Jana

After he left last night, Jake sent flowers.

Really nice flowers, too—hydrangeas in early December aren’t cheap, and I don’t think orchids are ever cheap. I really wanted something else from him, but he had to go. Something urgent’s come up, the card on the flowers said. Below it was a phone number with a New York area code.

I sent him a thank you text with a picture of the flowers, and he sent one back promising to let me know when he was back in town.

I’d gone to sleep filled with a weird, bittersweet happiness. My spontaneous hook-up had gone from uncomplicated and hot to super-complicated and sweet. But this morning…I don’t know, but something feels different.

My phone chirps at me from the bedside table and I grab for it. I ignore the irrational stab of disappointment when it’s Nina and not Jake.

The next text message is just a cartoon of a cat on its back, laughing. I roll my eyes and climb out of bed. The phone rings as I’m brewing my first cup of coffee.

She’s still laughing. “I’m surprised it took you that long to call me out on it.”

I look at the flowers, tucked carefully in the corner of the counter so the cats won’t knock them over. “I was busy.”

“In a knockin’ boots kind of way?”

“In a none of your business way. What are you going to Belgium for?” I open the pantry door and pull out the cat food. Breakfast for everyone, and they know it. I feed them while Nina tells me about her work trip, then I put on toast and turn the TV on, keeping the volume down.

“So yeah, it’ll be kind of a whirlwind trip, but I get to go through Paris, and that’s fun.”

“Sounds like it. I bet—” I stop mid-sentence, because something caught my eye on the TV. I’m not sure what at first. There’s a newscaster talking about the CEO of Aston Corp, and the photo over her shoulder is the company’s logo. But then it changes as she talks. SwiftEx. Maybe that was it. “Hang on, Nina.” I turn up the volume. “Sorry, there’s something on the news about SwiftEx.”

She giggles. “And just because your crush delivers for them…”

“I’m just staying current on the news, that’s all. Shush.”

Apparently most of the executive team from SwiftEx was fired this morning by the parent company that recently bought them. The newscaster recaps those details, then says, “We’ll go now to the lobby of the Aston Corp building here in New York where founder and CEO, Jake Aston, is holding a press conference.”

“What channel?” Nina asks, but I can’t answer her, because Jake is on TV.

My Jake.

Of the flowers and orgasms and pretending to be a regular Joe at my doorway for the last three weeks.

Jake Aston knows what I look like mostly naked.

Oh my God. Jake Aston knows what I look like when I come.

“I gotta go,” I whisper, then hang up the phone, because there’s no way I can explain this without sounding like a crazy stalker.

I look at the flowers again, then the television screen. I move closer, my hand shaking as I try to find Jake’s text message again.

I hadn’t replied yet, because I was playing it cool and thanking him for the flowers was enough.

But what do I do now? Do I tell him I’ve seen him on TV? Do I…not? Can I keep pretending that I don’t know who he really is?

I sit down on the ottoman in front of the TV. A cat leaps into my lap and I absently scratch Larken behind the ears as I devour Jake-in-a-suit with my eyes.

I like him in his uniform, but this? This is off the charts hot.

And then I feel a crazy pang of guilt. He doesn’t want me to know who he is. He wants to be just Jake, at the door. If he wanted me to know who he was, he’d have found a way to tell me.

The next thought to slam through me is…he doesn’t want me to know for a reason. Anonymous hook-ups followed by a generous bouquet of flowers is probably his modus operandi.

I look down at the phone in my hand. Right. No replying to his text. Maybe he’ll be in touch, maybe he won’t. But he’s not really SwiftEx driver who lives in Baltimore, so does it really matter?