Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 154595 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 773(@200wpm)___ 618(@250wpm)___ 515(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154595 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 773(@200wpm)___ 618(@250wpm)___ 515(@300wpm)
But he didn’t need to worry. She knew the score.
“You have to go?”
“Yeah. I do. You’ll be all right? You need anything?”
She tried to hide her sadness. She guessed she shouldn’t expect him to stick around . . . they weren’t friends. They weren’t dating.
“No, I’m fine.”
To her shock, he leaned in and cupped her face. Then he lightly kissed her forehead. “Girl, you text me if you need anything.”
“Sure,” she said, knowing she wouldn’t do it. That was just one of those things people said but didn’t necessarily mean. However, it made her feel better. As though he might care.
“Come lock the door. Lie down and eat the rest of your sandwich. I’ll text you later.”
She stared at the sandwich in disinterest. For some stupid reason, she felt like crying.
“Almost forgot.”
She glanced up as he turned back at the door, reaching into his pocket. He
handed her some bundled up material. Opening them, she saw a pair of lightweight purple gloves.
“To keep your hands warm,” he said gruffly before he left.
As she locked the door behind him, a small smile crossed her lips.
He felt like an ass.
Because you were an ass.
He climbed into his truck, then sat there. He should have stayed. Should have looked after her.
She’s going to think you only want to be with her for the sex.
Which had been true when he’d first met her . . . but now . . .
This was ridiculous. How long had he known her? Not even three weeks. And he wanted more than just sex?
He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. Did he really want more? Did he have the right to draw someone as innocent and sweet as Maeve into his life?
Likely not.
But he was just selfish enough to consider it.
16
The knock on her door the next day had her looking up from her work.
She was making the most adorable doggy hat and matching doggy shoes for Mr. Hemsworth, who was one of her best clients. That was the name of the dog, not his owner.
She set the outfit aside, then opened the door slightly. She didn’t have a peephole. She frowned when she couldn’t see anyone standing there. Then she glanced down to where a bunch of violets sat.
Oh, crap.
Were these for someone else too?
She picked up the flowers. Only this time, there was a note.
Walking back into the room, she opened it up.
Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
There is no one as pretty as you.
A strange feeling filled her at the words. What did that mean? Was this supposed to be romantic?
Did she have a secret admirer?
The violets dropped to her feet. She stared down at them. First the roses, then the violets. That had to mean those roses were for her, right?
Was someone watching her? Why would someone watch her? She wasn’t interesting. Moving to the door, she locked it with shaking hands. She had to hide.
What if he was coming?
No. No.
“Not him. He’s dead. He’s dead.”
But who? Who would be watching her? Grabbing Squish and her purple blanket, she rushed into the closet. She had to hide. The only way to be safe was to hide.
But he knows where you are.
He’s coming.
He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead.
Gradually, she became aware that she was whispering those words to herself as she rocked back and forth in the closet.
Finally, she put her hand over her mouth to stop herself. It was creeping her out. She sucked on her thumb. She’d never been a thumb sucker until later on in life, when she’d realized the comfort it brought.
A noise made her jump. She cried out, certain he was coming.
He’s dead.
Then she realized that it was her phone. A text message.
But she’d left her phone out on the bed.
What to do? Shit. Shit. Shit.
She wanted to get her phone, but didn’t want to leave.
He was out there!
No! He’s dead!
A whimper escaped. She knew she couldn’t move from the closet, not until she’d calmed down. The flowers sat on the floor, mocking her.
Who could have sent them?
Was she overreacting? The note wasn’t threatening. It was flattering. Maybe whoever it was, was a friendly secret admirer.
Yep, she was likely overreacting.
But she couldn’t seem to move out of the closet anyway.
You’re up high. The door is locked. No one can get to you.
She didn’t know how long she sat huddled up. Long enough for her butt to go numb and the need to pee to pretty much override her fear. Slipping from the closet, she rushed to grab her phone. Still holding Squish and her blanket, she raced into the bathroom. As she peed, she opened her messages.
Two from Gray. One from Immy. One from Jenner.
With fingers that shook, she opened the one from Immy.
Immy: I’m done. Tell me where you are. I’m coming to live with you.
Before she answered, she checked the one from Jenner.