Page 147 of Pretty Mess

“Of course it was.”

He winks. “You can find all sorts of things in the pages ofHot Girl.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” The door chimes, and I look up to see a hedgerow walk in. I blink, and the hedgerow becomes a man. A man carrying the most enormous bunch of red roses I’ve ever seen. They’re fucking huge. There must be about sixty flowers.

“Someone’s been good,” I say, smiling at the delivery man.

“Wes Archer?”

“Yes,” I say cautiously.

“Are you Wes Archer?” the man says patiently. He checks his phone with one hand, the other clutching the flowers tightly. “It says deliver to Wes Archer behind the Quick Break petrol station counter.”

“They’re forme?” I breathe.

He nods, depositing the flowers on the counter. I see that they’re in a beautiful crystal vase. “God, it’s a relief to put them down. Here’s your card.”

I take the cream card from him, dumbly looking down. In Mac’s elegant scrawl is written the words,You did it. I’m so proud of you.

I swallow hard and look up at the man, who grins. “Sign this, please.”

I take his tablet and sign it, watching as he puts it in his bag. He nods at the vase. “Word of warning. Be careful with that.”

“Why?”

“It’s a Lalique.”

“Bless you.”

He snorts. “They’re worth thousands.”

I’d just put my hand out to touch the vase, but at his words I withdraw my fingers super quickly. “Oh mygod, and you sell them in the florist shop?”

“Good grief, no. The customer sent that in himself. It’s an antique.” He nods at me. “Night, then.”

I watch him walk away and then turn to the flowers. I reach out and touch the petals of a bloom. It’s a dark red, almost black, and the scent already reaches me, cutting through the odours of petrol and car exhaust with a heady sweetness.

“Someone likes you.”

I turn to see Andy at the counter. I’ve actually drawn him away fromHot Girl. I should note this moment down, but I’m too involved in stroking the flower. I’ve never been given flowers before and could never have predicted the startled pleasure I feel.

I realise he’s waiting for a reply. “It’s just to say congratulations.”

We look up as the door opens, and a man in a waiter’s uniform enters. He’s carrying a large canvas satchel with a logo on it. “Wes Archer?”

“Yes,” I say warily.

He brightens. “Excellent. I have a delivery for you.”

“Have you?”

He hesitates for a second and then rallies. “Yes. Here we are.” He opens the bag and takes out items, setting them neatly on the counter. I blink as a china plate, a roll of cutlery in a heavy-looking linen napkin, and crystal salt and pepper pots appear. Andy is now leaning so far over that I can feel his breath on me.

The man unloads a bottle of water with a label sayingFillicoand a cut glass tumbler filled with ice and slices of lemon. “Water because you’re working,” he says. I nod, unable to speak, and he returns to his bag. He pulls out a small cardboard box with the design of a tree printed on it. “Chef’s Tres Leches cake for dessert,” he says. I nod and watch as he pulls out a big container and opens the lid. The heavenly scent of cheese billows out, and my stomach rumbles as if I’ve never been fed before.

“Oh my god,” I say as he sets the container neatly before me. “It’s atoastie.”

He clears his throat. “Not just any toastie. A cheese and baked bean toastie.”