“Who’s Heath?” Keegan asked, approaching you with a bouquet of flowers and a letter.

“My ex boyfriend.” You eyed the flowers.

“Your ex boyfriend.” He repeated.

“Yes.” You raise an eyebrow.

“Why is your ex boyfriend sending you roses and love notes?” Keegan frowned.

“It’s not a love note.”

“It damn well looks like one to me.” He paused. “What does he mean by ‘change your mind’?”

“I told him about our engagement a few months ago. He showed up in New York and implied he’d be open to giving another shot. I declined. He left. The end.”

“Obviously not the end given this lovely bouquet he sent you.” Sarcasm weighed heavily on his tone.

“They’re just flowers. They’re harmless!” You say, frustrated with Keegan.

“Some fucker is sending you flowers and you wanna tell me it’s harmless?” He picked up the letter that came with the flowers. ”Thought of you at midnight, hope you’re doing well. Love, Heath.” He read. “It doesn’t take a genius to know what he was doing while thinking about you at midnight.”