Don't Explain

nineteen

In the days that followed my quiet resolve, I found myself searching for ways to fill the empty spaces in my life. Prince was away, and although I had Snowball to keep me company, I knew I needed something more—a distraction, a way to keep my mind off him and everything that had been swirling around in my head.

That's how I ended up applying for a part-time job as a receptionist at a local wellness center. It was one of those trendy spots where people came for yoga, meditation, and holistic treatments. The kind of place that had an air of calm and peace, exactly what I needed. I didn't need anything too intense or demanding, just something to occupy my time and give me a sense of routine.

When they called me back for an interview, I felt a small sense of relief. It was perfect—low-stress, flexible hours, and close to my apartment. I could spend my mornings there and still have plenty of time for everything else in my life, including my arrangement with Prince, whenever he returned.

The interview went smoothly, and before I knew it, I was slipping into the role with ease. The center was a serene space, filled with the soft scents of essential oils and the sounds of calming music playing in the background. The clientele ranged from stressed-out professionals looking for a moment of peace to older women who swore by their weekly acupuncture sessions. My duties were simple—greet people as they came in, manage appointments, and keep things running smoothly behind the front desk.

I found a quiet satisfaction in the routine of it all. There was something soothing about the rhythm of checking people in, answering phones, and watching them leave with that blissed-out post-yoga glow. It gave me purpose, a reason to get up and go somewhere that wasn't tied to my complicated feelings for Prince.

And in the quieter moments, when I wasn't busy with clients or organizing the appointment schedule, I found myself thinking—reflecting on my decision to keep things with Prince at a distance emotionally. The job gave me the space I needed to think clearly, away from the rush of feelings that had been threatening to overwhelm me before.

Every day, I'd finish my shift and head home to Snowball, feeling a little more grounded than I had before. The job wasn't glamorous, but it was just what I needed—a way to regain some balance, to focus on myself again. I had my part-time gig, my puppy, and my own life. And for now, that was enough.

Just when I thought I was making progress—finding some clarity, some peace in my decision to step back emotionally—Prince had a way of pulling me right back in.

It started with flowers, of course. A massive bouquet that appeared at my door one morning, brightening up my entire apartment with their vibrant colors and intoxicating scent. They were gorgeous, decadent even, but it wasn't the first time he had sent flowers, so I wasn't entirely caught off guard. I smiled, already sensing his presence in the gesture, and brought the flowers inside.

But that wasn't the end of it.

Later that afternoon, another knock at the door—this time, a delivery man standing there with a large, neatly packaged box. I felt a flicker of curiosity, wondering what it could be, but I didn't have to guess for long. The card attached was unmistakable. It was from Prince.

I opened the box, and the first thing I saw was a bottle of champagne. Not just any champagne—my favorite. The label was familiar, and the bottle was carefully wrapped in delicate tissue paper, as if he knew exactly how much I loved this particular brand. A small laugh escaped my lips, half-amused, half-astounded at his attention to detail. He remembered.

But that wasn't all.

Beneath the bottle was another layer, this one revealing a box of chocolate-covered strawberries. They looked perfect, each one dipped and drizzled with precision. The sweetness of the gesture, combined with the literal sweetness of the gift, tugged at my heart.