𝓒𝓵𝓪𝓻𝓪

Maverick texted me that morning, as per usual, but today was different. He didn't mention Owen. He didn't ask how I was or even say Good morning.

It was Valentine's Day.

Maverick's message lingered on my screen, the words almost pulsating with the same nervous energy I felt coursing through me.

Valentine's Day, a day of love and confessions, and here was Maverick, stepping out of his routine with a question that seemed to hold more weight than the phone in my hand.

Two hours passed, two hours of me overthinking every possible outcome, every reason behind his invitation. But in the end, my response was simple. Yes.

As the day progressed, the sky shifted from a soft morning blue to the warm hues of the afternoon.

I found myself in a state of restless anticipation, my thoughts a whirlwind of what - ifs and maybes.

The hours ticked by, each second stretching longer than the last until finally, the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky with strokes of pink and orange.

A knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts.

Maverick stood there with the casual ease I was accustomed to. There was an underlying confidence in his stance, and the way he looked at me made me feel strangely at ease.

He smiled, the dimples appearing into place at the side of his mouth. In his hands was a small bouquet of flowers, pink and ruby roses.

The sight of it, the symbol of affection and intent, sent a flutter through my heart. The gesture brought tears to my eyes.

I took them and wiped at my face. "I- thank you."

Maverick's face softened. "Ready?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

All I could do was nod.