Love. you. guys. SO. MUCH. See you Sunday.

"I told you not to come in today if you're still feeling sick," Esme chides.

"I'm not sick; I'm hungover."

"Late night with Edward?" Esme asks, with a knowing smirk.

"Yes."

I'm regretting having offered to meet her at the wholesale market at five in the morning. But I didn't know Edward would stay over so late. Or that we'd drink so much. Or that we'd spend the remainder of the night making out on my couch.

But we did all of those things.

And I fucking loved every second of it.

The memory of him lying on top of me, between my legs, makes me wanna die. We might've gotten a little too wrapped up in each other after dinner. But he didn't let it go too far. I wanted it to go further. I would've fucked him, I think. I blame the wine. I also blame the way he made me feel. The way he kissed me, almost like he was trying to tell me so many things with his mouth that he couldn't say out loud.

In the end, he somehow had enough strength for the both of us to stop before things escalated. I'd admire him for that if I weren't so sexually frustrated.

Esme hands me coffee and chuckles at my grateful whimper.

"So?" She raises a brow, and we walk inside the warehouse.

"So," I echo, mimicking her brow raise. "I'm fucked," I tell her simply.

"You are fucked or were fucked?" she asks for clarification, and I just laugh.

"Morning, Ruth!" I say, and we wave to the elderly woman sitting just inside the door. She totally heard us. "We didn't have sex," I tell Esme, lowering my voice, just a little. I doubt all the flower farmers around us want to hear about my sex life, or lack thereof.

"Taking it slow isn't bad."

We walk down a few aisles, each probably making a mental note of all the flowers we need to get today.

"I know slow isn't bad," I agree. "But I didn't want to take it slow."

"Oh." She's surprised. "He did?"

"I mean… I guess I didn't outright ask if he wanted to have sex, but anytime I tried to move things along, he'd slow it down." I think about him nipping at my ear, lightly sucking my neck. How I hoped he left a hickey. It's gross, but I wanted it. Once he was gone, I inspected my body and nothing. There was no sign he'd touched me at all—nothing other than the burning of my lips and the ache in my lower belly. "I guess at least I know he doesn't want to just hit it and quit it," I finally say, sipping my coffee.

Esme snorts. "He held your hair while you puked, babe. He wants more than to get laid, I assure you."

Her words make my heart swell. I hope she's right.

"Look who's here," I whisper, nudging Esme in Carl's direction. He farms peonies up north and comes here three times a month. The one week he's not here, his daughter fills in. Coincidentally, that's the week Esme sends me alone.

"Esme, Bella. You're both looking lovely today," he greets, silver hair hidden beneath a worn baseball cap. He's gotta be in his forties, maybe early fifties. And he's just the fucking cutest. He flirts with Esme literally every time she's here, but she denies it to the point where I think she might be oblivious.

"Hey, Carl. Whatcha got for us today?" Esme asks, glancing around.

"Well, lemme tell you. You're in for a treat." He goes over the varieties of peonies he brought today. It's all the usual suspects, but then his eyes light up, and he pulls a peony out of a nearby bucket and holds it out to Esme. Their eyes meet for the briefest of seconds before she kind of laughs and takes the flower from him. "This one's rare."

"Oh?" Esme is intrigued. I just stand here, watching their exchange with hearts in my eyes, the same way Esme stared at Edward and me. "What is it?"

"It's called a Philippe Rivoire," Carl tells her confidently. "I was hoping you'd like them." His eyes drift to me. "Both of you. Of course."

"Of course," I grin, totally not believing him. He brought these with Esme in mind, no doubt.

Carl watches Esme admire the single stem. "It's nearly crimson in color," she assesses quietly. "I love it."

"They smell just like roses, too."

Esme inhales and keeps her face near the flower, glancing up at him. "You're right. It's divine."

Divine?

Dear lord. I cannot handle their blatant flirting. If one of them doesn't ask the other out soon, I might just have to knock their heads together.

"I'm gonna head down to the hydrangeas," I say, giving them a much needed minute alone. "Carl, it's been real. See you next week."

He nods politely. "Will do, Bella."

When Esme finds me again, I just shake my head, not bothering to hide my cheeky smile.

"What?" she asks, giving me a look.

"Why don't you just ask him out, you dummy?"

Esme stalls. "Because."

I make a buzzer sound. "Try again."

She huffs. "If I ask him out, and he says no, I can't come here anymore, and they have really good deals. I love this market; I've been coming here for years. I can't risk losing that."

"Why the hell would he say no? He literally brought some rare-ass peonies for you. For you!" I reiterate. "He sure as shit didn't bring them for me. Or anyone else here for that matter."

Esme looks in his direction again. "He only recently stopped wearing a wedding ring."

