✧･Chapter 33 Youre Ridiculous
"I swear, Amy, if one more person tries to call or walk into my office, tell them I'm unavailable. I don't care who it is."
Amy looks up at me as I pass her desk, already smiling like she's entertained. "Long day?" She asks.
"It's always a long day," I mutter, not slowing down. "But today? Today everyone suddenly needs something from me, and I'd really like five minutes where they don't."
She laughs softly. "I'll run interference."
"Please do."
I don't wait for anything else before heading into my office, closing the door behind me a little more firmly than necessary and the quiet hits immediately.
I walk over to my desk and drop into my chair, letting out a slow breath as I lean my head back and close my eyes for a second.
Apparently, when you have a good Sunday night... no. Good doesn't even begin to cover it.
I don't think I've ever had a night like that.Sure, Mae and I spent the night together after June and Helena's wedding. We crossed that line then, but last night...
Last night was different, Mae was different. And I don't know what to do with that. Because the version of Mae I saw last night, that's the version I've spent years trying not to want too much.
We didn't just fall into bed and avoid everything else. We talked for hours.
About everything.
Important things. Stupid things. Things that probably didn't matter to anyone else but somehow felt like they mattered to us.
She told me things about herself I didn't know.
Small things.
Like how she sleeps with socks on. How she hates wearing makeup but loves the way she looks when she does. How she listens to sad music when she paints because it 'helps her feel things better.'"
She told me about being a teenager. The reckless, ridiculous things she did - like sneaking out and going skinny dipping once, something she still regrets, apparently.
And I told her things too.
Things I don't usually talk about.
About my dad leaving when I was young. About how he showed up years later like nothing had happened, just to tell me I'd end up exactly like my mother.
I let out a quiet breath, staring up at the ceiling.
That stuck with me more than I like to admit. Because I remember what my mother was like. I remember how she treated him and how it broke everything between them.
And I promised myself a long time ago I would never be that person.
I told Mae that. Told her that maybe that's part of why I never really let myself try.
Why I never dated the way people are supposed to. Why I skipped over all the dumb, simple, teenage things - dates that didn't matter, moments that were just supposed to be fun.
I huff out a quiet laugh and I told her something I don't think I've ever said out loud before.
That sometimes I wish I hadn't. That sometimes I feel like I missed something.
Like there's this entire set of memories everyone else seems to have, and I don't.
And the strangest part? She didn't laugh. She didn't brush it off. She just listened. Like it mattered.
Like I mattered.
I open my eyes slowly, still staring at the ceiling, and push myself upright just as a knock lands against my door.
I close my eyes again, briefly. "Come in," I call, the sigh already in my voice.
The door cracks open and Amy peeks in, way too amused for someone who was just supposed to be running interference.
"Thought you said you were unavailable," she says lightly.
"I am," I reply.
"Right," she hums, pushing the door open the rest of the way.
And then I see them. My eyes widen a fraction. A massive bouquet of red roses, practically swallowing her arms as she carries them in.
"Uh," is all I manage.
Amy walks over like this is the most normal thing in the world and sets them down carefully on my desk, adjusting them slightly like she's presenting a centerpiece.
"The delivery guy said these are for you," she says, far too casually.
I stare at them. Big, bright, and completely impossible to ignore.
"Seems like you have an admirer," Amy adds, leaning against the edge of my desk with a smirk that tells me she's already decided this is the highlight of her day.
I tear my eyes away from the roses and look at her.
"Don't start."
"Oh, I'm absolutely starting," she says. "This is the most interesting thing that's happened around here all day."
"That's sad for you."
"That's exciting for you," she shoots back.
I exhale, looking back at the bouquet.
"Is there a card?"
Amy shakes her head. "Nope."
"Nothing?"
"No name, no note, no mysterious message about secret love or whatever you're hoping for."
"I'm not hoping for anything," I mutter.
She studies me for a second, then tilts her head.
"You know who it's from."
I don't even look at her. "No, I don't."
"Claire."
"Amy."
"You're smiling."
I blink, immediately forcing my mouth into something neutral.
"I'm not smiling."
"You are," she says, grinning now. "It's subtle, but it's there. I've worked for you long enough to recognize it."
I huff out a quiet breath, crossing my arms. "They're just flowers."
