Page 117 of Falling Offsides

My heart lurches, wild and off-tempo. So hard that my hands press to my chest, making sure it doesn’t tumble out of my chest. I’m gobsmacked, staring at the giant bunch of daisies I almost tripped over.

My favorite flowers.

I glance at Auguste’s door. Unsure of whether I’m willing it to open or willing myself to stick to the plan and walk away.

Neither wins as I crouch and pick up the oddly heavy bouquet. I pause when I discover the blue box underneath, tied with the cutest daisy-patterned yellow ribbon.

A small note is tucked behind the awkward bow. I can just imagine his large fingers fumbling while trying to make it perfect, it’s that thought that has me picking up the box and going back inside my apartment.

Obviously, I know that gifts don’t mean shit. My mom has gotten a lot of “gifts” during the years. Not one of them marked any change in how Martin treats her.

But…

“Auguste is not Martin. Not all men are the same,” I tell myself as I place the box down on the entry sideboard and then steal a long inhale of the sweet, green scent of the flowers.

A small card is tucked into the bundle of daisies. Ivory with broderie scalloped edges and a#1scrawled on the front in bright baby blue ink. Very familiar ink.

When I open it my stomach flutters at the sight of his messy joined up writing. It looks cute and funny all at once. More than that, it’s obvious he was trying really damn hard to make it look beautiful. That is enough to set off my tears again.

Then I read it and my entire DNA forgets to compute. My brain and my heart are on the fritz.

Courtney,

I knew what you needed before I earned the right to give it to you. I don’t know how to make it right because…

Honestly?

I would do it all over again. Having any piece of you in my world beats having nothing of you and…

I turn the card over for the rest of the note. When I come up empty, I glance at the one with a#2scrawled on it, tucked into the ribbon on the box. Plucking it up unceremoniously, I open it.

…I don’t know how else to explain why I couldn’t resist the need to watch you or why I couldn’t stop. So maybe if I show you, you will understand.

I took your privacy…

So here is mine.

Auguste xox

P.S. Last night was the longest night of my life without your breaths lulling me to sleep.

The first thought that blooms should not be to open the box when I already know what’s in it. But it is, and I do.

Placing the flowers down with one last inhale, I wrangle the bow open and flip the lid of the box. An iPad sits on top with a post-it note stuck to the screen with the passcode: 96877 scribbled in his scratchy handwriting.

This one is better than the one in the cards. It’s messy and beautiful andreal.

Exactly like the war in my head right now. My hands are shaking as I clutch either side of the box and debate giving in to the urge begging me to open the iPad and steal a glimpse of him. Of his place.

The feeling is staggering. The heaviness of the decision makes it impossible to step away.

Even though the voice of reason is telling me this is exactly what Auguste intended, to put me in his position. To lower me to his level… the other voice, the tragic romantic—as he called it—is chomping at the bit for just one small peek. Just one. I deserve that much, right?

Auguste has been watching me for weeks. A second’s glance isn’t the same.

That’s all it’ll be. A quick look.

Peeling the post-it off the screen, I stick it to the lid of the box before I take the iPad out.