Just when I thought he was going to wrangle me into handcuffs and try his darndest to haul me off in the back of his cop car—it wouldn't be the first time—he did the opposite and whipped me so hard with the backside of his palm he split my lip and sent a spray of blood on both of us.
“That's it.” I cocked my arm, ready to land another hook to his chin, when a shriek split my eardrums.
“Are you two at itagain?” A small fist clutched my wrist and yanked. Instead of dragging my bicep out of position, she only grunted and kept yanking harder.
I laughed, shaking her off. “Mind your own.”
“I am!” she yelled again. “Please go help at the hot dog station, she's got a line around the baseball diamond and you two fools—”
I finally lowered my arm, nailing her with a hardened gaze. I traced the soft angles of her young face, cherubic cheeks a soft shade of pink and eyes dark and full of conflicting emotions.
“You're bleeding.” She shook her head. “Come with me, I'll get you cleaned up.” She locked her hand around my wrist and hauled me off in the opposite direction to the Captain, who was already making his way to the sizzling wieners.
“Who are you?” I shook my hand out of her grasp, forcing both of us to stop on the sidewalk.
“That's great. I go away to college for four years and this is the welcome home I get?”
“College—no good indoctrination scam—”
“Yeah, yeah.” She pushed through the doors of a tiny shop, filled to the brim with flowers. “Welcome to The Flower Patch, leave your politics at the door, thank you.”
I scrunched my forehead. “What's that smell?”
She arched her eyebrow back at me. “You mean...the flowers?”
I paused, inhaling again as I registered the thousands of different smells. “It's a lot of color in here.”
“So.” She dotted a tissue at my lip, the bright-red blood already clotting. “I take it you're not a chocolate and flowers kind of guy.”
“Don't see the point of them. But I guess while I'm here...” My eyes crawled around the space, hovering an extra beat on the soft ringlets of her almost ink-black hair. It spread on her shoulders in waves and was so shiny it reflected off the tiny sparkling decorations that hung from the ceiling.
I slammed my eyes shut and inhaled deeply, feeling my heart gallop uncontrollably in my chest. I steadied myself on the counter, thinking how all this sunshine and fucking happiness felt stifling on my senses.
“Are you okay?”
I cleared my throat. “I'm just used to the fresh air up on the ridge.”
“You live on the ridge?” Her voice turned up a beat.
“Yeah—you know it?”
“Know it? My dad used to take me camping up there when I was a kid. He told me about the legend of a Native American woman whose lover died in battle, so in despair, she threw herself off of the ridge and into the bay below. Now, during the full moon or during a thunderstorm, she haunts the cliff edge, warning people of the dangers of love forevermore.”
“Sounds dramatic.” I cut her off.
She frowned. “I think it's romantic.”
“If you're into shit like ghost stories, I s'pose it would be.”
She didn't reply, only huffed softly before ducking behind the flower shop counter. She rummaged in a drawer and I took the time to glance around the walls of the shop. It was covered in bright-yellow sunflowers and over-priced gardening junk, but I had to admit, the place was cute as far as places go.
“How long have you worked here?”
“I opened the shop just this year, I'm the owner.”
I assessed the full flush of freckles that dotted her nose, only visible up close and under the bright fluorescent lights. I cleared my throat, hating how much being in a woman's presence rattled me. The kind of feelings people brought up inside of me made me damn glad I spent most of my days hiding out on the top of my ridge. Haunted or not, it was a helluva lot better than life down here in the city.
“Well, you've got a nice place here. Congratulations.”
