He Forgave My Affair, But He Never Touched Me Again novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: November Ninth

Preston walks into her shop in front of customers and leaves a card with the twins' birthday circled.

I called the preschool director from my car, and my voice came out steady.

"Only my husband or I pick them up," I said. "Nobody else, even if they're on the list."

"Of course, Mrs. MacGowan. Is something wrong?"

"A man was parked outside. I want his plate written down if he comes back."

She promised, and I drove to the shop with both hands tight on the wheel.

By ten the place was full of Monday customers.

A woman wanted lilies for her sister's hospital room.

Two college girls argued over a boutonniere.

My assistant was wrapping eucalyptus at the back counter when the bell rang.

I knew who it was before I looked up, because the room changed.

Preston Dade came in with his gray coat open and his smile on, and four customers turned to look at him.

"Is that the chef from the bus stop?" one of the girls whispered.

"Darcy," he said warmly. "You look well."

"Get out."

"I came to buy flowers. Is that illegal now?"

He took a white rose from the bucket by the door and held it to his nose.

"Dade's reopens next month with the new kitchen, and the network is sending a crew. I want the whole room done in white. I thought of you first."

"I'm not doing your flowers."

"My wife left me last spring," he said, loud enough for the shop to hear. "I'm lonely, Darcy. I'm allowed to say so."

The woman buying lilies stopped with her wallet half out of her purse.

He had always known how to talk so that a room took his side.

"Then I'm sorry for you," I said, "and you can buy flowers at the grocery store."

"I'm paying double."

"Leave."

I came around the counter and opened the door myself, and the cold air blew the paper tags across the floor.

He didn't move.

He looked past me at my assistant, then at the customers, then back at me.

"I haven't seen you in two years, and you're throwing me out in front of strangers?"

"They're the only reason I'm not doing it louder."

Somebody laughed.

His smile got smaller, and it was the first honest thing his face had done.

"Fine," he said.

He laid the white rose on the counter, very gently, with a small card tucked under the stem.

"For the kids' mother," he said, and walked out.

The bell rang behind him.

Nobody spoke for a second.

Then the woman with the lilies said, "Honey, are you all right?"

"I'm fine," I said, and went behind the counter.

One of the college girls pointed her phone at the door.

"I'm sorry, was that a scene? Can I post it?"

"Please don't," I said.

She lowered the phone, looking embarrassed, and paid for her boutonniere without another word.

When the shop emptied, my assistant came up beside me.

"I've worked here three years," she said quietly. "I know who he is. I'm not going to ask."

"Thank you."

"But I'm going to say that if he comes in again, I'm calling the police before you finish your sentence."

I almost smiled.

Then I looked down.

She was staring at the card.

"Do you want me to throw that away?"

"No."

I turned it over with one finger.

The back was blank.

On the front, in his square black handwriting, he had written the date the twins were born, circled twice.

Under it were two times: 4:12 a.m. and 4:19 a.m.

Those were the minutes they had each come into the world.

I had told those minutes to the hospital nurse, my husband, my mother-in-law and the pediatrician.

I had never told them to Preston.

I read the card again to be sure.

At the bottom he had added a last line: Count back with me.

My legs went so weak I sat down on the stool behind the register.

He couldn't know the hour of their birth unless somebody had given him the hospital records.

And he wouldn't have gone looking for them unless he had already done the arithmetic.

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