The Mistletoe Promise Read Free Page B

themselves like barnacles to the hulls of our lives. And, like barnacles, they have a disproportionately large amount of drag.
    Elise Dutton’s Diary

Zoey screamed. Cathy, our company bookkeeper, and I rushed out of our offices to see a florist deliveryman standing in the middle of the office holding a massive bouquet of yellow roses. It was one of the largest bouquets I’d ever seen, the kind people were more likely to send to the dead than the living. Of course the man was drooling over Zoey.
    “They’re gorgeous,” Cathy said. “Who are they from?”
    “I don’t know,” Zoey said. “Probably Paul. Or Quentin. Could even be Brody. So many men, so many possibilities.”
    I rolled my eyes at her theatrics.
    “Where would you like them?” the man asked.
    “Oh, just set them there,” Zoey said, motioning to her desk. “It practically takes up my whole desk.”
    “And if I could have you sign right here.” He handed Zoey an electronic clipboard. Her expression abruptly changed. “They’re not for me.” She looked up at me. “They’re for you.”
    “Elise?” Cathy said, not masking her surprise.
    Just then Mark, our boss, walked into the room.
    “Those are pretty . . . massive,” he said, looking at Zoey. “Who now?”
    “They’re not for me,” Zoey said. “They’re for Elise.”
    He looked at me. “Someone’s got a fever for you.”
    I walked over to my flowers. There was a small, unsealed envelope attached to the vase. I extracted the card.
    Dear Elise,
    Happy Day 1. I hope the flowers brighten your day.
    —Nick
    “Who are they from?” Cathy asked.
    I looked back up at them. “What?”
    “Who gave them to you?”
    “Just . . . a guy.”
    “What guy?” Zoey asked.
    “My boyfriend .” The word came out awkwardly.
    They both looked at me with expressions of bewilderment.
    “You have a boyfriend?” Zoey asked.
    “It’s new,” I said. I lifted the heavy vase and carried it to my office. Thank you, thank you, thank you, I thought. I couldn’t wait to thank Nicholas.

    Flowers are complicated. The last time I had received flowers from a man was a nightmare. I was in the hospital and I’d just come out of intensive care after almost dying from a burst appendix, but the pain I remember most wasn’t causedby the operation. It was caused by my husband. But I’ll share more of that later.
    I debated over whether or not I should take the flowers home, but finally decided to leave them at the office. I told myself that they were so big I doubted I could get them into my apartment without damaging them. But really I think I left them in the office in defiance of my co-workers’ incredulity. Driving home, all I could think about was that it had been the best day I’d had in a long time.

    The next morning at work I was making copies of a travel itinerary for a group of high school students from Boise, Idaho, when I heard Zoey greet someone.
    “I have a delivery for Elise Dutton,” a man said.
    I walked out of my office. “That would be me.”
    “Here you go,” the man said, handing me a box.
    “What is it?” Zoey asked.
    “I don’t know,” I said. “It’s wrapped.” I opened the box and smiled. “Oh. Chocolate cordials.” I wondered how he knew that I loved them. There was a card.
    Happy Day 2, Elise. So far so good?
    —Nick
    “What are cordials?” Zoey asked.
    “Chocolate-covered cherries,” I said.
    “Why don’t they just call them chocolate-covered cherries?”
    “Because they’re cordials,” I replied. I took one out and popped it into my mouth. It was delicious. “Want one?”
    “Sure.” She looked a little injured as she walked over to me. “Tell me more about this guy.”
    Even though it was the first time she’d ever asked me about my personal life, I didn’t want to share. “He’s really just more of a friend,” I said.
    “Guys don’t send chocolates and massive flower bouquets just to be friends. There’s always an agenda. What’s the