Chapter Eighteen
The sun pierced through the window perched behind my desk, ricocheting off the picture frame with Maggie and me smiling and back onto my computer.
The sliver of sunlight reminded me we were getting closer and closer to springtime.
Our days had grown longer, and the chill in the air was slowly fading.
We were two weeks into February and still no Stetson. Well, at least not physically; mentally, he was still very much around. But that was beside the point. All I knew was that it was kind of hard to write a piece on someone who wasn’t even around to interview or observe.
I swiped my phone from the desk.
Me:
I’m starting to wonder if Stetson’s ever going to come back. Maybe I should just tell Donna that this story is a bust and see if she’ll give me something else to work on. I’m over it.
Maggie:
No, you’re not.
Her abrupt response took me by surprise.
Maggie:
You’re just pissed because he’s not back yet and you’re only getting little snippets from him. You’re worried he’s going to turn out to be exactly the guy you thought he was.
Me:
I am not.
But she was right. That was exactly what I was worried about.
Maggie:
You are too. Just pick up the damn phone and call him. Blame it on Donna. Tell him she wants to know when he’ll be back so you can continue with the story.
Why hadn’t I thought of that? It had been a little over a month since Stetson strolled right out of my apartment door, and I’d been racking my brain for weeks on when or if he was even coming back, and it hadn’t even occurred to me to just pick up the phone and ask.
Me:
That’s not a bad idea.
Maggie:
I know. That’s why I’m here. Let me know how it goes. Love you.
Me:
Love you.
Moriah was the only other one in the office, so I felt safe to make the phone call at my desk. I pushed his name in my contacts without giving my brain a chance to change its mind and let the first ring echo through the phone.
Each ring that went by with no answer left me both relieved and anxious.
“Had I known flowers would’ve warranted a phone call, I would’ve sent new ones every day.” Stetson’s voice barreled through the phone, even lower than it sounded in person.
“Huh?” I questioned.
“Shit. What time is it? I assumed you were calling because of the flowers.”
Just as he finished, the chime on the door brought my attention away from my computer screen. A tiny man with a very large bouquet stepped inside.
“I’m lookin’ for a Scarlett Carson,” the man said.
My cheeks mimicked the color of the red and orange flowers that made up the bouquet in his arms.
“Uh, I’m right here,” I said, raising my hand in the air like the teacher had just asked me a question.
Still holding the phone to my ear, I grabbed the bouquet from him and placed them on my desk. “Thank you.”
“Of course, and Happy Valentine’s Day,” he replied.
Valentine’s Day? The words put me in a chokehold, quietly trying to find my next breath.
“You there?” Stetson’s voice was filled with the faintest hint of urgency.
I cleared my throat. “Yeah, sorry,” I said, scouring my brain for what to say next. “I was just trying to get this big-ass vase situated. Someone just had the most ridiculous bouquet of flowers delivered to me.” I smirked, the expression lending itself to the tone of my voice.
“Ridiculous in a good way, like maybe you would forgive the person who sent them for disappearing for a month, or ridiculous in a bad way, like you never want to see that person again?” he questioned.
I couldn’t tell if he was stressed about his decision to send me flowers or if he’d picked up on my giddiness. Regardless, I was thankful for the phone acting as a shield while a smile bloomed across my face.
“Depends on when said person is going to decide to show back up. You see, I’ve got an article I’m supposed to be writing, and it’s proving difficult to write anything when I haven’t spent any time with the subject,” I said.
“I know. I’m sorry. I had no intention of staying in Nashville this long, but…
” His thought process halted and a deep breath muffled into the phone.
“There were just some things I had to make sure were buttoned up before I left again. I’m really sorry I just left like that on Christmas Eve.
I’d only planned on being in Nashville for the holidays.
And I should’ve reached out, so I’m sorry about that too.
Things have been crazy busy, and I know that’s not an excuse, but I wanted to get some shit figured out so I had an answer on when I was coming back before calling.
” His words were coming faster than normal.
“Not to mention, every time I thought about calling you, what I wanted to say definitely didn’t fall under the professional category. ”
There were very few things I wouldn’t have done to know those thoughts, and I could’ve let my brain wander for days, but I needed to respond.
“It’s all right. Really. I just need an update on when you’re planning on being back here.
Donna has sort of been on my ass about the piece and I haven’t known what to tell her,” I lied, but I really wanted a straightforward answer.
Something concrete. “I didn’t want to be annoying and bug you and, honestly, I thought you might not come back at all. ”
“You still think I’m as shitty as everyone says, don’t you?
” he asked, but quickly continued before I could answer.
“I would never just not come back, especially without letting you know. Next time you want to know something, just ask.” The tone of his voice seemed to be almost laced with disappointment.
“When are you coming back?” I swallowed the lump in my throat.