"Just flowers?" Amy repeats, incredulous. "Claire, that is the least 'just flowers' bouquet I have ever seen in my life."
I glance back at them, she's not wrong.
They're... a lot. Too much, almost and way too intentional. My chest tightens slightly, something softer slipping in before I can stop it.
The memory hits without warning.
"No one's ever brought you flowers?"
"No."
"That's ridiculous."
"It's not a big deal."
"It kind of is."
I had laughed it off, told her it was stupid to even care about something like that. But I remember how it felt, admitting it out loud.
That quiet, stupid disappointment I'd never really let myself sit with.
I look back at the roses, now they're sitting on my desk.
Amy's voice cuts back in. "Okay, now you're definitely thinking about someone."
I shake my head slightly, trying to pull myself back. "You're making assumptions."
"I'm making observations," she corrects. "Big difference."
I sigh, dragging a hand down my face. "Amy-"
"Is it romantic?" She interrupts.
"No."
"Is it secret?"
"No."
"Is it someone I know?"
I pause, and that's all she needs.
"Oh my God," she breathes, lighting up. "It is someone I know."
"It is not-"
"It is," she insists. "You hesitated. You never hesitate."
"I did not hesitate."
"You absolutely did."
I give her a look and she grins wider.
"Wow. Claire Whitman getting surprise flowers from a mystery person I definitely know? This is huge."
"It's not huge."
"It's huge."
"It's not."
She gestures dramatically to the bouquet. "Those are huge."
I press my lips together, but I can feel it again - that small, uncontrollable pull at the corner of my mouth, and Amy notices immediately.
"There it is again," she says softly, almost like she's caught something rare. "You like them."
I exhale, quieter this time. "I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
I glance back at the roses, and this time, I don't try to hide it. The smile stays.
Amy straightens, clearly satisfied. "Well," she says, heading for the door, "whoever sent those? I approve."
I shake my head. "Get out."
She laughs as she slips out, closing the door behind her and the room goes quiet again.
And it's just me, and the roses.
I reach out before I can stop myself, brushing my fingers lightly over one of the petals as quiet breath slips out of me.
It's such a small thing. Flowers, something people get all the time.
And yet...
No one's ever brought me flowers.
God. I actually said that out loud. I remember the way it felt, admitting it. The immediate instinct to brush it off, to make it seem like it didn't matter, like I didn't care.
But I did.
I pull my hand back slowly, straightening in my chair, trying to clear my head to actually get more work done when the door opens.
No knock, just opens. I look up, already ready to snap, and then I don't.
Because Mae is standing there, and for a second, I forget whatever I was about to say. Skinny jeans, a simple t-shirt, nothing complicated - nothing that should do this to me.
And yet it does.
Because it's her.
Because it's the way she's standing there like she knows exactly what she's doing. Like she belongs here. Like she belongs anywhere she decides to be.
My breath catches slightly before I can stop it.
"Hi," she says, like she didn't just completely derail my train of thought. I blink, forcing myself back into something resembling composure.
"You can't just walk in here," I say, though it lacks the bite I intended.
"Apparently I can," she replies easily, stepping inside and closing the door behind her.
My eyes follow her as she moves further into the room, and I hate how aware I am of every step she takes.
"What are you doing here?" I ask.
Her gaze flicks briefly to the roses on my desk. A small, satisfied smile tugs at her mouth before she looks back at me.
"Come on," she says.
I frown. "Come on where?"
"I'm taking you out."
A short, disbelieving laugh escapes me. "No."
Mae raises an eyebrow. "No?"
"No," I repeat, gesturing around me. "I'm working."
"You can take a break."
"I don't take breaks."
"You're going to."
I shake my head, reaching for a file just to prove a point.
"I have things to do. Deadlines. People expecting-"
"Helena said it's fine."
I pause, and I slowly I look up at her. "You talked to Helena?"
"I did."
"Before coming in here?"
"Yes."
I narrow my eyes. "You went over my head."
"I handled the situation," she corrects, completely unbothered.
"You're unbelievable."
"And yet," she says, already moving, "here I am."
My breath catches again, not because of what she said, but because of what she does next. She walks around my desk, not stopping or hesitating.
Until she's right in front to me.
"Mae..."
She doesn't answer. Instead, she leans down. One hand presses lightly against the edge of my desk, the other brushing the arm of my chair as she bends just enough to bring her face close to mine.