Fiona's hand slid across the table, fingers brushing the surface before closing around the brochure. She flipped it open, her brows knitting almost instantly.
"Flowers?" Her gaze lifted slowly, suspicion flickering in her eyes. "I don't understand… what is this?"
Manson didn't look the least bit bothered.
"We'll be planting some tomorrow," he said, as if discussing the weather.
A beat.
Then—
"Have you lost your mind?" Fiona snapped, the brochure slipping from her hand and hitting the table with a sharp thud. "If you want to plant flowers, go ahead and do it yourself." Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "What about my messages? You've been ignoring them on purpose. Or was that part of your little game too? How exactly do you plan on getting revenge?"
"Revenge?" Manson echoed, his fingers idly lifting to his chin, as though tasting the word.
