I freeze in place when I see a dozen white roses in a vase on the buffet table. I look at them like they’re a poisoned apple, then glance around, confused. Slowly, I walk up to them and notice a card is attached with my name written in chicken scratch. My eyes go wide, and I just hope Dad isn’t around to witness this because it would cause too many questions.

I open the envelope.

Happy Valentine’s Day, Maize. If you’d let me, I’d make it worth your while, since you no longer have amnesia.

I hurry and tuck it in my back pocket, and then grab the roses and take them into the kitchen.

“Whoa!” Sandra says with wide eyes.

“I know, I know.” I set them down because while they’re beautiful, they’re also heavy. The sweet smell fills the kitchen, and I try to steady my breathing. My heart pounds hard because there’s only one florist in town, which means Gavin had to speak to them about sending flowers. This is exactly how rumors start around here.

“Who are they from?” Donna questions, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Didn’t say.” I’m being truthful because his name wasn’t actually written, just insinuated.

“Someone’s got a secret admirer.” Dad speaks up from behind me, and I nearly jump out of my shoes.

I roll my eyes, wishing I could disappear. “I guess.”

“Hmmm.” Dad rubs his chin. “I wonder who it could be.”

“I dunno!” I look around, trying to find my escape. “I gotta get back to mopping.”

I rush to the dining room and have never moved so fast in my life. I’m thankful I took the card because I know Dad would’ve peeked, and that’s the last thing I need right now. After I’m done with my tasks, I grab the roses and tell everyone goodbye.

I’m tempted to text him on the way home and demand he stop, but I realize I don’t have his number. Truthfully, it’s probably a good thing because it means I can’t drunk text him. Knowing we’ll be at the rodeo together excites me but also makes me anxious. He’s well-known in the area, and the last thing I want to witness is women flocking to him. Hopefully, I’ll be too busy to even notice.

When I park, I look over at the roses. It was a sweet thought, and while I want to be angry, I’m not sure I can. If we were two different people, maybe we could work. Part of me wishes it was possible, but the other knows it’s not.

Chapter Eight

GAVIN

“He’s bein’ a bastard, ain’t he?” Jackson asks, hanging on the railing.

“Oh yeah,” I respond, nearly breathless.