We celebrated accordingly with pizza, wine, and an absolutely unhinged Lifetime movie marathon. Sarah, a Lifetime movie connoisseur, brought me up to speed and made several good points.
“If you can afford a lakeside mansion, you can afford a better colorist,” she observed.
I couldn’t argue with that.
Sarah poured her third glass of wine. “Bleach, Billie. Always bleach, never lye. Lye is a rookie mistake.”
“Noted.” I hoped I’d never have to use that tip, but if I ever got my hands on the person threatening me, I couldn’t make promises. I was so tired of being freaked out all the time.
Thankfully, there’d been no other notes, break-ins, or texts and Detective Ramos followed up and cleared the “suspects” from the dating apps, they all had airtight alibis, which was a relief, sort of. Except now, he had zero leads.
Sarah sighed when the twist was revealed that the new “perfect” boyfriend was the murderer. “How are you ever supposed to trustanyone?”
I stayed quiet. I didn’t want to tell her that a fair number of guys I’d met on the apps wereactuallymarried. And that most the other ones were perverts or boring. If she had even a flicker of hope, who was I to extinguish it?
Sarah’s husband passed away from cancer when her kids were young, and she also had chronic health issues, which was why Cole lived with them to help raise his niece and nephews. I couldn’t imagine what she’d been through. If anyone deserved a second chance at love. it was her.
Still, she had posed the question, so I needed to answer it. “Life isn’t always a Lifetime movie.”
“Really? You can’t live in your own apartment right now because of the stalker.”
“I don’t know if any guys I dated from apps are responsible for the notes and the break-ins.”
“And the tires,” she reminded me.
“And the tires.”
“And the creepy text.”
“And the creepy text.”
Sarah sighed and took another swig of wine.
“Have you ever tried dating apps?” I asked.
Sarah was attractive, really attractive. And sure, she had kids and health issues, but if she were interested in finding someone, they would be lucky to have her.
“Me?” Her eyes widened as she touched her chest. “What? Me? No! Me? What? Me? What? Me? What? No!” She fumbled over her words, and it made me think that she was protesting a little, or a lot, too much. “I haven’t dated in years, and the kids and my health is…”
“Well, for what it’s worth, celibacy is hot now. It’s like the new intermittent fasting.”
“Except with more carbs and less sex.” She held up her glass to cheers. “Have Olivia and Trevor matched you yet?” she asked, sounding interested,personallyinterested.
“Yes. I just found out this morning. I’m seeing him Saturday.” I did my best to sound enthused, but the truth was I was anything but. The thought of sitting down and speaking to someone who had been handpicked by someone or some algorithm felt very “arranged marriage” to me and didn’t sit right, but I was doing my best to keep an open mind.
What other options did I have?
Adam Knight. The perfect man. The man I was madly in love with lived right next door.
Except he has a girlfriend, and kids, and he ghosted you for twenty years, I reminded myself. That was definitely a three-strikes-and-you’re-out situation.
He had said he was sorry, and I did believe he was sorry, but can one five letter word really undo twenty years of heartbreak and abandonment?
I didn’t know. And I honestly was scared to find out, which is why I’d been staying away from him. Pretending he didn’t exist. The twins played with the girls most days after school, so I’d seen them, talked to them, but whenever he came over to pick them up, I made myself scarce. I hid in my room.
Had I spied on him? Sure. Every day. Had I thought about him? Yes. I couldn’t stop thinking about him.
We had sex. How could I not think about him, about that? But that was it. It wasn’t more than that. I had to stop romanticizing our relationship.
