Chapter 21: The Counter

Nate's POV

The bell over the door rang on a Tuesday afternoon, and a man in a gray T-shirt stood just inside it.

He didn't come to the counter.

He stood on the mat with his hands hanging, looking at the buckets.

I knew him anyway.

I had never once seen his face in this shop.

"Dean," I said.

"I know I shouldn't be here."

"You shouldn't."

"I'm not here to see her." He swallowed. "I'm not here to ask for anything. I didn't know where else to go to ask how to do this."

"Do what?"

"Say sorry," Dean said. "Without needing her to say it's fine."

I put down the shears.

For six years I had wrapped roses for a man I'd never seen.

In my head he had a cold smile.

The real one was thirty-one, with a bad haircut and a scrape on his chin from shaving too fast.

He looked tired and sorry.

I opened the drawer under the register.

I took out the shoebox where I'd kept every order card, and I found the one I wanted.

It was in Mallory's handwriting, as they all were.

At the bottom, in a different pen, a line had been added that wasn't hers.

*Tell Annie I'm sorry about the dinner. Don't let her see this.*

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