“Oh my gosh, you’re kidding. It’s been way too long since I’ve had one of these,” I say, opening the box and immediately breathing in the chocolatey goodness.
“Don’t feel like you need to wait for dessert,” Becca says, laughing. “Have one now. We won’t judge.”
“I know you won’t, and that’s why you’re both great friends,” I say, pulling out one of the muffins and breaking off a piece to sample.
“What’s new at Rusty’s?” I ask as we fill plates and move to the dining table.
“Not much,” Becca says. “It’s only been two days since you were there.”
“Has it really only been two days? It feels like two weeks,” I say, pulling out a chair.
Caz gives me a sympathetic grin. “There will be something new at Rusty’s very soon. Barrett’s been talking to contractors about the expansion.”
“I like the sound of that,” Becca says. “Construction work means construction workers. Can you ask Barrett to hire the hottest ones?”
“Sure, I’ll do that,” Caz says, nodding her head at Becca and then rolling her eyes at me.
“I should be able to come back tomorrow. Maybe the day after,” I say.
“Don’t rush back to work,” Caz says. “Barrett’s happy to cover for you. And I’ve started writing stories — Lincoln thinks they’re actually good enough to publish — so if I can send Barrett and Lennox in to Rusty’s, that’ll give me more quiet time to write. Bronson and Lincoln are in Charlotte this week.”
Hearing Caz talk about her men makes me sad. I pull off another big chunk of the muffin and shove it in my mouth.
As we eat, I answer my friends’ questions about lupus and fill them in on what the doctor said. I’m relieved when they don’t ask me about my time with Jay and the Hayes brothers.
That all changes when there’s a knock on my door.
42
Their decision
“Do you want me to get it?” Becca asks.
“That’s okay. I’ll get it.”
Through the peephole, I see an unfamiliar woman wearing a bright red shirt. When I open the door, I find out that it’s not her clothing that’s red, it’s a huge bouquet of roses.
“Christine Murphy?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“These are for you.” She hands me the vase, which is anchored in a short white box, and disappears before I can give her a tip.
My family knows I’ve been sick, but I don’t think they’d send flowers over a lupus flare-up. Also, this doesn’t look like a Get Well Soon type of arrangement.
I set the flowers on the closest table and search for the card. My fingers are clumsy as I rush to open it.
The message is short but still delivers a big impact:
We miss you.
– J, B, C, J
I rub my thumb over the little white rectangle, feeling like it’s some kind of connection between the five of us, even though they may not have written the message personally.
The flowers themselves are stunning. Two dozen perfect roses the color of passion … and love.
When I turn back, Caz and Becca are both staring at me, utensils down, no longer caring that they were in the middle of eating lunch.