"Recently, as in over the last year. Which ain't that recent," I remind her. "And who knows how long he was wearing it after his marriage ended. It took you way too long to take yours off."

"I know, I know. Just… lay off for a little bit? I'll figure it out."

"Fine. But if you don't swoop in soon, I might," I tease. "He's hella cute."

"You already have Edward," Esme snorts. "Don't be greedy."

xx

Around lunchtime, I upload a photo to Instagram of my Starbucks coffee and our loot from the flower market. I choose a subtle filter, add some fun gifs, and wait.

I messaged Masen last night, after Edward left. It wasn't right away or anything, but I was having trouble sleeping, and whatever. I wanted to talk. It's just become a routine of sorts. But he didn't reply. I'd also messaged him earlier in the day on Sunday, before my date with Edward, just to see what he was up to. He didn't reply then, either.

But Instagram told me he "saw" all of my messages. So I started to wonder what the hell was up. I mean, the last time we talked, he admitted to liking me. And if he wants to pull back, that's fine. I get it. At this point, I'm honestly more interested in furthering things along with Edward who's a walking, talking, sexy motherfucking entity in my life.

But I'd be lying if I said I didn't want an explanation from Masen. And maybe I'd like a hint toward who he really fucking is before he gets to just disappear on me. 'Cause that shit ain't cool.

Ten minutes after my photo is posted, Masen takes the bait.

Masenry: Again with the Starbucks?

I smile at my phone.

Swannie: What's your deal, bro?

Masenry: Bro?

Swannie: What would you rather I call you - pal? Homie?

Masenry: … I get the feeling you're upset.

Swannie: Sure. A little. You ghosting me?

Masenry: No. I was just busy.

Swannie: Okay. And if you do wanna ghost me, that's fine. Just tell me first.

Masenry: That defeats the purpose of ghosting. You aren't supposed to know it's happening.

Swannie: So you ARE trying to ghost me.

Masenry: I'm not. I juuuuust. Fuck. I don't know. I think it's confusing. Maybe we should take a step back?

Swannie: A step back from what? Literally nothing has happened between us.

It's not entirely true because he was able to conjure feelings from me that I haven't felt in a long time. So that's not nothing. Not to me. But I'm not going to tell him that. Not when he wants to pull back.

Masenry: You're right. Nothing has happened.

Swannie: Which, I guess, means I shouldn't expect anything from you.

God, I'm way too hungover and cranky to deal with this right now. It was stupid of me to bring this up. But sometimes I get confrontational when I'm hungover, and I'm taking it out on Masen. He deserves it, though.

Swannie: Will you just tell me one thing before you ghost me? Why do you hate Starbucks so much?

Masenry: Lol that's what you wanna know?

Swannie: Well you're sure as shit not gonna tell me who you are. That much is obvious. Soooooo yeah.

Masenry: Bella.

Swannie: Go on. Tell me.

Masenry: I just think there are better tasting local coffee shops you could be supporting. That's all.

Swannie: You know Starbucks originated here. In Seattle.

Masenry: I'm aware.

Swannie: So how is that not considered local?

Masenry: Fine. Drink your burned coffee. Who am I to stop you?

This entire conversation is weird. It's not like Masen to be so… Edward. I mean, he's a little more open now, but it definitely reminds me of the early days of interacting with Edward. That's honest to God the vibe I'm getting right now.

Swannie: K, cool, thanks for your approval.

Masenry: Are you okay?

Swannie: I'm fine.

Masenry: Really, though? I was just teasing you.

Swannie: I've gathered that. I'm just hungry and tired and hungover, and I don't like that it felt like you were avoiding me. We can stop talking, that's fine. Just tell me first.

Masenry: Sorry.

Swannie: That's it?

I stare at my screen, but Masen doesn't respond after that.

Cool, cool, cool. I scared him off.

"Peanut butter crackers for lunch, again?" Angela laughs, walking into the break room.

"My mom bought a pack from Costco, but my brother's school is nut-free. I'll be eating them 'til the day I die."

I also just didn't plan very well. Edward left around midnight, and I had to be up at four. And I'm kinda too lazy to venture out for food right now.

I spend the rest of my break on my phone, trying not to stew over Masen. I keep switching between playing a game and checking my DMs to see if he's responded. But there's nothing, other than the lame-ass sorry he last typed. My annoyance doubles.

The low-blood-sugar side of me wants to tell Masen to fuck off with his mysteriousness. That he doesn't get to ignore me. He doesn't get to show up in my DMs and play vague guy. Nice guy. Flirty guy. Rude, potentially-sexy tattoo guy.

I try to imagine him, and my hungover brain is suddenly picturing… Edward.

