The bouquet of deep red roses rustled gently in Leonard's grip as he walked down the corridor of Miranda's luxury apartment. The crisp scent of the florist shop still lingered in the wrapping paper, mingling with the subtle citrusy cologne he wore. He was in a good mood—better than good, even. The kind of mood only a man in love, or something dangerously close to it, could feel.
He had left work early, something rare and nearly unheard of, all because Miranda had texted him that morning saying, "Let's do something wild tonight. Just us."
Leonard chuckled at the memory. Miranda was chaos in a bottle, and somehow, in those months, he'd convinced himself that her chaos was the kind he needed.
He stopped in front of her door, shifted the bouquet to one hand, and rang the doorbell.
No response.
He waited. Five seconds. Ten.
He rang again.
Still nothing.
A small frown tugged at the corners of his lips. Odd. Miranda wasn't the kind of woman who left plans hanging.