His low chuckle vibrated the phone against my ear, forcing a shiver into my shoulders. “I’ll be back at the end of the week. Meet me at the recording studio on Friday?” he asked.
“I’ll be there,” I responded, doing my best to mask the tiny bursts of excitement that were pinging around my insides.
“Great,” he said. “And Scarlett?”
“Yeah?”
“Happy Valentine’s Day. Sounds like you’ve got quite the admirer.”
Before I could respond, he’d hung up.
I turned to inspect the bouquet. Multiple dozens of bright orange and red poppies filled the glass vase. There were so many of them I wasn’t sure how they all managed to fit. Intermingled within the poppies were tiny sprigs of baby’s breath.
The bouquet was beautiful, but I couldn’t get past the poppies.
A tiny white card poked out from behind a few stems.
To match the poppy on your left arm—the tiny one that decorates the space where your forearm meets your bicep. – A Lost Cowboy
My heart dropped to the floor.
I pulled the card to my chest and took a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling a few times in an attempt to slow my heart rate.
As if whatever was between Stetson and I weren’t complicated enough, he went and sent me flowers on Valentine’s Day.
What in the hell was I supposed to do now?
“Did you ask him?” Maggie questioned me as soon as she picked up the phone.
“He sent me a bouquet of poppies. Like a massive fucking bouquet. I’m talking big enough to take up my entire desk and then some.”
“Slow down,” Maggie said. “There is a lot to unpack here.”
“Yeah. Tell me about it,” I huffed. “And it’s Valentine’s Day.”
“Oh shit. I didn’t even think about it being Valentine’s Day. Damn. That man isn’t even in Quincey Falls and he’s still making sure you know he’s thinking about you,” she said suggestively. “And poppies. How did he even know about that?”
“He saw my tattoo,” I said, the words making the invisible butterflies ramp back up.
“Holy shit. That man is down bad.”
“Is he? Or does he do this to all the girls he’s trying to sleep with? I mean, they’re just flowers.” The negative thought had been lingering in my brain like an unwanted pest.
“First off, that man doesn’t have to try to sleep with anyone…
well, except you.” She laughed. “Secondly, no man—I don’t care how famous they are—takes the time to send a bouquet of flowers to someone they’re not interested in, especially not on Valentine’s Day, and…
” She dragged out the word and, making sure I understood the gravity of the situation.
“…even more so, they don’t make the effort to notice a tiny detail like a tattoo that’s the size of a bobby pin. ”
Was she right? Did Stetson actually want something more? I had started to let myself believe that maybe the idea of him being interested in me wasn’t so far-fetched.
And for obvious reasons, that scared the living shit out of me.
“Yeah, I guess, maybe you’re right. Now, what the hell am I going to do?” I asked, somewhat as a rhetorical question but still looking for Maggie’s advice.
“What do you mean?” The sarcasm in her voice was so strong I thought it might come through the phone and smack me in the face. “There is simply one right answer in this situation,” she demanded. “You absolutely have to give this man a chance.”
“Ugh. I knew you were going to say that.” I grunted. “But what do you think people would say? My god, the last thing I need is to be the talk of Quincey Falls again.” The thought itself repulsed me.
“Who gives a fuck. They’ll move on, just like they did with the wedding,” she said. Her tone was so confident it was hard not to believe her. “And honestly, would it be that bad to be the talk of the town because everyone is jealous of you?”
The simple thought of others thinking I was seeing Stetson Walker made my head dizzy. Not just because it was him, but because everyone had spent so much time feeling sorry for me.
“And Donna?” I asked. “She put me on this article because she specifically felt like she could trust me to be professional, unlike”—I looked around the room to make sure it was still just Moriah—“Delilah. How’s it going to look if something does come from this?”
“Scarlett.” Her tone was more threatening than before.
“Until anything serious happens, you don’t owe anyone an explanation.
If this becomes something, then yes, you’ll need to talk to Donna, but right now, let yourself be free to see where things go,” she insisted.
“And quit trying to find excuses as to why you shouldn’t and instead look for all the reasons why you should. ”
“I just don’t know what to expect, and that really scares the shit out of me. What if—”
“No what-ifs,” she demanded. “Just tell me you’ll at least think about it.”
I let out a sigh. “I’ll think about it,” I agreed, knowing damn well I’d think about it regardless of whether I said I would or not. “Friday doesn’t seem so far away all of a sudden.”
“Friday?”
“Um.” I paused. “He’s coming back to Quincey Falls on Friday and told me to meet him at the recording studio,” I eased out, knowing she was going to be thrilled.
“So much for those flowers just being flowers, huh?” she rebounded.
“Shut up,” I joked. “I have to get back to work. I love you.”
“I love you too,” she said. “And Scar, remember, you deserve happiness just like everyone else. I won’t stop telling you this until you believe it yourself.”