This wholesale rejection seemed to have startled her into some semblance of sobriety.
She stared at him, wide-eyed. Then her eyes narrowed.
Because she then spun with surprising grace.
And flung her door open and closed it behind her with something like a slam.
He heaved another sigh.Women.
He strolled along the path back the way he came, hands in his pockets, and took the turn that would lead him back to his own cottage, a healthy distance away from hers.
He stopped abruptly.
Propped in front of one of the cottage doors was a sad orchid in a pot. Its petals were browning. It looked just about ready to give up the ghost.
He stood in front of it for a while, as if it were a shrine.
Britt was just about to turn out her light for the evening when she heard a text chime into her phone.
Her heart leaped and she seized the phone.
It was a picture of a half-dead orchid.
Thinking of you.
Damn him. Damn him. Because she was now both laughing and crying.
She stared at it. Willing it to yield more in the way of information.
She couldn’t quite decide how to reply. Or whether she should at all.
She mulled, staring out at the night, imagining him standing there, feeling alone in that crowd, alone enough to text her.
Finally, she scrolled through her emojis.
And found one of a little blue flower.
And that’s what she texted back.
Hopefully he would see it as an apology. Or an olive branch.
She fell asleep holding her phone as if it were his hand, and a little crack opened up in all her fear and anger, just big enough to allow a little ray of hope to shine in.
Afew hours later she woke with a start when it vibrated with an incoming text.
She stirred sleepily and glanced down eagerly.
It was from her sister.
Britt’s stomach turned to ice when she read it.
I’m here if you need me, Bippy.
With a link.
To TMZ.
REBECASSEE REDUX!