Walking Green Flag (Camellia Rom-Com #4)

Prologue

ONE YEAR AGO

ROWAN

“Is, um, everything okay?” I ask hesitantly after my date growls.

She rolls her eyes, her fingers moving furiously over her phone screen. “Okay, sorry,” she replies, her tone shifting as soon as she turns the phone face down. “You were saying?”

“Actually, you were telling me about your tattoo …”

“Oh, right.” Loren smiles shyly, and despite my reservations about letting my best friend set me up with his little sister, I can’t help thinking she’s a pretty girl. There’s definitely a family resemblance, but it’s not as weird as I thought it would be.

“It’s from The Lord of the Rings, the Leaf of Lór—shit, sorry,” she curses quietly when her phone buzzes again. “Just … ignore that, please.”

I take it back—this date has been relatively awkward, but it has less to do with Loren being Landry’s sister than it does with her being Blake the Snake’s ex.

Within minutes of our arrival, the designer suit-clad, former frat boy had sauntered over to subvert his claim over Loren under the guise of a polite introduction.

I recognized the infamously promiscuous Bourgeois bro from Landry’s rants over the years, especially the accusations of Blake and his brother, JD, robbing Landry of his dad’s attention both on and off the football field.

And based on the way Loren squirmed uncomfortably in her chair as Blake hinted about their ongoing physical relationship and openly flirted with her in front of me, I imagine she’s too busy worrying I’ll rat her out to her overprotective older brother to care whether I actually like her.

“So, yeah,” she says, helping herself to another French fry from my plate. “What were we talking about?”

I force a polite smile. “The series you loved enough to honor with a tattoo?”

She rubs her palm over the little green leaf on her ankle, her expression coy. “Landry mentioned you’re a pretty devout Catholic, so I get the feeling you could teach me a thing or two about classical literature and allegory.”

“You don’t grow up as a homeschooled Catholic and not study Tolkien,” I say with a shrug, though I can’t help thinking my religious background isn’t exactly a turn on for Loren, especially if she’s been collecting tattoos and getting romantically involved with guys like Blake.

“So, what’s your favorite Easter egg? Wait, let me guess …

” She leans onto her elbows and taps a finger over her lips, and I force myself to look away before my subconscious gets any funny ideas.

“Lembas bread and the Eucharist? No, you’re a ‘Gandalf the White as the Resurrected Jesus’ kind of guy, aren’t you? ”

“Those are good ones, but I have a special appreciation for the obscure, like Lady Galadriel gifting the fellowship with cloaks in the same way the Blessed Virgin Mary conferred the brown scapular to St. Simon Stock, and all the times Aragorn acts as a priest and mimics the sacraments.”

“Hmm,” she hums, leaning back to size me up. “Landry forgot to mention you had a knack for dirty talk.”

I blink a few times before I realize she’s kidding. “He did say we should go out because, and I quote, ‘she’s almost as nerdy as you.’ ”

Loren snorts out a laugh. “Funny, he told me the same thing.”

But the true motivation behind Landry’s setup is clear now.

He didn’t send me on this date with his sister because he thinks we’re a perfect match or because he trusts me.

Landry doesn’t see me as a threat at all, because he knows I’m not capable of the things guys like him and Blake Bourgeois do on the regular.

What he didn’t account for, however, is Loren entertaining the kind of men who are only interested in her for one thing. And even if she hadn’t been so easily distracted tonight, it’s only a matter of time before she picks up on my strict celibacy policy and gives me the “you’re too nice” speech.

I glance up when I hear a throat clearing.

“I hope you’ve saved room for dessert,” our waiter cuts in to say. “Compliments of your, um, very close friend.” He sets a chocolate-heavy dish onto the table as he gestures toward Blake, who’s watching us carefully with a smug grin.

“Oh my gosh, is this … ugh, peanut butter? My favorite,” Loren gushes, practically moaning at the sight of it. But her reaction isn’t what has me on high alert.

“Wait,” I blurt out, scooting my chair back instinctively. “Did you say peanut butter?”

Loren pouts. “Okay, hear me out, though. I know it seems weird to accept a gift from another man, but I think he’d actually get off on us sending it back. So we might as well enjoy it, right? In fact, let’s make him watch while we—”

“No!” I practically yell, and she winces at my stern tone.

“I’m allergic. Like, severely allergic,” I explain, holding my hands up.

Her shoulders droop, and I instantly feel guilty.

“But, I mean, if you really want to enjoy your dessert, I can …” I hitch a thumb over my shoulder, and her frown grows deeper.

“I’m so sorry. I had no idea,” she says quickly before adding, “Thanks, anyway,” for the waiter.

“Maybe you could box it up for the lady?” I ask as I hand him my credit card.

“Yes, sir. Of course,” he replies deferentially before he scurries away.

Loren’s expression lightens. “You didn’t have to do that.”

I let out a sigh. “It’d be a sin to let it go to waste, don’t you think?”

That fondness in her gaze grows more sympathetic, and I can almost guess what she’s thinking before she speaks again. “You’re entirely too nice. You know that, right?”

There it is.

I grit my teeth and hope it looks like a smile, because that’s about all I have the energy for at this point. “Thanks. Would you excuse me for a second, though? I’m going to hit the men’s room before I get back on the road.”

“Yeah, that’s probably smart, since you’ve got, like, a two-hour drive home,” she mumbles as I stand.

And I don’t need to glance back to know she’s replying to Blake’s texts before I can even round the corner.

