Touch Me, Daddy

4 - Sadie.

My stomach twists as realization hits me like freight train.

There is one obvious reason.

A woman in a sky-blue apron bustles out of a backroom before I can ask, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. She's in her forties, with a kind mouth and generous curves, and black hair scraped back into a low bun.

Her gaze sweeps over Stefan first, then me, and her eyes crinkle with pleasure.

"Oh, I love appointments like these," the florist says, striding forward. Her name badge says 'Hi! I'm Renata.' "Half the time, these men don't care a fig what their girlfriend's favorite flower is. They just want me to pick so they get the brownie points, as though I can guess from nothing! But bringing you here—that's much better." She winks at me, and heat floods my cheeks. "You've got a good one here. Make sure you hang onto him."

"Oh... no..."

This is so embarrassing.

"The full experience, please," Stefan says, flashing a dark card before placing it on the sales counter. His cheeks are as pale as ever, with no hint of a blush, so I guess this isn't awkward as hell for him. Must be nice.

"Is this for the party tonight?" I whisper as Renata marches to a display of roses, humming over the thorny stems. They rustle in the bucket as she picks out the prime flowers. "Because I planned decorations. It's all taken care of, I swear."

But hopefully that's it. Hopefully this man is not about to trample on my heart like a big, clumsy carthorse.

Stefan fiddles with his shirt cuff. "No, it's not that."

"Then why—?"

Pale blue eyes turn on me, rooting me to the spot. "Can't a man buy flowers?"

"But—"

"I can," he interrupts, dark eyebrows spearing down. "I can buy whatever the hell I like. And for the next two weeks, you still work for me, Sadie. Correct? You'll still do what I say. And the task I want you to complete is to pick out your favorite flowers."

My hands ball into fists. This jerk! I swear to god.

"I'm waiting," Stefan says.

Waiting. Scowling. Planting his feet and folding his arms, like he's ready to wait me out for hours if necessary. Like months could pass and the seasons could change outside this store, and he'd still be here, glaring down at me. Ugh.

Fine. Fine! I whirl around and stare blindly at a bucket of tulips.

"It would help if I knew what your woman is like so I can pick." Renata makes a small noise of dismay, but I can't look in her direction. Can't stand to see the disappointment—or worse, pity—in her eyes. "Or Renata could tell you. She has more experience with this than I do."

There's a long pause. Stefan coughs once, then steps closer to my back. "Sadie... the flowers are for you."

Sunshine spreads through my veins, even as my brain throbs with confusion.

"So they're a goodbye gift?"

When I turn back, Stefan is scowling at a tub of yellow dahlias, his stern mouth twisted in distaste. He straightens when I look at him, and then we're staring at each other. Lost.

The air changes. Gets thicker.

My hairline tingles.

But I won't overthink this. So many times over the last few years, I've kidded myself that the boss and I have shared these moments. Invisible sparks crackling between our fingertips when our hands accidentally brushed; a swooping feeling whenever we're alone in the elevator, like we're dropping down, down, down to the earth's core. All those times our eyes locked and it felt like time stood still.

I've told myself so many pretty stories; replayed those moments over and over in my head, until I lost track of what was a daydream and what was real.

"It's not goodbye." Stefan speaks first, throwing down the words like a challenge. His chest puffs up, like we're fighters squaring up in the ring. "Because you're not leaving."

Ha. "You can tell yourself that if you like. And while you're at it, you can order the world to stop turning. I'll still be gone in two weeks."

Stefan scowls at me, and for once in my life, I scowl back. The expression feels weird on my face, because I'm always the perky one. The happy-go-lucky girl next door. The ball of sunshine who cheers everybody else up, and makes sure people are happy and comfortable.

Not right now. Right now, my forehead is creased, and my eyes burn with frustration, and my cheeks are red-hot. I'm a first-time glarer, but I'm giving it my all.

"Pick your favorites," Stefan mutters at last, turning away. "We're not leaving until you do." Then my boss stomps back outside, the door slamming shut behind him, and stands guard at the window, his back to the glass.

Silence stretches for the space of three heartbeats, before Renata sniffs and shakes herself.

"Well," the florist says. "Men, eh? Can't live with them, but can't get rid of them either. It's the basis of my whole business."

That's what I'm afraid of.