It’s Natalie.
It isn’t surprising that she has bumped into Natalie this morning; they often cross paths at the small school.
Marissa waits until Natalie reaches the door, then pushes it open for her.
“Thanks!” Natalie closes her pretty polka-dot umbrella as she steps inside. “Were you here to help with the auction class gifts, too? I’m getting the first-graders to paint their handprints on the rocking chair. It’ll be so cute!”
“Oh, fun!” Marissa summons the energy to enthuse, even though she feels a little wilted in Natalie’s presence. Marissa takes in Natalie’s shiny black hair, perfectly made-up face, and impractical but gorgeous high heels. Natalie always looks good; her job selling high-end real estate probably requires it. But who appears so polished to spend a morning painting with a bunch of six-year-olds?
“I just had to drop off something for Bennett.” Marissa runs her fingers through her own hair. She feels dampness and frizz; so much for her blowout.
“I’ve been meaning to check in with you.” Natalie puts a hand on Marissa’s forearm and leans in, her voice lowering to a husky, confidential whisper. “Matthew told me the firm lost the Coleman account. You okay?”
Marissa blinks in surprise: Matthew lost one of his biggest clients?
Maybe it just happened. Perhaps he didn’t mention it to her because he’s barely speaking to her these days.
But why does Natalie know?
Natalie is watching her carefully, Marissa realizes. She forces her lips to curve up into a smile. “Yes, everything is fine,” she lies.
“Oh, good.” But something in Natalie’s eyes confirms a suspicion that has been building in Marissa: Natalie wants her to feel uncomfortable about the history Matthew and Natalie shared.
Don’t give Matthew the opportunity to be alone with her, Avery had warned.
Avery already seems to have Natalie’s number. Maybe the marriage consultant knew of Natalie’s existence even before her name came up during the session. Marissa was more than a little unsettled to learn that Avery was skimming through the details of their lives, but if Matthew is okay with it, how can she object?
Hiring Avery was risky. Marissa wonders, not for the first time, if it was the right move.
“Have a great day,” Marissa tells Natalie, then pushes through the door and hurries to her car. Cold raindrops pelt down on her nose and cheeks, and she’s shivering by the time she reaches her Audi.
She slides into the driver’s seat, then twists around to grab the blanket she always leaves in the car—in case she gets chilly at one of Bennett’s baseball games—and tries to dry herself off. She turns on the engine and watches the windshield wipers arc back and forth, taking an extra moment to gather herself before she backs out of the visitor’s spot.
Perhaps business worries are contributing to the ruptures in her marriage. Matthew rarely discusses problems at work with Marissa. She’d like to put it down to a misguided sense of chivalry: he wants to protect her from any financial blips or unpleasantness. But she is complicit in the arrangement, too. She has always worked, from those early days at her family’s store—named after their surname, Conner—to waitressing to help pay her way through college, to running her boutique. Still, her earnings pale in comparison to Matthew’s. Even though she insists on handling some of the bills—Bennett’s private-school tuition and her car, for example—he absorbs the bulk of their expenses.
Marissa glances at her dashboard clock: 9:48 A.M. Rush-hour traffic is over, so she should make it to Coco in twenty minutes. She’d rather not call the florist while she’s on the road, but neither does she want to wait until she reaches her boutique, since she might be interrupted by Polly or a customer. She compromises by driving toward Coco and, as soon as the clock hits ten, pulling into a parking lot of a CVS.
She dials the number for Bloom and listens as it rings once, twice, three times. She’s about to hang up and try again when a woman answers, sounding a little breathless. “Bloom Florist. This is Cathy, may I help you?”
“Cathy, hi, this is Marissa Bishop. I received the most beautiful arrangement of yellow roses from your store last night.”
“I’m so glad to hear that.”
“Yes, but there’s just one little thing. I couldn’t find a card, and naturally I want to thank whoever sent them. I was wondering if you could help me?”
“Of course, can you give me your name again?”
Marissa spells it out.
“Hang on just a second.…”
Marissa can hear the clicking of computer keys. She watches a mother enter the drugstore holding a wailing toddler in one arm and an umbrella in her free hand.
“Oh, hmm, this is interesting. The order came in online. I actually don’t have the sender’s name.”
Marissa’s stomach twists. “Wouldn’t he have provided a credit card? Or she, of course?”
“Well, you see, they used a Venmo account. It was paid by @Pier1234.”
Could Pier be a name, or does it refer to the structures by the water? Marissa finds a pen in her console and scribbles the handle down on the back of an old gas receipt that’s floating in her purse.
“Wouldn’t the person’s name be on the Venmo account, though?”
“Not if they don’t want it to be,” Cathy replies. “Looks like you’ve got a secret admirer!”
Marissa closes her eyes briefly. “Thanks so much. They really are beautiful.” She glances at the arrangement next to her on the passenger’s-side floor, the water drained from the vase and the flowers’ stems wrapped in a damp paper towel. Their aroma is filling her car, just as it filled the kitchen this morning.
She steps out of her car and enters CVS, quickly finding the correct aisle and picking up an early-pregnancy test, then she uses the self-checkout register before hurrying back to her car.
Not until she is walking into Coco, flowers in hand, does she realize she forgot to ask her other question: If Bloom closed at 6:00 P.M., why did the flowers arrive so much later? Calling Cathy back seems a bit nutty. Besides, it’s possible the delivery service runs much later than the store itself.
“Good morning,” Marissa calls out to Polly, who is stacking a pile of patterned cocktail napkins on a little table by the register.
“Morning!” Today Marissa’s young assistant is wearing an emerald-colored dress accessorized with a woven leather belt. Marissa once told Polly green suited her perfectly, and ever since then, Marissa has noticed Polly’s wardrobe slowly expanding with items in those shades. Marissa feels a tinge of guilt for the way she reacted to the window display; Polly’s intentions are good, and besides, isn’t imitation supposed to be a form of flattery?
“Ooh, those flowers are so pretty!”
Marissa smiles. “They’re for you. Sorry I was snippy yesterday.”
“Oh my gosh, are you serious? You didn’t need to do that.”
“I insist.” Marissa hands Polly the arrangement. “Take them home after work. But they may be a little thirsty now.”
Polly hurries off to fill the vase with water as Marissa pulls out her phone.
She stares down at the last unanswered text she sent Matthew, inviting him to bed. She’d placed the roses on the kitchen counter right before she’d gone to take her bath, but this morning, the arrangement was centered on the desk of the little office she used upstairs. Matthew must’ve moved them.