F
That’s all the note said. She ran her fingers over his handwriting. It was a little messy, which made her lips tick up.
No. He would not make her smile. He would not win her back. She tossed the note in the trash.
An hour later she went and pulled the note out of the trash and left it on her kitchen counter.
That evening, she received a delivery.
It was a box. Inside the box was a sizzling steak, baked potato and a salad. And another note from Flynn.
You’re probably cooking every day but not eating, and you should eat. I made this because I know you like steak. I made the salad dressing. Hope you like it.
I love you, Amelia.
F
Damn him.
She wanted to toss the meal. But no good meal should be ignored, so she ate the steak while she stared at the note. The salad dressing was a creamy balsamic vinaigrette that was pretty damn good.
The next morning when she got up there was another box at her front door, along with another note.
Inside the box was a gorgeous handmade lap quilt. She ran her hands over the intricate design, then opened the note.
Thought this might keep you warm while you’re sitting on your porch.
I love you.
F
With a shuddering sigh, she carried the quilt out to the porch and draped it over her lap while she had her morning coffee.
With her mail that day came another note.
I’m really bad at poetry but I’m going to give this a try:
I’m imperfect, but you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met
We were good together, and yet
I blew it. Please give me another chance
And I know we can make this last.
I love you, Amelia.
F
As poetry went, that was awful. But her heart was melting.
He was trying. He was thinking about her every day.
Damn him.
* * *
Over the next two days there were at least two notes a day. He fed her, gave her wine, a cookbook she’d been coveting that hadn’t even been released yet, and wrote another note with even worse poetry than the first one.
Laura had come over and Amelia told her about the notes.
“He loves you. He fucked up badly. He’s obviously trying to make amends. What are you going to do?”
She sighed. “I don’t know. You know how I feel about trust.”
“Yes, I do. But he’s not Frank.”
“No. He’s not.”
“I guess that leaves you with two choices. You forgive him and you find your way back to each other, or you walk away forever.”
She blinked back tears at the thought of never having Flynn in her life again. “I don’t know what to do, Laura.”
“Okay, think about this. When you called it quits with Frank, how did it make you feel?”
“Sad. In a remote kind of way. But also relieved.”
“And how do you feel now—about the possibility of ending things with Flynn?”
She turned tear-filled eyes to Laura. “It’s tearing me apart. I love him so much.”
Laura ran her hand up and down Amelia’s arm. “I think you have your answer.”
Amelia nodded. “I think I do.”
Laura picked up one of Flynn’s notes and read it. “Honey, no one who is that big of an asshole would go to this much trouble to win you back. Trust me, average guys just don’t do this. Also, this is the worst poetry I’ve ever read.”
Amelia laughed. “I know. God, I love him so much.”
“So forgive him and let’s get your happily ever after started.”
“Yes, let’s do that.”
THIRTY-FOUR
When Flynn received the text from Amelia asking him if he’d like to come over to her place for dinner, it was all he could do not to leave practice right then and rush over.
But they had a big game this weekend, and his focus had to stay on his team and the upcoming game against Seattle. They were in first place in their division, and determined to stay there. It was too close to the end of the season to screw things up now.
He was ready for this game, and he thought the defense practiced tough today. He felt like they were all prepared to do battle on Sunday.
It had been a long grueling day, but once the team meetings were over with, he headed home, then went upstairs and got ready to go to Amelia’s house.
He sat on the bed after his shower, pondering what he was going to say to Amelia tonight. He had hoped the notes he had sent her this week communicated the depths of his feelings. But he needed to write her one more note, so after he got dressed he went downstairs, took a note card out of the box and wrote out the note. He put it in the envelope and tucked it in the pocket of his button-down shirt, then headed over to Amelia’s house.
His heart was pounding as he rang her doorbell. When she opened the door, he wasn’t sure what kind of reaction to expect, but seeing her tremulous smile was the best thing he had seen in the past week.
“Come on in.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m making pork tenderloin for dinner,” she said as she headed into the kitchen. “I need to check on it.”
“Sure.” He watched her walk away. She was wearing a flowing dark brown cotton dress with long sleeves and all kinds of ripples at the bottom of the skirt. She was barefoot, her hair loose around her shoulders in waves. She looked like a gorgeous hippie and all he wanted to do was put his arms around her and hold her for like . . . an hour or two.
When she closed the oven door, she lifted her gaze to his. “Glass of wine?”