SHE GETS THE FLOWERS (RANSOM DRYSDALE & STEVE ROGERS)

4. JUST WALK AWAY

Despite what Ransom had said, you were fully capable of getting a job on your own. And you did. You'd begun applying for jobs outside of Boston the second you got home from that horrific confrontation. And, within a month of you confronting Ransom, you'd already received several offers all over the country. Admittedly, you weren't a big fan of leaving the East Coast. Sure, LA had been your dream once upon a time, but you knew now that your heart laid on your side of the country. So, instead of picking a job that would've required you to thousands of miles from your childhood home, you picked one a little closer. Far from Boston, far from Ransom, but still close. You accepted an offer at a firm in New York City, put in your two week's notice at Blood Like Wine, and made your preparations to move.

You'd thought it would be more difficult to move than it was. And it was difficult, but in ways that you expected. You knew it would be hard to pack up your life, to wrangle your way out of leases, to find a new apartment, to eventually settle in a new city and a job workplace. You knew that would happen. But, it was easier than you'd thought it would be to just say goodbye to your life in Boston. You didn't have as many ties to the city as you once thought you'd had. A year ago, you would've struggled to say goodbye. But a year ago you had friends who cared and you...you had Ransom. But now? Your friends were looking to drop you soon, and you knew now that Ransom was not yours.

So, yeah, the move was easier than you thought.

Settling in was pretty easy, too. Honestly, your new apartment felt more like a home than your old one ever did. Maybe it was because it hadn't been tainted by...his presence. Perhaps he was right when he said he had a part to play in getting your last apartment. You remembered touring apartments with him, him cleverly dropping his own name every chance he got in an attempt to let the landlords know that, if they didn't give you the apartment you wanted, they'd have him to deal with. But this apartment? It was yours. And you got it all on your own. Everything you had in New York was your own. You'd scrubbed Ransom out of your life, for good.

You didn't think much of him, anymore, if you were being honest. While his words hurt, cut deep, you finally were able to put to rest all of the "what ifs" that had been plaguing you for so many years. Ransom didn't care for you. He never did. And he never would. You were not his, and you would never be his again. Once upon a time, he had a chance to make you his forevermore. But that moment had long since passed. And he would never really know what he missed out on, because he didn't know a good thing if it was staring him right in the face.

Life in New York was better. You'd made friends at work—real friends. Not the kind that got annoyed at you for talking to you. The kind that listened, that laughed with you, that went out of their way to include you. The kind that made sure you knew that they appreciated you. And it was because of them that you perhaps met the greatest person in your world.

After a late night at the office, they all were heading down to a nearby bar, and they had invited you to come along. Having nothing better to do, and enjoying their company, you found yourself going along with them. The bar was decently busy—not too crowded as it wasn't so late into the night, but not devoid of people as people started coming in as they got off work. When you all got there, you were tasked with getting a table while a couple of your co-workers went and got drinks for everyone and your other co-worker ran to the bathroom.

So, there you were, alone at a table while you waited for your friends to return. And that's when everything changed.

"What's a girl like you doing alone on a Friday night?"

You turned, and felt your eyes go wide as you looked up at the man who was speaking. He was six foot, at least, with shining blonde hair and pretty blue eyes. He wore a gentle smile paired with a plaid button down and jeans. And he was...Holy fuck, he was—