Page 7 of Living for Truth (Broken Shelves #2)

Morgan

I t’s been almost two weeks since I accidentally texted Hannah, and to be honest, I think I’m crushing a little on the stranger. I have no idea what she looks like, but—at least through text—she’s funny, witty, smart, and kind.

We text pretty much every day, just checking in, and sending each other random pictures. She sends me pictures of interesting books she finds in the library, and I send her pictures of the arrangements I make.

It’s nice.

But I want to meet her in person.

I’m working up the courage to ask her to hang out, but I haven’t figured out a way to bring it up organically.

The bell above the shop’s door rings, and I walk around the back counter to greet the customer. I stop in my tracks when my eyes land on one of the prettiest women I’ve ever seen.

She’s probably about five-foot-seven, dirty blonde hair cut in a bob just above her shoulders, and is curvy as all get-out.

The black jumpsuit she’s wearing hugs her in all the right places, showcasing her wide hips perfect for grabbing and thighs that would feel so fucking good wrapped around my head.

I take a deep breath to calm myself because I shouldn’t be having sex fantasies about a customer, let alone one I haven’t even spoken to.

But then she turns her hazel eyes framed with round gold wire glasses on me and gives me a soft smile with luscious lips covered in a glossy pink hue, and my breath stutters.

I clear my throat and put on a smile to hopefully cover the fact I was totally ogling her. “Hey there, welcome in. Is there something specific you’re looking for today?”

“Hi. I’m actually looking for…” She shakes her head. “Never mind, sorry. I’m just here to pick up an order for Mitch.”

“Ah, yes, I just finished wrapping it. Follow me, and I’ll get you checked out.

” I walk back to the counter, and the blonde goddess follows me, her eyes taking in the premade bouquets, the various potted plants for sale, and the wall of buckets housing individual flowers for a “do-it-yourself” bouquet experience.

“Everything in here is so lovely,” she says as I round the counter and grab the bouquet of roses from the fridge.

She eyes the jewelry on the counter, her gaze snagging on the peach moonstone crystal butterfly necklace. She reverently traces a finger over the pink crystal and gold chain before placing her hands back at her sides and perusing the rest of the jewelry.

“Thank you, my sister’s my silent business partner, and she likes to make sure it looks ‘aesthetically pleasing.’ I’m not complaining though, I’d rather focus on the flowers. She’s also the one who makes the jewelry.”

“It’s all gorgeous.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty talented. Mitch paid online when he ordered, so I’ll just need a signature here.” I turn the iPad around, and she uses her pointer finger to scribble a signature.

“Perfect,” I say, handing over the bouquet and wishing this interaction wasn’t so quick. It feels unprofessional to ask for her number or make a move, so I don’t. I’ll just have to hope she comes back sometime. “You’re all set. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, glancing around the store again, looking like she’s going to ask a question, but she stops and shakes her head again. “No, I think that’s everything. Thank you so much for your help.”

“Anytime. I hope to see you again soon.” I try to add a little flirtation to my smile, but I’m not sure it comes across that way.

“I’m sure I’ll be back. Have a wonderful day.” She smiles at me, then turns and walks to the door.

“You too!” I try—and fail—not to watch her walk away. When the bell dings, signaling her departure, I turn back to the iPad to see if I can put a name to the face. The only legible part is the “H” at the beginning of her signature. The rest is all scribbly.

The “H” reminds me of Hannah. The girl I’m crushing on who I’ve never met. How ironic I have a crush on a girl I’ve only talked to through text with no idea what she looks like and another crush on a girl I only had a two minute interaction with but no clue what her name is.

I’m a hopeless romantic at heart. I fall fast and hard and then get my heart broken. It’s been a pattern since I was in junior high, and apparently I haven’t grown out of it.

It’s why it was so hard to be in the NFL. When I was playing football, people wanted to be with me for status and benefits, not because of me . I also didn’t have a lot of time for deep connections because of the practice schedule, but I tried my best.

It’s why it’s hard now as a thirty-six year old man to just jump into a relationship without vetting people thoroughly. It’s not just my heart that could get broken if I attach myself to someone. If I introduce someone to Alyssa, and then they disappear, it would break her heart, too.

