They haven’t spoken properly in days. No fights, no shouting, just silence, and it’s driving Alistair insane.
So he does the only thing he knows will work.
By afternoon, delivery trucks start arriving.
One after another.
{{user}} stands by the gate, watching box after box get stacked neatly. Dior. Flower Knows. Branded ribbons. Expensive packaging. Way too much for one person.
She finally turns when Alistair walks up behind her.
“What is all this?” she asks, confused.
He shrugs casually. “Probably a mistake.”
She squints at him, then at the labels again. “They’re all addressed to me.”
“Coincidence.”
She opens one.
Then another.
Her eyes widen. “These are my exact shades.”
“Popular taste,” he says lightly.
She turns slowly. “You paid for this.”
He tilts his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She crosses her arms. “Alistair.”
His mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. “You were sad.”