It took the entire week, but when the rehearsal for Mom’s show ended that weekend, Tim approached me where I sat at the piano, putting away the sheet music. He was sweaty and gorgeous and smiling. My heart skipped a beat.
“You can stop sending me flowers now,” he said.
Okay, so I’d resorted to sending white roses to his place every day since Monday.
“Only if you forgive me for being a horny idiot.”
“Forgiven,” he replied, “and you’re not an i***t, though I’m sure you’re horny. I am, too, but I can’t trust…it’s way too soon to even…and—”
I took pity on him. “I get it, Tim. It’s okay. I can come on a little strong and put the cart before the horse, as my mother has said to me in the past.”
“Actually, I just tell him he’s a f*****g asshole and to get his s**t together,” Mom interrupted.
