Page 42 of For the Record

She may not want flowers if she thought this was all platonic. If she assumed I’d only married her because we were in Vegas and drunk and I had nothing better to do.

Throw them out, you idiot. She hadn’t seen me yet, or the bouquet in my hand. I had time.

My feet shifted to turn, but then, Rachel spun toward me, her eyes instantly landing on where I’d hidden my left hand behind my back, the stems poking out around me just slightly.

With no hint of emotion on her face for me to read, she pointed to me. “Are those…for me?”

I wanted to say no, but with the hope on her face, the raised brows, and her lips dropping in shock, I couldn’t hold it in. My willpower snapped in half as I sighed, my chest deflating. “Yes.”

“You”—she pointed at my chest—“bought me flowers?”

Was it that hard to believe? It was too much. I was being too much. Geez, man, three weeks of living together didn’t mean anything. The ring, the wedding, her straightening her shoes at the door for me and me leaving coffee ready for her didn’t mean anything. Because we were just friends to her. Married friends, but still friends.

I sputtered. “They were sitting by the register. They were on sale. I’ll take them back tomorrow—”

Rachel gasped, striding toward me and ripping the flowers out of my hand before curling them into her chest. “Don’t. You. Dare.”

She cradled the flowers and looked at them like they were some kind of precious ruby. An artifact meant to be handled with a gentleness that a man like me didn’t have. Essentially how I felt having her anywhere near my arms. A glass vase in the arms of a…what did she call me that day? A hippo? The prettiest glass vase in the arms of a hippo.

She shuddered as she sucked a breath in, and I swore I heard the tiniest sniffle coming from her nose. Crap. I was even more terrible with crying women than regular women. What was I supposed to do, say? My eyes darted to the door and back. I could probably run out, and she wouldn’t even know.

But then she smiled up at me. This big, beautiful smile that held nothing back and eyes that shined up at me like I was some kind of hero for buying ten-dollar flowers. Like I’d hung the moon for doing the bare minimum.

“No one’s bought me flowers before.”

My brows furrowed. Who was she going out with before? They were a last-minute decision, cheap and easy, and I thought she’d look pretty holding them—and I was right. Maybe I was as much of an ass as her past boyfriends in life because I never felt the need to buy other women in my life flowers. But watching her now, feverishly searching my kitchen for a vase to put them in, looking at these ridiculously dyed flowers like they were more valuable than her own wedding ring, made my heart do backflips. Made me wonder why I hadn’t done this years ago.

“I’ll get them all the time, then,” I said.

And I would, every event, every birthday, random Tuesday nights like these. No matter what, I was going to keep buying her flowers.

She pulled out an ugly vase, one I’d gotten as a housewarming present from my boss’s wife, and happily filled it with water, plopping the flowers in and sighing at them. I set the wine next to the mouthwatering pasta in a baking dish on my stove. Rachel acted like she couldn’t cook. She’d warned me that dinners would be disappointing if she was making them, but then she’d whip up these incredible meals that tasted like home. Or maybe my standards were just that low at this point.

She lifted a finger, twirling one daisy back and forth with her nail. Her shoulders drooped as she sighed again and she blinked away her tears.

I set my keys and phone on the counter next to the wine and took a step closer, leaning down. “You okay?”

Her hesitation gave me enough of an answer, but she replied anyway. “Dad had a rough day…”

“What kind of rough day?” I asked.

I’d known, to some extent, the ups and downs her dad had. I didn’t think I’d ever fully know how it felt. But I’d seen him at some pretty low points, and I’d watched Rachel’s heart crack at them.

“Not terrible, but not great.” She sniffled, and I felt like she was going to cry again, so I took another step forward and wrapped my arms lightly around her back. Accepting my hug, she turned toward me and embraced me with her head on my chest. The smell of her shampoo mixed with her perfume made me dip my head down and breathe in through my nose before lightly pressing my lips to her forehead. I hadn’t noticed the music before now. I should have known, though. When was she not listening to music?

I didn’t recognize the song exactly, but the voice was low and soft and sounded a bit like that 1940s soundtrack she’d played in my car when it rained the other week. If I’d heard that first, I would have known it was a rough day.

“I went to see him after my shift since Betty said he was kind of in an ill mood. When I got there, his shirt was inside out and his pants didn’t match and he kept pacing like he wanted to go somewhere but didn’t know where.” Her eyes lifted to the ceiling as if she was willing it to give her strength to continue. Her voice was shaky when she did. “He just kept calling me my sister’s name over and over.” She swayed against me. I wasn’t sure whether she even realized it or if it had become instinct at this point.

“And maybe I should have accepted it and pretended like I was her, but gah, Adam, it was too hard. So I had to look him in the eye and tell him I was Rachel, not Katherine. He got mad and said he knew that, but then he did it again a few minutes later. He got even more mad when he asked me where Mom was and why I wasn’t answering. By the time I left, it seemed like I’d made it all worse.”

I didn’t answer right away. I didn’t tell her it was all going to be okay. I didn’t make empty promises like that. Nothing I said could guarantee it was going to be okay. But I could show her I would be here through it all, and that had to mean something, right?

I splayed my hands on her back, rubbing up and down as we swayed gently to the music, almost dancing. I leaned down farther and set my chin on her head before tilting to give the crown of her head the smallest kiss. Her deep breath in after that matched mine.

Rachel lifted her head, her tears leaving a wet spot on my shirt. She looked up at me with these eyes that begged for reassurance that I didn’t know how to give.

“When does it get easier? When can I learn to just let go?”