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it
myself—obviously didn’t run more than skin deep.
    “Yes. Well, if they knew me at all, they’d
know I hate this kind of attention. I don’t want it.”
    “Why not?”
    “It embarrasses me.”
    “Why?”
    I gritted my teeth, trying not to lose my
patience. He only wanted to help. “This is my workplace. I don’t
like people talking about me behind my back.” I used to be
painfully shy as a child, something I’d worked hard to conquer.
    “Maybe they’re not trying to embarrass you.
Maybe these gestures are as much for themselves as they are for
you.”
    “Then why the secrecy?” I demanded.
    Carl shrugged, the smile tugging up his mouth
again. “Maybe they are afraid of your rejection. Maybe that would
hurt them more than they could endure.”
    “You are so damn romantic,” I mumbled, but
his words warmed me.
    “I am French,” he said lightly, like that
explained it all. Maybe it did. “Do you want me to look into this
and put a stop to it?”
    I thought about that, but it would only draw
more attention to the whole thing. “No, it’s fine. I’ll handle
it.”
    “Handle it how?”
    “I’ll figure something out.”
    Ashley stopped by later, scanning my desk
with a little frown. Maybe the news of the flowers had taken a
while to reach his office at the other end of the building, and
he’d come to gawk.
    “My sister’s picking me up to drop my car at
the garage this afternoon,” he said by way of hello. “So no need to
cart me around again tonight.”
    “I don’t mind carting you around,” I told
him, feeling a little disappointed.
    Ashley flashed his dimples. “Good,” he said,
but his heart didn’t seem to be in it. “I’d better get back to
it.”
    I waited until nearly everyone had
left—everyone who’d have cause to walk by my desk anyway—then
entered Carl’s office, took the card from the flowers, and went
back to my desk. Just Greg . Nothing else. It had to be a
joke. There was no other logical explanation. It was ludicrous to
think I actually had a secret admirer. I could just imagine David’s
snort of amusement at the notion. He’d always said romance was for
chicks.
    I turned the card over and wrote on the back.
Pushing away the little pang of regret, I leaned the thick paper
against my penholder and gathered my things to leave. The two words
were clear.
    Please stop .
     

     
    A couple days later I woke up to the sound of
the street being cleared by snowplowing trucks. I groaned, because
if they were out in force this early, I’d have at least a foot of
fresh snow waiting for me. Glancing at my alarm clock, I realized I
had another half an hour, so I closed my eyes and soaked up all the
warmth I could under my heavy down comforter.
    A sharp wind whistled outside, and for the
first time in my working career I considered pulling a sickie. A
personal day, I’d say to Carl, and he’d understand, he wouldn’t
begrudge me one. I let the fantasy wander, but beyond the French
toast I’d make myself, the hazelnut roast coffee I’d brew, and the
latest John Grisham I’d devour, I only saw guilt without the
pleasure. I wouldn’t be able to take my mind off the work I’d be
leaving for other people. I’d especially inconvenience Carl, and
make his life needlessly harder than it already was.
    God, I really had been crushing on the man,
hadn’t I? With his warm, catlike eyes and his silky hair. His nice
hands and his manicured fingernails. His impeccably tailored
suits.
    No wait. The suits… That was Ashley. Oh, man . I groaned into my pillow, and before I could think
about it anymore, I dragged myself out of bed, stumbling into
thermal underpants and my warm waterproofs to go deal with the snow
outside.
    And snowed it had. Mounds of it were piled
high along the street. My neighbor had made the mistake of leaving
his car outside overnight, and beyond the shape of it, it was
unrecognizable. More astounding than the pristine glitter of our
lawns was this: not a speck of