Penny followed her look and let out a sharp laugh. “If Prince Charming wants to send flowers, I’m not complaining, unless he’s also building a shrine to you in his closet.”
Arden didn’t laugh. She couldn’t.
Because suddenly, the roses weren’t an odd, unexplained mystery.
They weren’t just showing up at the bar. Or near her car.
They were here.
At their home.
Penny’s teasing faltered as her expression shifted, catching the change in Arden’s posture. She glanced toward the small collection near the door—some fresh, some wilted, petals scattered across the hardwood like careless drops of blood.
“For real though. Do we need to be concerned?” Her voice still carried humor, but now it was edged with unease. A subtle note of worry beneath the sarcasm.
Arden forced her hands to stay loose, casual, instead of balling into fists. “No,” she said too fast. Then, trying again, she shook her head. “It’s… weird, like you said.”
Penny scoffed. “Weird is an understatement. This is, like, fairy-tale villain behavior. If a glass coffin shows up next, I’m moving out, and I’m not waiting for an explanation.”
Arden should’ve laughed. Should’ve leaned into the banter, met Penny’s wit with her own.
But her stomach twisted.
Because if Penny had been finding them before Arden even got home, if the pile had been growing,
then whoever was leaving them wasn’t only watching her at work.
And worse?
They weren’t stopping.
Penny tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “Okay, whoa. Now, you just got seriously weird.”
She straightened up, setting the rose down on the coffee table with a soft thud. “What’s up?”
Arden forced a smirk, though it felt wrong on her lips. “Nothing. I was only thinking. We need to invest in better locks.”
Penny groaned. “Awesome. I already sleep with a bat next to my bed. Thank you, New York. But sure, let’s add advanced paranoia to the list.”
She flopped onto the couch with a grunt, tugging off her boots and letting them fall where they landed.
“Maybe I’ll keep my meds by the door too. Ya know—keys, wallet, pepper spray, emotional stability.”
Arden huffed out a laugh, sharp and shaky, but a laugh all the same.
Penny didn’t miss it. She plowed right through, bright and shameless. "Or screw it, maybe I’ll start hiding tasers in the couch cushions. ‘Welcome home, have a snack, mind the electroshock therapy.'”
She pointed dramatically toward the hallway. "Fake trapdoor under the rug. Medieval spike pit in the foyer. One wrong step and—Bam! ‘Home Alone’ but make it violent.”
Another startled laugh ripped out of Arden, this one jagged, halfway between amusement and adrenaline.
Penny softened at the edges but didn’t push.
“Whatever it takes, babe. We survive. We laugh. And we’re gonna keep doing both.”
Arden nodded, the motion jerky, her throat tightening around a feeling she didn’t have words for.
She pushed to her feet, grabbing her journal off the coffee table with hands steadier than she felt.
