Calliope's ex-boyfriend, her high school sweetheart, crash-landed back into her life like a rom-com sequel she never ordered, ready to rewrite the script of her existence once again.
***
"You...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"What the fuc—hello?" Cindy's sudden proximity to the phone catches me off guard. I could practically feel her rubbing up against me.
Leslie, please, just do me a favor and stay in your office for just five more minutes. If she catches wind of this, not only will I get an earful about the flowers again (and there's more), but she'll add inappropriate chats with Cindy to her list of complaints.
The phone operator goes through her spiel. "How can I help you today?"
"Uh, yeah," I say, looking at Cindy as she nods. "My name is Calliope Bennett, and I've been getting a lot of flowers. I'm talking like four big bouquets a day, and I have no clue who is sending them. Can you help me?"
Molly, I think that's her name, hesitates. "I'm not at liberty to disclose that information, ma'am. However, I can reach out to the seller and see if they'd be willing to grant permission for me to unveil their identity."
Fuck. Shit. Damn. Okay. I'm hitting a roadblock, but I'm all about detours, baby.
I clear my throat dramatically. "Molly, right? My boss is in a mood, and if I don't get to the bottom of this floral frenzy, my ass is on the line. Seriously. I just might start drafting my resignation letter. The funny thing is, I can't even think of who would send them. I'm pretty sure it's a mistake, and I don't want this person losing out on money for flowers that I'm probably going to throw away. All that hard work, right?"
"I'm truly sorry to hear that, Ms. Bennett. To assist you better, I need to ask a few questions."
Once I answer a few personal questions about my location, she puts me on hold.
"So?" Cindy asks, just as curious as I am.
I lay the phone on my shoulder and shrug. "No luck. We're on that stage of the call when she's going to act like she can help, but—yes, I'm here."
Jesus Christ, her timing.
"My manager has allowed me to give you the name and general location until I speak with the buyer," she says. The phone line goes quiet, and I'm left waiting, wondering what the hell is happening as I listen to her furious keyboard tapping. "The order was placed in the Oxford Place Building in downtown Grand Rapids."
My eyebrow arches higher than usual, causing my eye to squint. "Must be a mistake. I work in that building."
Another pause. "The name on the order is from... Dick Dickson."
Hold up. Who names their child that? No way. She's messing with me.
As I compose myself, I ask again, half-wincing at the prospect. "Dick?"
"Yes, ma'am. Dick," she says seriously.
All pretense shatters, and I can barely hold back the laughter threatening to escape. "This is so uncomfortable. I mean, I don't know any Dick's!"