The bell above the door rings again, and I take a deep breath and plaster on my customer service smile.

No time for life complications when there are people who need flowers.

“But I promise to clean the litter box for a week! Come on, Dad. Every other girl in the class will be there,” Aly whines, twirling her spaghetti around her fork.

“Bub, you’re supposed to do that anyway. That’s your contribution. You know the rules. I’m more than happy to let you go to the party and have a late night but no sleepovers.”

“Ugh! You’re the worst!” She stands from the table, storms out of the kitchen, and up to her room, slamming the door and rattling the wall.

Bean meows in solidarity with his favorite person before following her. I hear him scratch at the door, Aly opens it for him then shuts it again.

This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation, and I know it won’t be the last, but it gets more and more exhausting every single time.

I try not to scare her, but I want her to be informed about the dangers of the world, and the reality is sleepovers aren’t safe. Too many children have been sexually abused at the hands of “kind” parents or siblings, and I won’t risk my daughter’s safety.

I gather our plates, cover her half eaten spaghetti, put it in the fridge, load the dishwasher, and then walk over to her door.

I knock gently then call out, “Aly? Can we talk for a minute?”

“No. I’m not ready to talk to you,” she calls back.

“Okay. You know where to find me when you are. I love you.”

She doesn’t say it back, but that’s okay. I’ve taught her she doesn't have to say it back, and she doesn't have to talk to me if she doesn't want to. It sucks because I just want to fix it, but I also want her to be able to have her space if she needs it.

I walk downstairs, plopping myself on the couch, and Bagel follows me, settling on my lap as soon as I sit down. I lay my head back and go through the highs and lows of the day.

The high for today was creating a bouquet for a high school kid who was taking flowers to his very first girlfriend. He was so nervous but so sweet.

The low was hurting Aly’s feelings. I always hate fighting with her; it breaks my heart.

Another low was not getting the name of that gorgeous woman at the shop.

My butterfly.

That’s what I’ve been calling her in my head. Beautiful, graceful, and flying away before I could catch her.

Thinking about her makes me think of Hannah, so I pull my phone from my pocket and open our text thread. We haven’t talked much today, so I type out a quick message.

Morgan: Happy Friday! Quick question. Would it be unprofessional to get someone’s number at work?

Hannah: Happy Friday to you, too. I don’t think so, as long as you’re not creepy about it.

Morgan: Damn. The most stunning girl came in today, and I didn’t even get her name.

Hannah: A girl? Huh. That’s a bummer. Maybe she’ll come in again, and you can get it next time?

My brow furrows. Why would me being interested in a girl confuse Hann—OH! Right. When I originally texted her, it was about Blake.

Morgan: Ah, I’m bi. I like men and women, no need to be confused lol. I hope she comes in again, but it’s all good if not.

Morgan: What have you been up to today?

Hannah: Ooooooh. Okay. That makes sense.

Hannah: It’s my mom’s birthday, so we went to lunch, and then she and my dad left town for a week-long getaway, so I took them to the airport.

Morgan: Party at your place, then? ;)

Hannah: LOL right. I work tomorrow, but Sunday will be a nice break. I don’t have to go to church to keep up the image with my parents, and I’m not sure what I want to do with myself.

Morgan: Are you part of the Mormon book club? Why would you need to keep the image that you’re going to church?

Hannah: Unfortunately, I am part of it. I don’t want to be even more of a disappointment to my parents. I’m already divorced at 26, I don’t want to disappoint them by leaving the church, too.

Morgan: That seems like a heavy expectation to carry.

Morgan: What would your ideal Sunday be, if you didn’t have to go to church?

Hannah: Hmm… I really want to try this place in Salt Lake that is supposed to have the best brunch. But they only have it on Sundays.

Morgan: Are you talking about Silver Spoon?

Hannah: Yes! I’ve also heard it’s hard to get into. And it’d be kind of awkward to go by myself, you know? I don’t know who would come with me.

My good friend, Charlie, works at Silver Spoon, so I know I could get a last minute reservation for this Sunday.

Would Hannah even want to go with me? It’s a fifty-fifty shot. I’ve been dying to meet her in person, and this is the perfect way to bring it up.

