“Is that wine coming?” Mrs. Miller calls out from the back, and I wholeheartedly embrace the out she unknowingly offers.
“Let’s go before she does something crazy.”
“You mean more crazy than usual?” Becky shakes her head, but there’s amusement shining in her eyes.
Mrs. Miller and Mrs. Tyson are loud, nosy as hell, and opinionated, but we’re never bored when the two of them are around, that’s for damn sure.
Grabbing the wine bottle and my glass, we make our way to the back where the rest of the ladies are still sitting. Becky starts pouring wine into empty glasses, and I slide back into my seat, curling my leg underneath me as I take a long sip.
“So we’ve been talking about what we’re reading next,” Mrs. Tyson informs us. “And we’ve come to a conclusion.”
Becky laughs at her statement. “Oh, did you now?”
“I mean, it does sound fun,” Mrs. Fernandez chirps, nodding in acknowledgment.
Becky’s eyes meet mine. “This will be good. Let’s hear it.”
“Something forbidden.” Mrs. Miller scooches to the edge of her seat, clearly excited by her idea. “Lots of spice. Hell, maybe they should hate each other too. Hate fucking is always fun. Somebody can even get tied up.”
I choke on a sip of my wine.
Seriously, you’d think I’d be immune to her crude comments by now, and yet she still manages to surprise me.
“He’s a bad boy, she’s a good girl…”
Mrs. Tyson’s comment has Mrs. Miller wiggling her brows. “Only if he calls her his good girl.”
The room bursts into laughter. Mrs. Santiago clinks her glass to Mrs. Miller’s. “Amen to that.”
“Did you ever think about writing a book yourself, Mrs. Miller?” Savannah asks, her cheeks suddenly quite pink. “You haveveryspecific ideas.”
She waves her off. “Too much work, and anyway, I’d only be interested in the spicy parts.”
We stay for a little while longer, talking about writing and spicy scenes, before we call it a night.
Savannah, Rose, and I help Becky clean up the mess before we make our way out of the café.
Since I was running late, I had to park across the street.
Making sure the road is empty, I cross it, my fingers rummaging through my bag until I find my keys. The lights flash as I unlock my SUV, and I lift my gaze, reaching for the door handle when I see it.
I suck in a breath as I come to a sudden stop, my gaze fixed on my windshield.
Or more accurately, the pink flower tucked underneath it.
Goosebumps rise on my skin as I try to swallow the knot in my throat.
What in the ever-loving?—
My fingers tighten around the doorhandle as my head snaps up. I can hear the wild beat of my heart echo inside my eardrums as I scan the area, searching for the familiar face, but nobody’s there.
The street is relatively quiet, with just a handful of people walking by. Pretty normal mid-week night in Bluebonnet Creek.
An uncomfortable shudder runs down my spine.
I lift my hand, rubbing my arm as I return my gaze to the flower.
It feels like it’s taunting me. Mocking me for thinking I have any control.
