I showed up at the writing table and couldn’t decide if Charlie had put product in his hair—or if it was just wet. If he was wearing aftershave—or if that was just his deodorant. If he was glancing my way more than usual—or just the regular amount. One thing was for sure: There was a bouquet of peonies on the table. “Nice flowers,” I said, sitting down. Charlie looked over, like he hadn’t noticed them. “Yeah.” “Were they there yesterday?” “Don’t think so.” “Any idea how they got there?” Charlie nodded. “We were out of coffee this morning, so I had to hit the store.” “Peonies are my favorite
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