That wouldn’t work with Rose.
She wasn’t like the others. Shehatedme now—rightfully so. And she had the upper hand, something I wasn’t used to, especially with a woman. She had me cornered.
Worse—shemattered.
And that left me with two thoughts I couldn’t shake.
One: apologizing to her wouldn’t just crush what little pride I had left—it would feel likesurrender. To her. To my injuries. To the version of myself I didn’t recognize.
And two?
What if she didn’t take me back?
10
ROSE
At theclickof the clock, I ripped off the afghan. A waft of frigid air swept over my body.
5:01 a.m.
Three pathetic hours of sleep—on the couch, no less—was going to make for one heck of a day. I glanced toward the back windows, the curtains still drawn, then twisted my neck to check the front door.
Still locked.
Safe.
I sat up, goosebumps prickling across my skin as I swung my legs over the couch and slipped into my fuzzy slippers that read“Shhh…”on one, and“I’m reading,”on the other. Then, I darted on my tiptoes into my bedroom and grabbed the flannel robe from the door. My stomach dropped as I looked at the bed, where not eight hours earlier I’d found a mysterious stuffed animal sitting on it. Shuddering, I spun around and beelined it to the thermostat, cranking it to a respectable seventy-four degrees. The pipes groaned and kicked as I made my way into the kitchen. After clicking on a dim light above the stove, I set the coffee to brew.
I blew out a breath, rubbing the knot at the base of my neck.
What a night. What afreakingnight.
As the coffee began to spit and gurgle, I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned against the counter where I replayed every scenario I’d drummed up over the course of the night as to who delivered the stuffed animal to my house, and most disturbingly, how they’d gotten inside. The most plausible scenario was that I’d accidentally left my door unlocked. But even then, who had left it? My former fiancé was the only person that made sense, but why would he leave flowers on my doorstep, but put a teddy bear on my bed?
Itdidn’tmake sense.
I opened the curtains above the kitchen sink and skimmed the woods, one black mass in the darkness of the early morning.
There had to be a logical explanation to Creepy-Ted—that’s what I’d named the mysterious bear I’d found on my bed. A and B always equaled C. Right?
Mind racing, I yanked down a mug from the cabinet, squeezed two teaspoons of honey into the bottom, followed two measured tablespoons of creamer, then filled it to the rim before the coffee had finished brewing. Normally, I’d curl up on the couch and watch The Weather Channel while I checked emails waiting for the caffeine to do its magic, but not that morning.
I was too restless.
I stepped into the living room, unlocked the back door and poked my head outside. Sure enough, Creepy-Ted lay on his side in the exact spot I’d tossed him the night before. I couldn’t sleep with him in the house.
I shut the door and shuddered again, this time not from the cold. I hated that bear. I needed to get it rid of it.
On that thought, I padded to the bathroom and flicked on the light. Dark circles shaded puffy eyes, my hair a matted mess from tossing and turning all night.
Wouldn’t be the first time I had to get creative with makeup.
“… a significant weather pattern is beginning to take shape over the next few days. Expect severe thunderstorms with strong winds and hail, flash flooding, and the potential for tornado development. Anticipate power outages, downed tree limbs, and dangerous road conditions. Please ensure you have an emergency plan in place…”
I started mentally checking off my pre-storm essentials—wine, more wine, a good book, and a backup bottle of wine—then launched into my morning routine.
Shower. Blowout. Strategic makeup to fake eight hours of sleep. Suit steam. And one cup of sugar-free yogurt topped with exactly seven walnuts and six blueberries.
