Chapter 9 Flower Allergy

Erika’s POV

Julian rang the doorbell at nine in the morning, holding a bouquet so big it blocked half his face.

I opened the door in my oversized sleep shirt, no bra, my hair in a knot on top of my head, and there he was.

“Good morning,” he said, grinning past the roses.

“Julian. It’s nine a.m.”

“I know. You’re always up by seven. I figured I’d give you two extra hours.” He held out the flowers. White peonies, pale pink roses, lilies spilling over the edges of the paper wrap. “These are for you.”

I took them. They were heavy, and the smell hit me all at once—sweet and green and almost too much.

“They’re beautiful,” I said. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.” He stepped inside without being invited, ducking past me into the foyer, and crouched when Theo came running in from the kitchen.

“Uncle Julian!” Theo crashed into his legs and Julian scooped him up, throwing him over one shoulder. Theo screamed with laughter, his feet kicking.

“I was thinking,” Julian said, setting him down. “You and me. The aquarium. Right now.”

Theo grabbed my leg. “Mama, can I? PLEASE? Uncle Julian said they have SHARKS.”

“Can I talk to you for a second?” I said. “Theo, go put your shoes on.”

Theo sprinted upstairs. I walked Julian into the kitchen and set the flowers on the counter.

“I know what you’re doing,” I said.

“Taking Theo to see sharks?”

“Julian.”

He leaned against the island and crossed his arms.

“I haven’t given up on you, Erika. I know you married him. I was there. I watched it happen, and it doesn’t change anything for me.”

“It should.”

“Well, it doesn’t.”

I looked at him defeatedly, and I knew he meant every word.

He’d proposed four months after we’d met. He’d cried at the engagement dinner. He’d told Victoria I was the love of his life while I was still deciding whether I wanted to sleep with him.

“You don’t want me,” I said quietly. “You and Damien have been competing your whole lives. I’m just the latest scoreboard.”

His jaw tightened. “That’s not what this is.”

“I think you’ll be fine.” I patted his shoulder. “Give it time.”

He looked at me for a long moment, his mouth pressed flat. Then he shook his head and scooped up Theo from the stairs.

“I’ll have him home by three.”

I put the flowers in a vase on the kitchen island and stood back. They really were gorgeous.

Damien came home at five, his dark hair slightly damp at the temples. He’d rolled his sleeves at some point during the day, and I could see the muscles in his forearms shift as he set his briefcase on the counter.

My stomach flip-flopped, but I ignored it.

Theo was on the kitchen floor, lining up toy dinosaurs. Damien kissed his head as he passed, and Theo grabbed his leg.

“I saw a SHARK. A real one. Uncle Julian took me and it swam RIGHT PAST and I wasn’t even scared!”

“Sounds fun, buddy.” Damien straightened up and his eyes landed on the flowers. He walked to the vase, looked at them, then picked up the card.

Because you deserve flowers every day. — J

He set the card down, picked up the vase, and walked it to the trash can.

“What are you doing?” I asked, following him.

“I’m allergic.” He tilted the vase. The peonies slid in first.

“You’re not allergic to those.” I crossed the kitchen in three steps. “Damien, those are flowers. You’re only allergic to walnuts!”

“I’m developing new allergies.” The roses went in next.

“You are NOT developing new allergies.” I grabbed for the vase and he held it over my head because he was half a foot taller than me and apparently twelve years old. “Damien! Those were expensive!”

“Then Julian can waste his money on something else.”

The lilies went in last as I stood there shaking my head. He set the empty vase on the counter, rinsed his hands, and dried them on a towel.

I crossed my arms, fuming. “That was incredibly childish.”

“Noted.”

“They were stunning flowers!”

“Also noted.”

“I’m putting this on the list.”

He turned around. “What list?”

“The list of unreasonable things you do. I keep it in my phone.” I pulled it out. I did keep a list. I held it up so he could see. “Right under ‘refuses to reduce coffee’ and ‘won’t admit he snores.’”

“I don’t snore.”

“You snore like a freight train, Damien. I keep waking up at night!”

He stared at me. I stared back. My face was hot and my arms were still crossed and I was genuinely annoyed and also, horribly, a little bit aware that he was standing very close with his sleeves rolled up and—

I turned back to the stove. “Dinner’s in twenty minutes. Wash your hands.”

“I just washed my hands.”

“Wash them again. You touched the trash.”

He left the kitchen. I gripped the counter and exhaled hard through my nose and added throws away perfectly good flowers like a lunatic to the list.

Julian came back at dinner to drop off the shark toy Theo had left in his car.

I should have met him at the door and sent him home.

Instead I made the mistake of asking if he’d eaten.

So now both brothers sat at my kitchen table, Theo between them in his high chair, and the air was so thick I could have cut it with a knife.

Julian leaned back. “Erika, do you still put hot sauce on everything? You used to carry a bottle in your purse.”

“Did I?” I snorted.

“The little red one, remember? You pulled it out at that Italian place on our third date and the waiter looked so offended.”

I laughed despite everything. “Yeah. I still like hot sauce.”

Damien reached behind him, grabbed a bottle of Cholula off the counter, and set it next to my plate without a word.

I stared at it. The exact brand I used.

I hadn’t asked. I hadn’t even thought about it.

He’d just—done it. Before Julian had even finished talking.

Julian saw it. His smile went stiff.

“She looks a bit tired, doesn’t she, brother?” He leaned back in his chair, staring coldly at Damien, who stared back with his eyes narrowed. “Have you been neglecting her?”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

“Of course,” Julian inclined his head. “Just make sure she never skips her morning cocoa. She likes it with oat milk and one sugar.”

“No sugar.” Damien didn’t blink. “She switched to honey last week.”

My fork froze halfway to my mouth. I looked at Damien. He’d turned back to his plate, his face giving me nothing, but his knee was pressed against mine under the table.

He hadn’t moved it.

I hadn’t moved mine.

Julian pushed his chair back.

“I should go. Thanks for dinner, Erika.”

I walked him out. He kissed my cheek at the door, his hand on my waist a beat too long.

When I came back, Damien was washing dishes. His back was to me, his shirt stretched across his shoulders, his hands in the water.

“Theo had a good time today,” I told him, wringing my hands together. “It’s good that he has another person who cares about him.”

Damien leaned against the counter. “He has a father.”

“I know.”

“Then why does Julian keep acting like one?”

“Because he’s his uncle.”

Damien looked at me. “Exactly,” he said quietly. “Uncle.”

I rolled my eyes. He went back to his dishes.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I said, changing the topic. “With the hot sauce.”

He turned his head just enough that I could see his jaw, the line of his throat, wet forearms. “You like hot sauce.”

“I know, but how did you—”

“I pay attention.”