Spotting a card buried in the foliage, I pull it out and open it.
Alison,
Camilla said I shouldn’t send flowers as a form of apology, so I sent you something else instead. I hope it’s something you can do with Huxley. I know he’s a big baseball fan and I still have hope that you can find your love of the game.
I would appreciate the opportunity to apologize for my behavior. I’ll leave my number at the bottom if you’re willing to hear me grovel. Trust me, not many people have heard me do that before. And it would mean a lot to me to be able to do it for you.
It was very nice seeing you the other day.
Barrett
Sure enough, his number is printed very carefully at the bottom of the card.
I look from the glass popping with oranges and pinks to the envelope from the Hornets. My jaw hangs open at the over-the-top gift. I can’t fathom how much season tickets to the games would cost, let alone the fact that he remembered I have a son that likes baseball and I’m not a fan.
I laugh out loud. I can’t help it. The entire thing is ridiculous in the most spectacular way. I find myself wondering if this is real or a well-practiced charm.
But if it is charm, if you’re him, why bother if you don’t mean it?
My phone mocks me from beside the flowers, my fingers itching to dial the digits.
I need to be reasonable.
He went out of his way to send these things, and I’m seriously touched that he remembered Huxley. That deserves a phone call.
Calling him doesn’t mean anything specifically, just having the manners to say thank you and giving him the opportunity to apologize for being an asshole.
I can do that. Besides, hearing him humble himself will be fun.
Dialing his number, a grin slips across my lips. The line rings twice before he answers.
“Landry,” he says, his voice as smooth and delicious as I remember.
“Hi, Barrett. It’s Alison.”
I can feel him smile through the line. “What a nice surprise.”
“Is it really?” I laugh. “I’m pretty sure you expected this call.”
“There’s nothing I expect of you. Believe that,” he mumbles.
A pause extends between us and I can imagine him cringing, knowing what has to happen, trying to think of a way around it.
Not happening.
“So . . .” I say, giving him an opening.
“So . . .”
I blow out a breath in exasperation even though I’m smiling. “You know, I expected more groveling.”
“Yeah, about that.” He chuckles under his breath. “Alison, I would like to apologize for acting out of line the other day. I . . . I was wrong.”
>
I know he’s wincing as he says this and it makes me smile wider. “How’d it taste to say those words?”
“Like vinegar.”