The peonies appeared again the next morning.

I woke to pale light through the hospital blinds and there they were on the windowsill. Fresh ones. White petals edged in the softest pink, like something blushing.

I stared at them. My parents' funeral had been drowning in peonies. I'd hated them for ten years.

I should've called the nurse. Had them removed.

I didn't move.

'You know,' a voice said through the wall, 'most people say thank you when someone sends flowers.'

I turned my head toward the sound. The voice was male. Warm. Amused.

'Most people,' I said to the wall, 'include a card.'

A laugh. Low and easy. 'Fair point.'

Silence settled. I waited.

'Gabriel Medina,' the voice said. 'Next door. Fractured leg. Very dramatic racing accident. I'd tell you the whole story but it makes me sound reckless.'

'Astrid Hayes,' I said. 'Also leg. Less dramatic. More surgical.'

'I know.'

I blinked. 'You know?'

'I asked the nurse. She said you were recovering alone. That seemed wrong.'

I didn't know what to say to that. So I said nothing.

'Do you play chess?' he asked.

I looked at the ceiling. 'Yes.'

'Good. I'll see you in an hour.'

Footsteps. A door closing. Then quiet.

I looked back at the peonies. They sat there, unbothered, taking up space.

Gabriel Medina appeared in my doorway exactly one hour later. He was tall, dark-haired, leaning on a single crutch with the kind of ease that suggested he didn't actually need it. He wore gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt. He smiled like we were old friends.

'You're staring,' he said.

'You don't look like someone recovering from a fractured leg.'

'You don't look like someone who just had major surgery.' He tilted his head. 'But here we are.'

He had a chessboard under his arm. Travel-sized. Magnetic pieces.

I sat up slowly, adjusting the pillow behind me. 'You brought your own board.'

'Hospital doesn't have one. I checked.' He pulled the chair closer and set the board on the rolling table between us. 'White or black?'

'Black.'

'Smart.' He turned the board and started setting up the pieces. His hands moved quickly. Confident. 'I always take white. I like moving first.'

'I like making people commit before I respond.'

He looked up at me then. Really looked. His eyes were dark, sharp, like he was reading something I hadn't written yet.

'Yeah,' he said quietly. 'I bet you do.'

We played.

Gabriel opened with a standard king's pawn. I mirrored him. He developed his knight. I castled early. He didn't rush. Every move was deliberate, like he was building something I couldn't see yet.

By the tenth move, I realized he'd sacrificed a bishop for positioning. By the fifteenth, I understood he'd been planning it from the start.

'You play like someone who thinks twenty moves ahead,' I said.

'I play like someone who's willing to lose something now to win later.' He moved his rook. 'Your turn.'

I studied the board. He'd left an opening. Too obvious. I didn't take it.

'You don't trust easy wins,' he observed.

'Easy wins are usually traps.'

He smiled. 'You'd be good at poker.'

We played for an hour. He won. Barely.

'Rematch tomorrow?' he asked, folding the board.

'Maybe.'

'I'll bring coffee.'

'I don't drink coffee.'

'Tea, then. Ginger. I saw the box on your table.'

I looked at him. At this man who noticed things. Who sent peonies without cards. Who showed up with a chessboard like we'd planned this.

'Why are you doing this?' I asked.

He stood, adjusting the crutch under his arm. 'Because you're recovering alone. And nobody should do that.'

He left before I could respond.

The peonies kept coming.

Every morning. Same time. White and pink. No card.

I watched them. On the second morning, I flinched when the nurse set them down. On the third morning, I didn't.

Gabriel and I played chess every afternoon. In the sunlit common area with wide windows and uncomfortable plastic chairs. He brought ginger tea in a thermos. I brought my stubbornness.

He never mentioned my leg. Never asked about the surgery or the prognosis or whether I was scared. He just played chess and told me terrible jokes and argued about whether rooks were underrated.

'They are,' I said, moving mine into position.

'Bishops are more elegant.'

'Elegance doesn't win games. Strategy does.'

He looked at me across the board. 'You really believe that.'

'I really do.'

He smiled. It wasn't the easy, charming smile he gave the nurses. It was smaller. Private.

'Good,' he said.

On the fourth morning, I woke to peonies on the windowsill. The light caught them just right, turning the white petals gold at the edges.

I reached out. My hand hovered over the vase.

I was going to move them. Push them to the side. Out of the light.

I paused.

Then I set them back. Right where they were.

Through the wall, I heard Gabriel's voice. Quiet. Talking to someone on the phone.

'Yeah,' he was saying. 'I'm staying a little longer. No, the leg's fine. I just… I'm not done here yet.'

I looked at the peonies.

I didn't flinch.

The hospital at night was never quiet. Machines beeped. Wheels squeaked down hallways. Somewhere on another floor, someone coughed.

I stared at the ceiling. Tomorrow was physical therapy. The first real test of whether the surgery had worked. Whether I'd walk out of here or roll.

I didn't want to think about it.

'You awake?' Gabriel's voice came through the wall.

I turned my head toward the sound. 'Yes.'

'Can't sleep either?'

'Pre-PT anxiety,' I said. 'You?'

'I don't sleep much. Never have.' A pause. 'Want to hear my theory about why rooks are actually the most underrated piece?'

