regional conference in Portland, returning Sunday afternoon after two nights away. He’d mentioned it three weeks earlier while checking emails over dinner. “I hate these things,” he’d complained. I had answered, “Then don’t go.” His response had been “Can’t. Henderson wants the whole account team there.” I never even thought to ask where he’d booked a room.
I sat before the bright, cheerful flowers, now painfully aware they had been intended for another woman. Calling Daniel was my first impulse; calling the florist felt safer. A hurried-sounding woman answered, “Willow &
