Hayes hazards a look at me, and his cheeks go so warm they could give Arizona heat a run for its money. “You look beautiful,” he says, a dimple developing at the corner of his lips. There’s a rustling coming from his hands, and that’s when I take in the bouquet of flowers he’s brought me. No guy has ever given me flowers. Wilder certainly never did, not even on our anniversary or Valentine’s Day. “You brought me flowers?” I gasp, taking them from him and inhaling deeply. He went with some classic red roses. They’re stunning, and the gesture releases butterflies to reside in my belly. “You
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