CLAIRE

“Uh … ma’am? Are you okay?”

An alarm goes off in my head once it registers with me—the voice coming from the other side of the bathroom stall door is entirely too deep for my current surroundings.

I clench my core muscles, but it’s too late. I’m already mid-pee and mid-cry. I have no choice but to let go and finish my business. I cringe as the trickling tapers off and clear the emotion from my throat.

“I’m fine, thanks,” I call out awkwardly once I’m done.

“Okay, then,” the stranger with very masculine feet replies.

“May I ask why you’re asking?” I venture.

He shifts, pointing the toes of his shoes in a different direction before turning back toward the stall. “Because you just ran into the men’s restroom looking very upset … and very much like a lady.”

“Who you callin’ a lady?” I force out, imitating his low timbre.

Those dress shoes shuffle around again before he answers. “The person who just sat to use the toilet, I suppose.”

His humor catches me off guard, and I barely manage to hold in an inappropriately loud laugh. “Actually, I’m hovering. See how much you know.”

“I beg your pardon, sir. That’s what I get for assuming,” he replies, stifling a laugh of his own.

But I dampen the mood with a whimper as soon as I make the mistake of looking down. Even though I knew what I’d find, I’m still devastated by it.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” my bathroom buddy asks after I’m unable to hold back a quiet sob, his voice much gentler this time.

“I don’t suppose you have a tampon on you?”

“Ah, no, I’m sorry. But hang on, and I’ll see what I can do.”

He almost sounds more disappointed that he doesn’t have what I need than bothered by the word “tampon.” I furrow my brow when I see his feet moving.

“I was just kidding, you know. You don’t—”

“No, really. I’ll be right back. Okay?”

“Okay,” I concede, my voice barely above a whisper.

His footsteps on the tiled floor and a squeaky hinge from the swinging door usher in the silence, and my frustrated growl echoes across the empty bathroom.

I’ll give this guy two minutes before I default to using the old rolled-up toilet paper trick until I get home. Then again, Jeremy won’t want to leave until he’s done with his dinner, regardless of how I’m feeling.

The door creaks open again, my spirits lifting when I think it’s my knight in shining armor returning to save me from bleeding out.

But my shoulders sag as soon as a pair of cowboy boots drifts past my stall.

Normally, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from cracking a joke in a situation this embarrassing and awkward.

But I guess I’m feeling a little more vulnerable than usual tonight, because I instinctively lift my feet and keep silent as the intruder makes use of the urinal.

I’m concentrating so hard on hiding from the man who just flushed and didn’t wash his hands that I almost miss the return of my new favorite brown dress shoes.

Relief washes over me when he raps a knuckle lightly over the door, and I lower my feet as he wordlessly reaches under the partition with his offering.

I bite my lip and stifle a smile as I take the tampon, even though my crush can’t see me.

Okay, so I’m a married woman, and I would never go after another man.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate a gentleman when I find him.

Especially since I can’t text my own husband to come to my rescue or even expect him to console me after learning that another month has passed and I am not, in fact, pregnant.

“Thank you,” I whisper once it sounds like we’re alone again.

“Glad to be of service, ma’am. Or do you prefer sir?”

I simper at the walls of my bathroom stall. “Did you steal this from your wife or something?”

“My date. But don’t worry, she’s too busy watching her ex from across the restaurant to ask why I’m tending to mystery women in the restroom.”

“Oof. Sounds like we’re both having a rough night,” I reply, genuinely sorry that a man this nice seems to have gotten stuck with a crappy date. “For what it’s worth, she’s missing out.”

He chuckles softly. “What about you? Date gone wrong?”

“I wish,” I say on a sigh. “It’s even worse. I married a guy who couldn’t care less that I’m in here crying because … Well, it doesn’t matter. It is what it is.”

My stranger clears his throat. “This might be an overstep, but I’m actually an OB-GYN, so I’m obligated to recommend you see your doctor if you’re experiencing problems. That’s what we’re here for, you know?”

I smile. That’s probably why he wasn’t freaked out by my unfortunate menstruation situation. “Thanks. Know any good fertility doctors?”

He clicks his tongue. “Around here? Afraid not. I have heard good things about a new midwife in this area, though. She uses hormone screening and fertility awareness tracking to identify the root of the problem, so she can treat the cause and not just the symptoms.”

“Oh. You’re not from here?”

“Baton Rouge.”

“I’d be willing to drive to see a specialist if they were worth it,” I say.

“I do work with a fertility specialist, but I can’t recommend him because … I don’t agree with all of his practices,” he says after hesitating for a second.

My brow lifts. “Good to know.”

We’re both quiet for a while before he speaks again. “Well, I’m sure you’d like your privacy now. Is there anything else I can do before I get back to my date?”

“No, I’m fine, thank you,” I reply, a little sad he’s leaving.

“Should I hang around and guard the door for you?”

I wonder for a second if he might be stalling, and it makes me smile to pretend he’d rather talk to me through a bathroom stall than return to the woman waiting at his table.

“Nah, I’m good. Tell your date I appreciate the tampon, but I’m gonna need her to quit acting like one.”

I hear him choke on a laugh. “Tell your husband he’s not doing his job well enough. And make sure he understands the critique applies to all of his husbandly duties.”

This time a loud cackle bubbles up from my chest. “Yeah. I will.”

And I watch his feet as he lingers for a second longer before walking out the door.