Macie nodded. She knew a power play when she saw it. This was Alex’s first move.
“He’ll still have to go through me first. I’ll be your buffer. I’ll be your sounding board.” Nancy’s gazed dropped. “I’ll do whatever I can to keep him in line.”
You know I’m going to start looking for a new job, right? Already. After only a few short weeks? Or I could make his life miserable. There’s a thought. Macie didn’t say any of that, though. She gritted her teeth and stood from her seat. “You know, Nancy, he’s not going to get to me. And he’s not going to beat me. I won’t let him.”
Nancy smiled and waved her out of the office. Macie glanced at her phone. It was five-forty-five. She looked like hell and had zero time to even glance in a mirror. As it was, she was going to be late.
But there was one last thing she had to do. She opened her cloud. There in a file marked ‘Just in Case’ was the recording of Alex. Macie wasn’t stupid. She knew to back her shit up, especially something that could come in handy later. Nancy had to realize Macie would back up everything. If she didn’t, then her boss underestimated her. Just to be safe, Macie downloaded it onto her phone and emailed herself a copy. She’d put it on her computer at home in case she was hacked. You could never have too many backups.
Spoons was a good twenty-minute walk from the station in the opposite direction of her apartment, which was fifteen minutes the other way. If she went home to get her barely drivable car, she’d have to find a parking spot and could be half an hour late. If she walked, she’d be maybe five to ten minutes late.
Walking it was.
She didn’t hurry, though. Showing up like she’d just ran a marathon wasn’t a good idea. The heat and humidity would certainly ruin her hair if she rushed. She reached into her messenger bag to check for her makeup kit. At least she’d had the foresight to pack that before she left for work. It wasn’t much, just powder, lip-gloss, and mascara. Macie had never been a big girly girl, but she liked the basics. She pulled out the ponytail holder, fluffing her hair with her fingers.
Sure, remember the makeup but not the hairbrush, she thought as she passed a boutique. Using the window as a mirror, she fixed her hair into a messy bun, touched up her mascara and lip gloss. Only a few more blocks.
Something nagged at her. Something she should’ve remembered, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. A block from Spoons, it hit her. A rose. She’d forgotten the damn rose. A small florist shop nestled between a law office and a chocolate shop caught her eye. She crossed the street, getting a few honks as she dodged traffic.
“Look where you’re going, lady,” one guy shouted with a thick creole accent.
Macie waved at him, but never took her eye off the prize. She got to the door at the same time as the clerk inside flipped the sign.
“Please,” Macie said to the forlorn woman who stared at her with disgust. “I’m sorry. I just need one rose.”
The woman rolled her eyes and opened the door. “You sound like a guy who was in here about twenty minutes ago.”
“Really?” Macie stepped into the small shop, inhaling the smell of roses and lilacs that filled the air. Had Guy bought his rose here? Macie’s heart swelled. Sure, it could’ve been any man on his way somewhere, but she wanted it to be her man. Her man. He wasn’t her man. Not yet, anyway. Macie didn’t even know him. She had to keep reminding herself of that tiny little fact.
“Yeah, really.” The clerk opened a cooler filled with roses. “Any color?”
“Red.”
“Of course.” She pulled out a single red rose and wrapped it in thin green paper. “Red is universal. I prefer the white myself. There’s something about the purity and innocence of the color. It blends, bends, and flows with light. And white goes with everything.”
“So does black,” Macie said as she pulled out the cash and handed it to the woman.
“Very true. Black has a negative reputation, but I’ve always found depth in it.” She handed Macie her change and the rose. “Have a great night.”
“You, too,” Macie said. She clutched the rose tightly to her chest and strolled out the door. The woman’s words reverberated in her ears. The artist in her wanted to explore the depth of white. She wanted to feel it on her brushes, between her fingers, on the canvas. She wanted to stare at the paint and let it tell her what to do. During the last semester, Macie’s time had been stretched thin. She hadn’t picked up her palette since January. Her focus had been school and the wedding. Painting was her zen, her love, her need. How did she let it slip away?
Macie stopped to take a deep breath. She stood outside the entrance to Spoons.
Just go in, she chided herself. Woman up. You know he’s in there. You know he’s fantastic. Walk through the damn door.
Her internal pep talk turned into an internal argument. One with a logical solution. Peek in the windows. See if you can spot him.
She was already ten minutes late. If he was there, she could catch a glimpse. She could see what he looked like, how he sat, if he looked as nervous as she was. Drawing in another breath for courage, Macie tiptoed past the front door and glanced through the windows.
Spoons was packed, but there were only two tables with single occupants. One was a girl around her age typing frantically on a laptop. The other was a blond man. Macie’s heart skipped. She couldn’t see his face, but there was a red rose on the table.
