Page 21 of Romero and Juliette

I make my way to the concierge desk and ask if there is any way I can get some emergency flowers. The woman laughs, but makes a call.

“You’re in luck,” she says. “We had a wedding that was supposed to happen here last night, but the groom’s parents lost their house in the storm, so they’ve postponed the ceremony.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound very lucky,” I say.

“No. They’ve had terrible luck, poor kids. But the flowers for the wedding were already delivered and are sitting in a fridge. I don’t think they’ll miss one of the table centerpieces. They’re just long-stem red roses.”

About this time, a guy comes around the corner carrying a couple of vases. “I didn’t know if you wanted options,” he tells the concierge.

“Perfect. Thanks,” she tells the guy. Then she looks at me. “Pick your poison, darlin.”

I take the roses out of both vases and retie the bow so they make one bouquet. “This will work perfectly.” I pull a couple of bills out of my wallet and pass them to her. “Thank you.”

She smiles. “Good luck.”

“Yeah, I might need it.” Then I make my way back to the restaurant. Juliette is still sitting at the table, but her smile isn’t as bright. She probably thinks she’s being stood up.

My legs eat up the distance to her table and then I slide into the booth across from her.

Her eyes widen, then she frowns.

“FleetwdLvr05?” I ask.

Her lips part.

I set the roses down on the table and hold my hand out to her. “I’m Mustang_Ranger.”

chapter

nine

Juliette

The low murmur of the restaurant feels distant, like I’m underwater. Forks clink against plates, laughter drifts from the bar, and yet all I can hear is the pounding of my pulse in my ears.

I stare at him, his words not quite registering in my brain. “I don’t understand,” I manage, shaking my head. “Is this some kind of a joke?”

He leans back against his side of the booth, the soft light catching the gold in his eyes. “No,” he says quietly. “Not a joke. I only just figured it out myself.”

The air between us tightens. I can’t seem to stop staring—his dark beard, the sharp angles of his jaw, the faint sprinkle of gray at his temples. His eyes—golden brown, thoughtful, infuriatingly calm—pin me in place. The collar of his T-shirt dips low enough to reveal a triangle of chest hair, and I hate that I notice it right now of all times.

He clears his throat. “You are FleetwdLvr05, right?”

The name hits me like a spark to dry tinder.

I nod slowly. “The app just matched us? And we’ve been talking this whole time… not knowing we already knew each other?”

“Yep.” The word lands with a heavy pop of his lips.

My face burns. “How did you figure it out?”

“Mostly your playlist in the car,” he says.

“Damn Stevie Nicks,” I mumble. “Her music really does connect souls, huh?”

He gives a small, crooked smile. “Are you disappointed?”

I blink at him. “No. Not at all. I mean—come on, you have to have noticed how much of a crush I have on you. I haven’t exactly been covert.”