I almost smiled. 'You're not letting that go.'

'Never.'

We talked for an hour. He argued that rooks were underestimated because they required patience. I argued that bishops were more versatile. We debated opening gambits and endgame strategy. He told me about a chess tournament he'd watched in Prague. I told him about the time I beat my high school math teacher in twelve moves.

'Twelve?' He sounded impressed.

'He underestimated me. People do that.'

'Not anymore, I bet.'

Silence settled between us. Comfortable. Strange.

'What's Manhattan like in the rain?' I asked. I don't know why. The question just came.

'Depends. Midtown in the rain is miserable. Everyone's angry, umbrellas everywhere, cabs spraying dirty water.' He shifted. I heard the bed creak. 'But Central Park in the rain? Early morning, before the tourists? That's different. Everything's quiet. The trees look darker. The paths are empty. It feels like the city's telling you a secret.'

I closed my eyes. I could see it.

'You go there a lot?' I asked.

'Used to. When I was a kid.' His voice changed slightly. Softer. 'There was this girl I knew. We'd meet at the Bethesda Fountain. Play until someone's mom came looking.'

I waited.

'We had a wedding once,' he said. 'We were six. She wore a flower crown. I wore a clip-on tie. We traded Ring Pops and promised to get married for real someday.'

My chest tightened.

'What happened?' I asked quietly.

'Life. Different schools. Different worlds.' He paused. 'I never forgot her, though.'

I didn't say anything. I didn't know what to say.

'You ever make promises like that?' he asked. 'Kid promises?'

I thought about Erik on the bridge. The way his hand closed around my wrist. The promise I made to myself that night: I owe him everything.

'Yeah,' I said. 'I did.'

'Did you keep it?'

'I tried.' My voice came out rough. 'For seven years, I tried.'

Gabriel didn't ask more. He just let the silence sit.

'Hospital Jell-O,' he said finally, 'is a crime against food.'

I laughed. Actually laughed. It surprised me.

'Agreed,' I said.

We talked until almost three. About nothing. About everything. He asked about my parents' bookshelf. I don't know why I answered. I never talked about my parents. Not to anyone.

But I told him about my mother's collection of old paperbacks. The worn copy of 'A Room with a View' she'd read every summer. The way my father used to leave notes in the margins for her to find.

'They sounded like they loved each other,' Gabriel said.

'They did.'

'I'm sorry you lost them.'

I pressed my palm against the wall. Like I could reach through it.

'Thank you,' I whispered.

The next morning, I survived PT. Barely. But I survived.

Gabriel was waiting in the common area when I got back, chessboard already set up.

'You're walking better,' he said.

I sat down slowly. 'Don't get excited. I almost fell twice.'

'But you didn't.'

I looked at him. At this man who showed up every day. Who sent peonies. Who stayed awake talking to a wall because I couldn't sleep.

'Why are you really here?' I asked.

His hand paused over a pawn. 'What do you mean?'

'Your leg's fine. I can tell. You barely use that crutch.'

He looked at me for a long moment. Then he smiled. Not the easy one. The private one.

'Maybe I just like the company,' he said.

Before I could respond, my phone buzzed.

A notification. Instagram. Someone had tagged me in a post.

I opened it.

Madalyn's face filled the screen. She was laughing, head tilted back, Erik's arm around her waist. They stood in front of the Brooklyn Bridge at sunset. The caption read: 'He saved my life once. Now I get to spend mine with him. #Engaged #LoveWins #SecondChances.'

I scrolled. There were more. Dozens. Madalyn and Erik at a rooftop bar. At a gallery opening. At the restaurant where he'd taken me for our first anniversary.

Every mutual connection we had was liking them. Commenting. Congratulating.

My phone buzzed again. A text from a number I didn't recognize.

'Thought you should see this.'

Another screenshot. Another post.

I set the phone down.

Gabriel was watching me. 'You okay?'

'Fine.'

A knock at the door. A courier in a gray uniform held out a cream envelope. Thick. Expensive.

'Astrid Hayes?'

I took it.

The envelope was heavy. Embossed. Inside was a gilded invitation on cardstock that probably cost more than my hospital bill.

'Erik Bryant and Madalyn Carr request the honor of your presence at their engagement celebration.'

I unfolded the note tucked inside. Handwritten. Madalyn's looping script.

'No hard feelings, right? Hope you can make it—if your legs allow.'

I read it twice.

Set it on the table between me and Gabriel.

Stared at it.

Something cold and sharp settled in my chest. Not anger. Not yet. Something clearer.

'Astrid?' Gabriel's voice was quiet.

I looked up at him. At this man who'd spent weeks playing chess with me. Talking through walls. Sending flowers every morning.

'I need a favor,' I said.

He leaned forward. 'Name it.'

'I need a date to an engagement party.' I picked up the invitation. 'And I need to look like I've never been happier in my life.'

Gabriel's eyes darkened. Not with anger. With something else. Something that looked like recognition.

'When?' he asked.

I checked the card. 'Two weeks.'

He reached across the table. Took my hand. His grip was warm. Steady.

'I'll be there,' he said.

I looked at our hands. At the invitation on the table. At the peonies on the windowsill catching the afternoon light.

'Thank you,' I whispered.

He squeezed once. 'You don't have to thank me, Astrid. Not for this.'