“Well, I want to throw a welcome party for Emily. She loves the ocean, and this beachfront mansion of yours is perfect. Let me borrow it for a day, yeah?”
He said it with such entitlement, even nudging my elbow.
“We’re buddies, right? You wouldn’t refuse to help me pursue my goddess, would you?”
Buddy. Always that word.
Ryan never missed a chance to remind me, warning me not to have feelings I shouldn’t.
But he was overthinking.
I was leaving soon anyway.
“Fine. Do whatever you want.”
Too tired to argue, I turned and went upstairs.
Behind me, I caught the flicker of surprise in Ryan’s eyes.
The next morning, I awoke to find the house overflowing with flowers, as though I’d stepped into a fantasy world.
Ryan said he was planning to confess to Emily that day, so he had decorated carefully.
But I couldn’t help recalling a saying:
Love begins with a single bouquet of flowers.
I once hinted to Ryan that I wanted that kind of gesture—flowers.
But he scoffed,
“Sophia, how old are you? We’ve slept together countless times. What do you need flowers for? Isn’t that childish?”
Now, with the overwhelming fragrance filling my nose, I finally understood.
It wasn’t that he lacked a sense of romance.