“Guessing what are for me?” Rachel asked cautiously.
“Half of Natalie’s shop, by the looks of it.”
Former Mistletoe High cheerleader Natalie Young was the majority owner of the local flower shop and in charge of floral arrangements for Tanner and Lilah’s wedding. Someone had sent flowers? Rachel left the printer and joined her co-worker at the counter. Whoa didn’t begin to cover it.
“Delivery for Rachel Waide.” The cheerful delivery boy was barely visible behind the profusion of pink roses, white tulips and smaller graceful yellow flowers, all arranged with greenery in a crystal vase that probably weighed a ton.
May was practically vibrating with excitement. “That’s her! She’s Rachel.”
While Rachel stood frozen in shock, the other two settled the flowers atop the counter. May nudged her.
“I think you’re supposed to sign for them.”
David. A guy didn’t send his estranged wife flowers, did he?
Then again, maybe she was reading too much into this. Maybe he was simply excited over their news. She’d been so awestruck that, even though she’d felt bone-tired, she hadn’t been able to sleep. She’d spent the night awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering how many months before she could feel the baby move, daydreaming about nursery themes and a little girl with David’s blue eyes or a little boy with his smile.
Her doctor’s appointment was tomorrow afternoon; she’d e-mailed David with the time and suggested they meet there. This bouquet was probably a platonic expression of joy. She plucked the card from the plastic holder in the center of the flowers. He’d written the note himself; she knew his handwriting as well as she knew her own.
Congratulations! I’m sorry I couldn’t find flowers as beautiful as you are, but I hope this paltry offering will still demonstrate how happy I am.
(I’d be even happier if you came home.)
Love, Your Husband
“Do I get to read it?” May asked, unrepentantly nosy.
“It’s personal.” And inappropriate. It was impossible to let David off on the platonic-joy defense if he was going to sling around words like beautiful and your husband.
“Okay, I get that it’s personal,” May conceded. “But we’re friends. You could tell me anything in confidence. You know that, right?”
“Like what?” Rachel was a little taken aback by the intense, meaningful glances her boss was giving her. Since no one knew about the separation, her husband sending flowers wasn’t that notable. He’d done so once or twice on special occasions. “I’m not having a steamy affair with Paolo or anything.”
May’s eyebrows shot upward. “Who’s Paolo?”
“Nothing, nobody. Imaginary male stripper.” She needed to call Arianne back about the bachelorette party. “I just meant, the flowers are from David.”
“To celebrate a happy event, maybe? Or a happy future event you’re expecting?”
How does she know? Rachel’s bewilderment and her tacit admission must both be readable in her expression because May laughed.
“Oh, honey. When I walked in here last week with that fish sandwich, you turned positively green. And Mindy Nelson saw you in the women’s aisle at the grocery store. She said you were acting nutty. We’ve both had our fingers crossed for you all weekend.”
Perhaps the conjecture had been unavoidable, but Rachel wished David hadn’t cemented the gossip with flowers. She was still in the statistically dangerous first trimester. One of the worst parts of the miscarriage had been running into people who somehow hadn’t heard the news yet, having to suffer through the painful well-meaning questions and the awkward strain once she told them.
“Don’t get too excited just yet,” Rachel warned.
But her words seemed to have the opposite effect on May, whose eyes brightened. “So you do at least think you’re pregnant?”
“I don’t know for sure. Even if I am, I’m not ready to tell people. You know the first trimester is …” She swallowed, unable to dwell any more on that horrific possibility. Instead, she switched tactics. “David and I don’t want anything upstaging Lilah and Tanner’s wedding.”
“Oh. I think they’d be too happy for you to mind, but you guys are being really considerate.” May mimed locking her lips and throwing the invisible key over her shoulder. “You can count on my discretion, sweetie. Mindy will just have to speculate alone. I won’t confirm a thing.”
Rachel would prefer no one was speculating anything about her at all, but that was asking too much in a town this size. “I appreciate your keeping the secret.”
“Don’t mention it.” May grinned. “It’ll be fun knowing something no one else does. Well, besides you and David, of course. You want me to make myself scarce so you can call him?”
“Actually.” Rachel’s fingers tightened involuntarily, and one sharp edge of the card scraped her skin. “Do you think you could spare me for a little while?”
“Absolutely! You take any time you need.”
“Great.” Rachel reached for the coat she’d hung on the brass rack by the counter. “I think maybe I should go thank him in person.”
AS SHE’D EXPECTED, Rachel found David seated at the desk in the private office behind Waide Supply. He glanced up with a smile that bordered on cocky, sending her temper through the roof.
She didn’t yell, not with Arianne and Zachariah just on the other side of the wall, but her tone was pointed. “Have you lost your mind?”
“No. Why, have you found one?”
And now he was making jokes, not taking her seriously at all. “You sent me flowers. At work!”
“Well, it seemed like the best place since it’s where you are during the day.”
“David!” She leaned forward, bracing her hands on the desk. “This isn’t funny.”
His boyish smile would have melted a weaker woman. “Not even a little? Come on, most women get mad when their husbands don’t send flowers.”
“You’re not my husband anymore,” she said in desperation.
His humor-filled features hardened so quickly that it made him look like a different person. “The hell I’m not.”
“You know what I meant. We’re not married in the typical sense.”
“We could be,” he coaxed. “Don’t you miss me, Rach? I miss you.”
His tone was as dangerously addictive as really good chocolate. “Don’t.”
“Why not?” He rose from his chair, bracing his own hands on the desk and angling toward her. They were practically nose to nose.
Because she couldn’t recall him claiming to miss her before he’d heard she was pregnant. Tears pricked her eyes. Was this how she’d thoughtlessly made him feel all those months they’d been trying, as if his primary value to her was as someone who could give her a baby?
He ran his thumb across the top of her cheek, the stroke sending shivers of sensation through her. “Don’t cry.”
“Don’t send me flowers.” She straightened. “You might as well have taken out a billboard on Main Street telling everyone I’m pregnant.”
“You’re overreacting. It was just a basic floral arrangement. It’s not like