“He said he would. But the small plane makes me nervous. Those are the planes that barely make a news mention when they crash. That Reed guy—now, admittedly, he was an asshole, but he didn’t make it sound like fun. I’d probably vomit all over his stick shift or whatever they have inside those planes, and Gabe would never want to see me again. No more flowers for Poppy.”
Luna laughed. “Yeah, I’ve been hesitant to go up myself. Tate’s gone a few times. He likes flying over the coast and checking aerial views of various wreck sites. Actually, this weekend we’re taking a charter and going out to a wreck site off Hatteras. Want to come?”
“Dive? The water’s fucking freezing. Are you out of your mind?”
“Wet suit.”
“Yeah…no.”
“Hhmmm. What are all those boxes?” She eyed the flat stack of brand-new brown cardboard leaning against the den wall.
“Gabe’s taken it upon himself to help me with the moving process.”
“You’re moving?”
“Sadly. I can’t justify throwing away another wad of cash to rent this place. It was really supposed to be more of a one-year gift to me. Gift received.”
“Where are you going?” She leaned over my kitchen counter and I sank onto the facing bar stool.
“I’m considering moving in with Gabe. Am I a lunatic for considering it?”
“Moving in…as his girlfriend?”
“No, moving in as his friend.”
Luna’s chin almost met the back of her throat as she wrapped her mind around that notion.
“I know, it’s crazy. But he has a full suite on the first floor. Two suites, actually. He’s offered me the whole downstairs. And he claims he’ll only be living here a few more months. Then he’d appreciate me being in his place so it’s not empty. It’s like a dream house sitting gig if there ever was one. Oceanfront. Gorgeous fucking house. I’d be crazy not to do it, right?”
“Oh, babe. He’s moving back to New York?”
“What’s the ‘oh, babe’ for? That’s always been the plan. He can’t stand it here. Can’t even sleep here.”
“So, what’s with all the flowers?”
“I don’t know.” I understood her confusion because I’d been awash in it. I’d normally assume he just wanted in my panties, but I offered him a chance at those, and he turned me down, so it was all a conundrum. And he’d made it clear he had no intentions of being cordoned off in the friend zone…yet again, he didn’t come in. And then the flowers. And the moving boxes. “Do you think maybe he’s like this with all the girls he dates? Like maybe he has an assistant, and he has packages for each girl. Maybe he calls his assistant, let’s call her Karen, and he says, ‘Okay, Karen, I’ve met another girl. Put her on the second package. Keep Laurel on the first package, and place Emily on the third package.’”
“What are you talking about?”
“Pay attention. I saw a movie like this. He has more money than sense. And he likes having plenty of female options. He has his assistant design specialty packages. Or no, his women would never meet each other. So, it could just be one package. The ‘load ’em up with flowers’ package. Keep them around and interested until he wants to come and collect on his investment.”
“Which reality TV show did you say you’re into these days?”
I threw my hands in the air. “I don’t know! I told you I don’t know what’s going on. I’m just spitballing ideas.”
“Well, instead of spitballing, why don’t you go over to his house and ask him if he wants to go on a walk? Or bring him a baked good from Sand Piper as a thank you for all the flowers? From what I understand from Tate, he’s been stressed out of his mind with this Justice Department investigation. I’m sure he’d appreciate being forced to take a break and get out of the house.”
“Wow. I’ve been in my own head, worried about his intentions like some middle schooler, and it hasn’t even occurred to me he might be having a tough week.” He might need a friend.
A few hours later, with a fresh baked cinnamon bun cake tucked under my arm, I stood in front of his screen door. I could see straight through his whole house, all the way to the whites of the crashing waves. I knocked, but I expected if he was upstairs, or downstairs, he’d never hear. I tried the knob, and it turned in my hand.
“Hello?” I called out.
My voice echoed through the wide foyer. I stepped cautiously down the hall and into his kitchen. I slid the cake onto the pristine marble countertop and glanced around for a pen or paper. The white marble reflected the outside light, spotless. Nothing was out of place, and I pretty quickly realized a pen lying around on the counter would be out of place. So, I snapped a photo of the cake and texted it to him with the caption, A gift from me. Sorry I missed you.
The screen door slid open, startling the shit out of me, and my phone clattered across the floor.
“Oh, hi. Sorry to scare you.” A tall, rail thin, raven-haired woman in a gold velvet tracksuit entered, and another equally thin though not quite as tall brunette followed her. “Do you need us to sign something?”
“Excuse me?”
“Did you already put away the groceries?” The woman approached the island and scanned the kitchen perimeter. My mind raced as I bent to pick up my phone. He has women here?
“Did you bring Gabe a cake?” the other woman asked.
“Yes. Hi. I’m Poppy.” Her dark eyes scrutinized me, blatantly moving up and down my body. “His friend,” I added, in case the glare was territorial.
The two women could have passed for runway models. Extremely tall, almost too skinny, and striking protruding cheekbones. My gaze fell to the Louis Vuitton fur slippers.
“Ah. I’m
