Page 8 of Ripple Effect

A little stunned, I scrawl my name on the receipt and pocket the card. “That they do.” But my mind is on Libby, not the flowers. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

Elizabeth

Fifteen Years Ago from Present Day

“You’re the best friend ever, Libby Akin.” Iris throws herself into my arms after reading my card.

I hug her back fiercely. “Love you.”

“Love you more.” She wipes her eyes. “Now, are you going to tell me who you’ve been cooking for all day?”

Standing, I shake my head no. “Do you want me to put your flowers in a vase?”

“Yes. Just tell me this: do I need to change?”

I give Iris a once-over. She’s wearing a backless T-shirt and ripped jeans. Without betraying who’s coming over for dinner, I shrug. “You look hot.” And she does. Iris has black curly hair and dancing hazel eyes. Her beauty is only eclipsed by her natural ability to speak languages, something she picked up from her native-speaking Lakota grandmother and Irish grandfather. To date, she speaks five fluently and is determined to conquer Mandarin.

One of the many reasons I wish Sam would stop looking at the computers that have captured his devotion his whole life and broaden his horizons to see what’s waiting right in front of him is because I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone with as big of a brain as his until I met my roommate. Then I let it go. If they’re meant to be, they’re meant to be. I was only mildly surprised when Sam and Cal came to sit with us at the bar last night. If Sam’s interested, tonight’s dinner will be a dead giveaway.

And just as I reach the kitchen, the doorbell rings. “That must be our surprise guest,” I tease Iris.

“You’re such a brat,” she accuses from her place on the couch.

“You’ve lived with me for four years and you’re just getting that idea?” I glide to the door to open it—and receive the shock of my life. Because it’s not just Sam there holding flowers, which fills me with joy.

Cal’s with him. I swallow my jealousy when I see he’s holding a bouquet of flowers as well. “Come on in, gentlemen. I hope you both like shrimp and grits.” I accept Sam’s kiss on the cheek.

Even as he makes his way over toward a stunned Iris, Sam calls out, “Nonna’s recipe?”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Is there any other way?”

He lets out a whoop that causes a bubble of laughter to escape. But a sigh of pleasure escapes when Sam leans down, brushes his lips across Iris’s cheek, and lays the flowers in her arms. She flushes before her eyes drop. I watch her lips form the words “Thank you” before she crushes the flowers between them, giving him a hug.

Cal steps up behind me. Without turning around, I swallow my ridiculous jealousy and say, “It’s a good thing you brought her more flowers.” Facing him, I force the smile on my lips to reach my eyes. “I have a feeling she doesn’t realize the ones she just got from Sam are getting crushed.”

I step to the side so I can check on the food in the kitchen when Cal’s arm hooks around my waist, reeling me back to stand in front of him. I tip my head back. “If you don’t let me go, dinner’s going to burn,” I tease gently.

He cocks his head to the side before murmuring, “These are for you, Libby. Thank you. Sam invited me to crash dinner tonight.” He lays a bouquet of sunflowers in my arms. The beauty of the bright yellow flowers almost blinds me. It’s completely unexpected.

“For me? But…I don’t understand. It’s not my birthday,” I stammer.

“They reminded me of you. Now”—Cal changes the subject—“what can I do to help?”

I open and close my mouth several times before getting my head together. “Come on into the kitchen while I put these away. I’ll give you the wine to open.”

“Hopefully it’s not that same crap you were drinking last night,” Cal mutters.

“It’s Iris’s birthday. I sprang for a decent bottle,” I reassure him.

“Thank God.”

What can I do but laugh?

* * *

Hours later,we’ve devoured the meal, the wine, and Iris’s birthday cake. Sadly, our oven doesn’t lend itself well to baking or I’d have made that as well. Sam and Iris are talking out on our minuscule porch while I finish clearing the table. “Please let that work,” I whisper.