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She had contemplated going to the police, but without an actual threat, and no proof anyone was following her, she didn’t have much to give them. Though this week escalated things with the note and actually seeing someone following her. Maybe it was time to seek help.
Whoever kept sending roses only sent a bouquet when she threw out the dead ones once a week. It still made little sense how they knew. No one could watch her twenty-four-seven. Did they have access to the security cameras at the apartments?
She shook her head.
It wasn’t a possibility she wanted to entertain. She didn’t want to think about what could be. If she went down that hole, she would be worse off than she already felt.
She was so lost in her thoughts that her cell phone ringing on the counter startled her, and she almost dropped the water glass. Sitting the empty glass on the counter, she grabbed her phone and swiped the screen without looking at it, hoping to catch the call before the ringing stopped.
“Hello?”
Silence greeted her.
She looked at the screen: “unknown caller.” She lifted the phone to her ear again.
“Who is this?” She pressed the phone to her ear tightly, listening to the sound of breathing on the other end. “This isn’t funny.”
“Did you like the roses?”
The deep timbre coming through the phone caught her off-guard, and she stepped back in surprise, bumping into the counter. She reached back with her empty hand to grip the edge to steady herself.
A dark chuckle filtered through the receiver. “No? Would another color suit your tastes better?”
She tried to get her breathing under control so the man on the other end of the call didn’t hear how panicked she felt.
“You know,” he drawled, “I chose pink to suit that lovely blush your cheeks get that make your freckles stand out. I so love those sweet little freckles, Cherry.”
She cringed. She hated that nickname.
Too often, handsy men at the diner she used to work at would call her Cherry and make lewd jokes about her “pie” being on the menu. Or worse, how they would love to “pop her cherry” as if she were a young virgin girl. For one, she wasn’t. For two, she was underage when it started. All those men saw were large breasts, and they turned into animals.
Was this creep one of her old customers from Rosebrook Valley?
Her old boss, Ricky, encouraged the behavior by making the waitresses wear tight mini dresses as uniforms. He did nothing whenever his employees complained about the harassment. The memory angered her.
“That’s not my name,” she forced through clenched teeth. Her hair wasn’t even cherry-red anymore. It had faded back to its natural ginger shade. She found the upkeep of the unnatural red too much to handle.
“Mm, but I think it suits you.”
She said nothing to that. What could she say? Thank you? Curse at him and tell him to stop calling her? Yeah, that’s exactly what you should do.
Gritting her teeth, she summoned up the irritable feeling from before and said, “I don’t care what you think suits me. Don’t call me anymore. Stop sending me roses. I’m not interested. Goodbye.”
The growl that filtered through the phone sounded tinny and distorted, but it was enough to make her pause with her finger hovering over the end call button.
Did he seriously just growl at me?
Surely, she heard wrong. Maybe his pet dog was too close to the phone. Though it didn’t sound like any animal she’d heard before.
“Now, now, Sweet Cherry.” He paused, and she knew he was waiting to see if she would bite back at the stupid addition he made to the nickname.
He could wait forever.
It frustrated her she couldn’t place his voice to anyone familiar, but she spoke little on the phone except with those back home, so it made sense. People sometimes sounded different on the phone.
The only locals she spoke with on the phone were UGA faculty members and Rachel—and that was mostly about school.
When she still said nothing to his stupid nickname, he said, “You should be grateful for receiving such a lovely gift. I even take such great care to ensure a steady supply to decorate your kitchen counter.”
