Page 35 of The Mechanics of Broomstick Racing

“Is it? Is it really a choice if you can’t do it, Zephyr?” He leaned on the counter unexpectedly and she stepped back, startled. “Maybe this town is enough for you now, but it won’t always be. And by then, you won’t have a choice. You’ll be stuck here.” His smile was too wide. “You still have a shine to you. You haven’t been out of the limelight long. But that novelty will go away, and you won’t be special anymore. You’ll be washed up. No longer the town’s golden girl.” He reached forward in a flash, grabbing the strap of her messenger bag where it lay across her chest. He yanked the bag forward, unclipping the flap, and sliding a letter inside before Zephyr could stop him. “When you’re nobody again, he won’t stay. Now take care of that for me.”

He released her mailbag, and she hugged it to her chest. When he finally left, Karah returned from the breakroom. Zephyr turned away, wiping frantically at her eyes.

“That’s your ex?” Karah shook her head. “He came in here earlier, bought stationery and stamps. I got his autograph,” she confessed. “I didn’t realize who he was to you, though I’m sure Levina told me a thousand times.”

“It’s fine,” Zephyr said with a strangled laugh. “I knew he was like this. It’s just my first time being on the receiving end of it.”

“Hey, you don’t need to explain it to me. I’m in—I’ve been in love with the wrong guy before. I get it.”

“I never thought he’d follow me here. Or anywhere,” Zephyr said. She fiddled with her mailbag and shook her head. “I still have deliveries to make. I’ll see you at the race tomorrow?”

“Yes, of course,” Karah replied. “Levina’s excited, and anxious, too. But you’ve helped so much with that.”

Zephyr gave her a weak smile in return before she headed out to make her final deliveries.

Chapter 19

Sleep was not going to come, and neither was she.

It was because Zephyr had been spoiled. Neil had spoiled her. When she tried to get the job done herself, her fingers failed her. She kept losing her focus, imagining how much better it would feel if it was Neil between her legs instead. Zephyr laid on her back, glared at her bedroom ceiling, and was about to throw in the towel when her doorbell rang.

She sat up quickly, her heart pounding. Was it Jaxon at her door? Should she pretend she wasn’t home? Should she throw rocks down on her porch? No, she didn’t have any rocks in her bedroom. Just a pile of unfolded laundry.

Her phone vibrated. She peered at the unknown number suspiciously until she read the text.

Levina gave me your number. It’s Neil. I’m outside.

Oh, Levina was definitely going to complain about this next time Zephyr saw her. She could only imagine how awkward Neil had acted while asking his niece for Zephyr’s cell.

Zephyr padded downstairs, ducking under Dale who was flying a loop around the first floor and listening to the 80’s rock he had somehow convinced her to play at full volume. She smoothed her hair before opening the front door and stepping out onto the porch.

Where Neil was prying up one of the boards of her deck.

“Hi,” she said loudly.

“This is rotted.” Neil tossed the board into her overgrown grass. He stood, brushing off his pants, and scratched the back of his neck. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she repeated. “You know, my shower drain is a little slow. Can you…?”

He took a step forward before he stopped. “That was a joke.”

“Yeah,” she confirmed. “I mean, it is draining slow. But that’s a problem for another day.”

It was rare to see him outside of his work clothes. He wore a green flannel shirt tonight, and it really wasn’t fair how well the color looked on redheads. “I was trying to give you some space, but something concerning happened,” he revealed.

She froze as Neil pulled a letter out of his back pocket. He silently passed it over to her, and she scanned the writing beneath her flickering porchlight. Bile threatened to climb up her throat.

There were many upsetting things within the letter, but most of all was the signature line. Her name was written in a rather spot-on mimicry of her own signature.

“I didn’t write this, Neil. I swear.”

“I know.”

She wanted to cry at his trust but blinked away the tears before they could truly begin. “Of course, you know.” If she hadn’t gotten Hattie to scold her mailbag about hiding concerning letters, Neil might not have received the letter at all.

“Last year, I bought Levina one of your posters, signed, and got an hour-long lecture on how to tell your actual signature from a knockoff. And,” he said, shifting his weight from foot to foot, “Hattie had one of our Potions projects stored away. I compared them, and this handwriting is too neat to be yours.”

“You kept our class projects?”