Morgan: You can totally say no, but…

Morgan: I can get a reservation for this Sunday at Silver Spoon, if you’d be interested in going.

Morgan: With me, I mean. Go to brunch with me?

Hannah: Are you being serious?

Morgan: Deadly. I’d love to get to know you in person. I wasn’t sure how to bring it up without being weird, and I think this is as good a time as any.

I watch the text bubble pop up and go away multiple times before she finally responds, and I swear to God my heart almost stops when she says,

Hannah: That sounds great. I would love to go to brunch with you! Just text me the time, and I’ll be there.

Morgan: Hell yes! I’m very excited to meet you in person.

I fist pump the air, proud of myself for taking the leap and so damn excited to meet her.

“Dad, why are you hitting the air?” Alyssa startles me, making me jump a little, which makes Bagel jump to the back of the couch.

“I’m just excited about meeting a friend. Are you ready to talk now?” I pocket my phone, making sure I can give my number one girl my undivided attention.

She nods and sits next to me on the couch.

She takes a deep breath before she calmly tells me she’s upset she’s not able to go to the sleepover.

She feels like the odd one out in school because she can never sleep over at her friends’ houses.

She understands the concern for safety, but she doesn’t like feeling like an outsider.

Her beautiful blue eyes gloss over with tears, and my heart cracks like it does every time she cries.

“I feel like a weirdo at school because it seems like everyone in my class has these big, happy families with a mom and a dad and siblings. I love you, Dad, but sometimes I wish I had a mom or sister I could talk to about things.”

“I’m sure your mom would be willing to talk to you about whatever you want, Bub,” I try to placate.

Aly shakes her head. “I’ve tried calling her three times this week and sent her a bunch of texts, and she doesn’t respond. She sent a text that said, ‘Busy! Talk soon,’ and that was it.”

My heart breaks for my sweet girl. My anger towards her mother is usually kept at bay, but right now I’m seeing red.

Whitney has made it clear she has no desire to be a full-time mom, but I never thought she’d brush off her own daughter like that. It makes my blood boil that she doesn’t seem to give a fuck about her daughter.

Aly is going to hit puberty soon, and while I’ve educated myself and have sisters and a mom who are more than happy to help with that stuff, it still doesn’t replace Whitney.

If Whitney weren’t in the picture at all, I think it would be easier, but instead, she’s flitted in and out of Aly’s life for years.

The first year of my baby girl’s life, Whitney and I tried to make it work.

But we quickly found a romantic relationship between us was not compatible.

We tried to live together and co-parent, but I was still playing football at the time, and my schedule wouldn’t allow me to be home to help her.

My mom helped where she could, but it was still really hard on Whitney.

When Aly was three, Whitney decided she didn’t want to be a full-time mom and only wanted her every other weekend.

That was the year I tore my meniscus and had to retire.

I was thirty and planning on retiring after the season anyway.

I tore it during a preseason game, so I didn’t even get to play my last season.

That was fine with me because it meant I could be with Aly more.

My parents followed us from Colorado to Utah so I could raise Aly with my family.

Whitney’s family also lives in Utah, which is one of the biggest reasons we decided to move here.

My sisters were already living here, and Whitney and I both wanted Aly to grow up surrounded by family.

Whitney’s family was so disappointed in her for having a baby out of wedlock they refused to even meet their granddaughter. Aly doesn’t know who her maternal grandparents are, and I doubt she ever will.

When Aly turned five, Whitney stopped taking her every other weekend and started taking her twice a year for a week.

That only lasted until she was six. Now, Aly’s lucky if she sees her once a year for a couple of hours.

Whitney refuses to answer my calls or texts, but I didn’t think she’d go so far as to ignore her own daughter.

“I’m so sorry, Bubs. It’s not cool for your mom to ignore you. You know you can always talk to your aunts or grandma about things you don’t want to talk to me about.”

She sniffs. “I know. I’m sorry I was angry at dinner and called you the worst. You’re not the worst.” She burrows into my side, wrapping her little arms around me and laying her head by my heart.

“It’s okay to be angry, honey. It’s okay to be mad and sad and any other emotion you may have. I’ll always be here when you’ve calmed down and are ready to talk.” I kiss the top of her head.

“I love you, Dad.”

“I love you, too, Bubs.”