It had been three weeks since you left. Three weeks since your yelling match with him. Twenty-one days that you had not seen him. Twenty-one days that you had not talked to him. You had been staying with a friend since he told you he needed time and space. Your last words to him were, “Take all the time and space you fucking need.”
You were brought out of your thoughts when you heard your name called out by Dave. You looked up from the computer on your desk. The messenger sat a vase of beautiful flowers on your desk. “Somebody sent these for you,” he smiled. It was a lovely mix of yellow roses, white daisies and green leafy plants. You could hear people around ask who they were from. You knew they were from him. He knew that yellow roses were your favorite not red or pink.
You found the card and plucked it from the bouquet. In his crooked left-handed writing were two simple words: I'm Sorry. You snapped a picture of the flowers and typed out your two simple words: Thank you. You sent it to him then turned your phone off. You were not ready to talk to him yet.
You were still mad at the hurtful words he let fly freely that night. Never in a million years would you expect to hear them fall from his lips. “You're so fucking annoying. Your shit all over like you fucking own the place. I turn and your always there. Your so damn clingy. I need some damn time and space to myself.”
You manage to make it inside the apartment with the large bouquet of flowers. Your friend asked who they were from. You rolled your eyes at her as you sat them on the kitchen bar. “A secret admirer,” you huffed as you turned to face her.
“Well he must really admire you. Found this when I got home.” She gestured to a box over her shoulder on the other end of the bar. You looked at the gift basket of junk food. It was loaded with chips, dips, snacks, sweets and chocolates. “He's trying. Have you talked to him?”
You told her you sent him a text thanking him for the flowers but turned your phone off. You found a note stuck to a pack of AirHeads. “I can be a real airhead sometimes. I'm sorry.” Once again wrote in his crooked handwriting. You couldn't help the laugh that escaped your lips. You turn your phone on to text him another thank you but you saw three messages from him. First one was a simple: You're welcome. The second: Can we talk? The last: Ok whenever you're ready I'm here.” You just stood there and read the messages twice more. She asked what was wrong. You showed her the messages. “You need to talk to him,” she raised an eyebrow at you.
“Don't know if I can,” you replied just as there was a knock at the door.
She went to see who was at the door. She smirked back to you, “Think it's for you.” You stood there wondering what he had sent this time. She opened the door with a huge smile on her face. You bit your tongue when you saw him leaned against the door frame with a hand shoved in his pocket.
You noticed his hair was a mess, and his stubble had thickened since you last saw him. Then his navy blue shirt with the top two buttons undone showing off the chest hair. The way his jeans hugged his thighs just right that caused an obvious bulge. You groaned when you pulled your eyes off him. Had you mentioned it had been three weeks since you left?
“Come in Niall,” your traitor of a friend stepped back to let him in. She never even glanced over to see if it was ok.
“Thanks,” was his simple reply. That one word sent a chill down your spine. His voice, his accent still worked magic on your body and you hated that. “So you got the basket,” he nodded at it over your shoulder.
“Yeah,” you nod, “Was about to text you to say thanks.” Your voice almost cracked and you could feel a tightness in your chest. Your friend suddenly excused herself as she grabbed a bag of chips from the basket. She disappeared to her bedroom to give you some privacy.
