The Story of Us by Dani Atkins Page A

card:
With deepest sympathy for your loss. Jack Monroe.
    I was still transferring the flowers into the tallest vase I could find, when Richard arrived. ‘Are these yours?’ he asked, kissing me briefly, his attention focused on the display. Just for one moment I considered lying, but decided instead to be honest. With hindsight, I should have followed my first instinct.
    â€˜Yes. They’re beautiful, aren’t they?’
    â€˜Hmm. Yes,’ he replied distractedly, looking around for something, which, you didn’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to work out, was the gift card. ‘Who are they from?’
    I took a deep breath before replying, ‘Jack Monroe.’
    â€˜Who?’
    â€˜Jack Monroe. The American guy, from the other night… the one who pulled me out of the car.’
    The blank look on his face cleared, to be replaced by a small frown of displeasure.
    â€˜Why is he sending you flowers?’
    â€˜I don’t know. As a gesture of condolence? Because it’s a nice thing to do? Who knows?’ Perhaps it was Richard’s look of undisguised irritation that made me add, ‘Actually, I thought they were from
you
.’ He had the grace to look a little embarrassed and uncomfortable, but not enough good sense to know when to drop the subject.
    â€˜So, why did you give him your home address?’
    â€˜I didn’t.’ Richard’s attitude was really beginning to rankle, and was ruining the small lift receiving the flowers had given me after such a terribly sad day.
    â€˜So how did he know where to send them?’
    I stopped sliding the blooms into place and turned to look at him. ‘I have no idea,’ I replied in a tight voice, which really should have warned him against pursuing this any further. ‘He’s a writer, so maybe he’s just good at doing research? Surely you don’t have a problem with this?’
    Richard looked flustered at the challenging note and I could tell he might already be regretting everything he’d said since he had arrived. Unfortunately his next comment wasn’t much better. ‘Still, it’s kind of weird, isn’t it? Him tracking you down like this, and sending this expensive display? It’s all a bit stalker-ish, isn’t it?’
    I carefully laid down the sharp scissors I’d been using to snip the blooms before I answered. It’s never wise to get angry while holding sharp implements. ‘Well, I don’t know, Richard, let me think. First he comes along and rescues me from the accident, then he saves my life when the car explodes, and now he has the nerve to just go and send me flowers. D’you know what, I think you’re right. The guy’s clearly deranged. Perhaps I should get a restraining order?’
    â€˜I was just saying—’ he began, but I was quick to interrupt.
    â€˜Well don’t.’ I picked up the scissors and cut short a stem and the conversation in one decisive snip.
    Six blooms later, I realised I had been unnecessarily short with him. I looked up and saw him watching me carefully, unsure of whether the argument had run its course or was just taking a breather.
    â€˜Sorry,’ I said, breaking the deadlock, ‘I may have overreacted.’
    â€˜You reckon?’
    I felt the tension running away like raindrops down a windowpane.
    â€˜And I might have been a jerk,’ he admitted, holding out his arms.
    â€˜You reckon?’ I replied, slotting against him and feeling some more of the nerve-jangling tension ebb away as his hold around me tightened.
    â€˜I’ve had such an awful day. It was so sad having to cancel everything for the wedding, and visiting Amy’s parents and seeing them so torn up just broke my heart,’ I confided into the soft fabric of his shirtfront. ‘But that’s no excuse to take it out on you. I’m sorry.’
    â€˜That’s what I’m here for,’ he soothed against