My stomach drops at the thought. But… no. That's stupid. That can't be right. Why would Edward talk to me as Masen when we already interact in person?

"Hey, Bellaaaa," Esme singsongs, peeking her head into the room.

"What's up?"

"Someone just sent a shitload of sandwiches and cookies to us from the place down the street."

"That's nice?"

"Know anything about it?" she asks, her smile and tone letting on that I should know something about it.

"Uh… no?"

I follow her out to the front and see a variety of sandwiches, baked goods, and two coffees.

"Where'd this come from?" I ask.

Esme hands me a small white note card along with a suspicious look.

Try this - real coffee might be the trick to feeling better. - Masen

My cheeks burn. "Oh, shit."

"'Oh, shit' is right. You better spill," Esme says, gladly digging into the food.

xx

After I've attempted to explain everything to Esme—how Masen and I initially began talking and started some sort of online relationship of sorts without having met—she's quiet, taking it all in.

"So this is the guy who's had you attached to your phone the last couple of weeks?"

"Yep."

"And you don't know what he looks like," Esme states, eating her second cookie. "Or who he is?"

"Nope."

"I'm not thrilled you told him where you work." Her voice goes stern, motherly. "Bella, that's like Stranger 101."

I roll my eyes, but I do feel a little stupid for having done that. "I just recently told him that, though. And I know where he works, too. I went there, but he wasn't working that day."

"And you haven't been back?"

"No. He asked me not to."

I realize how sketchy this all sounds. But when I'm caught up in all of it, it doesn't feel sketchy. Esme's look of worry deepens. This is why I kept Masen a secret from her. Because I knew she'd react this way.

"He could be using someone else's profile to talk to you," she says.

"No. It's not like he linked me to Masen's page and claimed to be him. We're actually talking from that account. Besides, I don't think he's creepy."

"He hasn't tried to scam you for money or asked for nudes?"

"Jesus, Esme. I'm not that desperate. If he had done either of those things, you think I'd still be talking to him?"

"I'm just worried!" she exclaims. "You don't think you're getting catfished at all?"

I take a bite of a sandwich and cover my mouth when I talk. "Like do I think he's some middle-aged dude living in his parents basement? No."

"Fair enough." Esme laughs, shaking her head. "I'll lay off. I gotta look out for you, though."

"And I appreciate it. But... it's okay."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm starting to get more of a You've Got Mail vibe anyway," she muses with a twinkle in her eyes.

"If only."

After I'm caffeinated and fed, I message Masen.

Swannie: You didn't have to do that. In fact, I kinda wish you hadn't. Now my boss knows about you and she gave me an earful.

Masenry: Gave you an earful about what?

Swannie: Just making sure you're not a creep or trying to scam me.

Masenry: Never. I was gonna ask though, do you mind sending me your bank account info? I wanted to transfer some money to you, as a gift.

Swannie: lol shut the fuck up. So when should I expect you to ghost me again?

Masenry: I couldn't ghost you even if I wanted to, Bella. How was the coffee?

Swannie: Delicious, you fucker. Seriously, though... thanks.

Masenry: No thanks necessary. Hearing you tell me I'm right is thanks enough.

Swannie: I meaaaan. I never said you were right.

Masenry: Welllll, you kinda did.

Swannie: Agree to disagree. Hey, you're not catfishing me, right?

Masenry: No. Too much effort.

Swannie: Oh. Am I not worth the effort?

Masenry: Sounds like you're (cat)fishing for a compliment.

Swannie: Me? Never.

Masenry: Maybe you're catfishing me.

Swannie: Not even possible. Allow me to explain: 1. You've seen me! 2. You were the one to reach out to me first. 3. You're right, it would take way too much effort to pretend to be two different people.

Masenry: You're so fucking cute.

Ugh. I almost hate the flirtatious flicker in my stomach.

Swannie: Wish I could say the same. Yet… I don't know what you look like. You could look like Quasimodo for all I know.

Masenry: I'm starting to think you won't be disappointed.

Swannie: Why?

Masenry: Call it a hunch.

Swannie: As in HUNCHback of Notre Dame?! Be honest: are you only friends with gargoyles?

Masenry: I'm laughing. Out loud.

Swannie: Ugh. Me too.

Masenry: What are you doing to me?

Swannie: Clearly you're being wooed by my wit.

Masenry: Clearly. I'll have you know I'm sufficiently wooed.

Swannie: Then my job here is done.

Masenry: Done, huh? I was hoping you'd just begun.

Swannie: Really? I thought you wanted to take a step back.

Masenry: I do. I don't. I don't know.

Swannie: Well no one's telling you that you gotta have it all figured out.

It says he's typing. Then he stops. Then he starts again. And finally, he replies.

Masenry: Thank fuck for that.