13 I want you but I don't

"Return them to the sender."

The tall, red-haired delivery guy standing outside my door stared blankly at me with obsidian eyes. It was noon the next day, and I was extremely peevish and moody.

The delivery guy compressed his lips and held up his hand to halt the other two guys who were dutifully unloading rolls of fabric from a white truck with the logo, 'Reel O' Roll', on the side.

The materials were lovely, a variation of bright rainbow colors. My palms itched with the need to peel away the plastic and run my hands over the bright yellow roll the man before me held upright. I loved them. Ideas were already bouncing around in my head of the pieces I could create from them. But I knew without a doubt who sent them, so I wouldn’t accept them.

"Ma'am, I would—" the delivery guy began, trying patience.

"I said return them," I snapped. "I didn't order them. I don't know who sent them and I don't want them."

Pressing his lips tighter together—possibly swallowing a curse—he gave a curt sp