Wildest Dreams

21. Kendall

KENDALL

I ’m in my office, working on payroll paperwork for one of my clients, when I hear the front door open. Since Patsy isn’t here to manage the front desk, I get up and walk into the lobby.

At first, all I see is an arrangement of long-stem red roses so massive that it completely obscures the person carrying it.

“What in the world?”

A bright face with blonde hair and big brown puppy dog eyes pops out from around the flowers. It’s Rileigh Briddell. I recognize her from dance lessons when we were little, though she’s several years younger than me.

“Hi, Kendall!”

“Oh hey, Rileigh. What is this?”

“I’m working at Petal Place now. These,” she says, carefully putting the flowers on Patsy’s desk, “are from someone with very deep pockets.”

“I can see that.” She hands me a card, and I know it’s from Pierre without opening it. I stare at the roses. There must be three dozen in the massive white vase.

“Can you hold the door open while I get the rest?” Rileigh asks.

“The rest? There’s more?”

She laughed. “Buckle up, buttercup. He bought out the store. If anyone in Magnolia Row wants roses for the next few weeks, they’re s.o.l.”

I hold the door, dumbfounded, as Rileigh walks back to the hot pink flower van. She gets another arrangement out and brings it in, then another, and another, and another until the van is finally empty. There are so many flowers that most of the arrangements end up on the floor. There’s barely enough room to walk in here.

It’s all I can do not to cry. He remembered the roses from the picture of me in front of my parents’ house. The smell takes me back twenty years, like I told him it does every time.

Rileigh puts her hands on her hips, out of breath from hustling to get all the arrangements in.

“So, is it true?” she asks with a huge smile on her face. Her skin is so tan that it makes her teeth look bright white.

Immediately, I’m snapped back to the present. Here we go.

“Is what true?”

“Oh, please. Is it true about you and Pierre Chatham?”

“Um, I don’t really know how to answer that.”

“These are from him, huh?”

“I think so.”

“Good for you, girl. Whitney’s a real bitch. Nothing like attention from a movie star to get Tucker crawling back to you.”

“I don’t want Tucker to crawl anywhere, especially not back to me.”

She gives me a look that says sure you don’t .

“Well,” she says, “Enjoy these. They’re beautiful.”

“Yes, thank you,” I say. She starts to leave. “Rileigh?”

She stops and turns back to me.

“Please don’t tell anyone about this. I’m trying to keep this…this…whatever it is quiet.”

She nods and walks out the door, leaving me alone with what feels like a thousand roses. At least it smells nice in here.

What am I supposed to do with these? I shake my head, overwhelmed, then can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of someone sending me every flower in town.

Who does that?

Someone sweet. Someone who cares about me. Someone who is trying desperately to get my attention after I’ve been a complete flake and ignored him all week.

I reach for the card.

I hope you’re having a wonderful week. I miss you and hope to see you again soon. -P

My walls come down again. I want to see him too. I can’t fight it anymore.

I pull out my phone and take panoramic pictures of the lobby and my office, showing the garden of flowers, and send them to Patsy.

WTF. She responds. I told him to send SOME flowers. Not ALL the flowers.

You talked to him? I ask.

Yeah, I saw him at the movie set. You got that boy all kinds of wound up.

What did he say?

That he misses you and he wanted to know if I thought he should reach out again. I didn’t think he’d be that dramatic.

He’s an actor. That’s his job.

Touché. Gotta get back to filming. We aren’t supposed to have our phones out.

I “like” her last message and sit in her chair. What am I going to do with all these flowers?

I spend the next half hour hauling some of the bouquets up the stairs to my apartment. I thought if I spread them out it wouldn’t look as overwhelming, but I was wrong. It’s almost like they multiplied.

Five o’clock rolls around, so I shut down my computer, lock up the office, and go up to my room. I haven’t texted Pierre yet, mostly because I don’t know what to say. It was ugly of me to ignore him all week and I feel awful, but his stunt with the flowers worked. I want to see him.

I collapse on my bed and look at the pink and yellow roses on my nightstand. He really is the sweetest guy I’ve ever met. My dating and relationship experience is limited to one person, Tucker, who not once in ten years sent me flowers. The prom corsages his mother bought don’t count.

I pull out my phone and text Pierre photos of the flowers.

Thank you. This is overwhelming.

He responds immediately.

You’re welcome. I just wanted to let you know I can’t stop thinking about you.

Do you want to come over tomorrow night?

Absolutely.

I clutch my phone to my chest and close my eyes. I can’t believe this is my life.