Jesus. No.
I scrub a hand over my face and erase it.
What am I doing? I’m not sure I’ve ever overanalyzed a text this much in my life.
Okay. One more.
I read it over and hit send before I can talk myself out of it.
SEVEN
“Wait,I think he just texted me,” I interrupt Mia as a notification from an unknown number flashes on my phone, which is clipped to my dashboard. Old Betty Bronco doesn’t have any fancy connectivity. I’m lucky she still has working heat.
“What did he say?”
I tap the notification to pull up the message and read it out loud, “Morning, Starling. Yes, I’d very much like to do this again sometime.”
“Hmm.” I can practically hear the gears turning in Mia’s head. “What’re you going to say back?”
“Not sure. A winky face?” I laugh. “I guess just… chat. Be friendly and casual.”
“You’re okay with that? I know you weren’t exactly looking for love on the show, but I kind of assumed you were a relationship girl.”
“It’s the sweet southern accent, isn’t it?” I tease.
“Doesn’t help.”
“Of course I want a grand loveone day. The kind people write songs about. But it hasn’t found me yet, and I’m not gonna sit here and cry about it.” I tap the steering wheel. “And I can’toffer anything serious right now. I don’t even know where I’ll be living in six months.”
“That’s true.” She sighs. “And you’ll find your big love. I’m sure some musician is gonna sweep you off your feet, and you’ll have cute little guitar-playing, chorus-belting kids.”
I laugh because the picture is pretty close to what I’ve always imagined for myself. “In the meantime, a hockey-playing distraction sounds all right.”
My navigator tells me to turn right into a gated community. “Hey, I’m almost here. Talk to you later, okay?”
“If you don’t text me in an hour, I’m calling the cops.”
“Quit being dramatic. That’smyjob.”
She huffs a breath. “Later.” Then can’t help adding, “Text me,” before ending the call.
I give the guy at the gate the address and my name. He lets me in, telling me Tara has set everything up. After checking my license, he hands me a remote for the gate.
There’s no way a serial killer lives in a neighborhood like this. I’m still shockedI’llbe living in a neighborhood like this. It’s a long way from the double-wide I grew up in. There’s got to be seven bedrooms minimum in these places.
One day, maybe I’ll be able to afford a place like this. Until then, sharing the space with one roommate who’s barely home sounds pretty good.
“Your destination is on your left,” the robotic GPS announces as I pull into an oversized driveway and park.
I tighten my grip on the cracked leather steering wheel and look up at the pristine, sprawling house stretching beyond the frame of my windshield. I can’t wait to send my mama a picture of this place. I can already hear her voice: “Darling, you’ve arrived.”
I click off the engine and shoot Miles a text.
Me:
We doing the whole hockey player last name thing? I like it
I look up as the front door swings open. A stout woman, maybe fifty, bustles out, waving and heading for my truck.
