figure out what the heck is going on. “With your next paycheck. Last paycheck.” He shakes his head like he”s confused. “I swear it”s all above board.”
“So I own your father”s firm?” I still feel like I”m not getting it - I must be hearing him wrong.
“Yes. Free and clear.”
“And what did Anton say about this?” The man wouldn”t have given up control of the firm.
Clifton lifts both shoulders. “Actually, it was his idea. Indirectly. He told me to sell the firm.”
I find myself stunned that Anton would say something like that after how hard he worked to build a reputable firm with a solid clientele. “Why did he want you to sell the firm?”
“Because it doesn”t make me happy.” His voice softens and he reaches out, his fingertips grazing my jaw and threading into the hair hanging freely on my neck. His eyes tick to mine. “You make me happy. Your job makes you happy. This seemed like the only logical way to handle everything, and now that I”m no longer employed, we”re free to behave however we want. Within the law, of course.”
Shocked and still unable to believe the news, I open up the envelope and pull the packet of papers out. Skimming through them quickly, I realize that he isn”t lying. The firm is mine now. Anton’s name isn’t on it, and neither is Clifton’s.
“I... don’t know what to say.” I”ve never been given a gift of this magnitude, and I don”t even know what the appropriate response is.
“You don”t have to say anything.” Clifton smiles gently. “About that at least. I do have something else to talk to you about.”
Given that my entire world has turned upside down from the last thing we talked about, I”m not sure I can handle something else. I watch Clifton gesture toward the last bouquet of flowers he brought in. He”d placed them on the coffee table directly in front of us.
“You didn”t read the card,” he says, sounding playfully hurt and possibly offended.
Watching him out of the corner of my eyes, I reach out and pick up the heavy card. They don”t appear to be words on this one, but I flip it over to see what”s weighing it down.
On the other side is a rose gold ring with a huge stone. Metal flower petals surround the stone, making it look like a beautiful flower and my jaw drops. It’s the most beautiful ring I’ve ever seen.
Clifton stands up and pulls me into a hug, speaking softly into my ear. “Emma, I love you. I know that if I don’t try to make amends and ask you to spend your life with me, I’ll forever regret that. So I’m asking you - and if the answer is no, I deserve that for how much I’ve hurt you. But will you marry me?”
I pull back to look him in the eyes, worried he’s joking or messing with me or that this is some kind of prank. But he looks serious and genuine and maybe a little bit afraid.
Standing in my apartment surrounded by flowers, I realize that the man that I love just asked me to marry him.
I glance down at the ring.
He continues speaking. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to grow old with you. I want to be with you until my last heartbeat, my last breath. You make me happy.”
Emotions crash over me, disbelief, excitement, joy, fear, and overwhelmingly, love. I love this man, and I want to spend forever with him. Not because of the firm, or because of the flowers. Because this man is the kindest, most annoying criminal I’ve ever met. But he’s my criminal.
“I will marry you on one condition,” I say softly.
I sense the lawyer in him perk up and start listening carefully as he nods.
“I don’t ever want to have to bail you out again.”
He nods his head. “Noted. If I’m arrested, call dad. Got it.”
I can’t hold back a laugh as he pulls me closer and presses his lips to mine.