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“Yeah, but you never know how many hot peppers there might be at Ganny’s tonight. You gotta watch out.”
“You ass.”
He guffaws. “Love ya! Byeeeee.” And then he hangs up.
I smile at the phone. It’s so good to hear both my best friend and my brother happy. It’s the kind of happiness I’ve never experienced. I never will experience.
The last guy who I dated was an unmitigated disaster. He was into me until he found out I’m probably not able to have kids thanks to my Premature Ovarian Insufficiency.
I grab my handbag off my living room sofa, fetch the tiramisu that is my contribution, and then I’m on my way out of the door, and onto the fire exit I use instead of the stairs that lead down into the bakery. My white tennis shoe comes down on something soft, and I yelp and step back, my heart pounding.
A crushed white rose lies on the grating.
It’s the second one this week, but this time, it doesn’t have a card attached.
I lift the rose by the bottom of its stem, grimacing, and march down the grated steps. I toss the flower into the dumpster and wipe off my hands on my jeans, then snap a picture of said flower and send it to Franklin.
STOP SENDING ME FLOWERS.
Franklin
I’ll keep sending them until you let me sweep you off your feet.
Not interested. What don’t you get?
Consider them an apology. I’m going to send you bouquets every day.
Blocked.
Franklin is a guy I met on a dating site. I never met him in person because he gave off too many red flags. He insulted me, tried to convince me that I was crazy when I got offended, and then found my number and has been texting me ever since.
Cash wants to rip his throat out. The police can’t do anything about it—apparently, sending flowers and texting is not enough grounds for a restraining order. And Dad is convinced that I should just move into Ganny’s house and stay with them.
I block Franklin’s number, even though I’m pretty sure he’ll message me from another one by tomorrow. Blocking one is like lopping the head off a snake that keeps growing heads.
I grab my pepper spray out of my purse and head out of the alleyway and over to my car, nerves building. Nerves that have nothing to do with my weird pseudo-flower-stalker and everything to do with telling my family about my plans to skip town.
I take the drive at a furious pace, because I love driving and it makes me feel adventurous and free, and screech to a halt in front of Ganny’s house.
Savage’s Harley is parked out front, shimmering in the afternoon sun, and my heart pounds in my throat.
Forget about it. Just forget about it.
I’ve had a crush on Savage since he’d first rolled into town, and I’d embarrassed myself so many times in front of him. I should’ve been immune at this point, but the pepper-choking had taken the cake for most humiliating moment in front of Savage of all time.
The second good reason for taking an extended “vacation”? I’ll hopefully get over my Savage crush and move on with my life.
I enter the house and am greeted by the burst of sound I associate with my family. Fireball the Chihuahua chases Alex around the house. She’s in her teens, but she still loves playing with the dog and does so every Sunday.
“Hey, Aunt Hannah,” she says, stopping for a quick hug.
“Hey, Alex. Nice shoes.” She’s wearing glitter-spangled black tennis shoes painted with unicorns.
“Thanks!” And then she’s gone, racing off with purple ribbons fluttering in her hair.
I enter the living room and stop dead, grasping the tiramisu in both hands.
Savage is alone in here, staring out the front window, frowning. He’s always frowning. Why? Why is he always?—?
