Page 10 of Breaking Point

Ella beams. “Yes. I know that’s only six months away, but we’ve heard so many good things about you. Namely, you’re the go-to person when time is tight.”

I think I’m beginning to crave the thrill of a time-crunch.

“I can’t make promises that we’ll get all your requests,” I say, straightening my papers. I continue, “But I always do my best. What are your non-negotiables?”

There are less people on the train ride home. I study the passing skyline while jotting a few dates in my planner. The car rattles across the tracks at a languid pace, skewing my handwriting. The short trip offers enough time to finish transferring my online calendar to my physical one, and when the familiar sign readingMarketside Southappears, I stand. I tuck my things away as I exit.

Most of the carts are closed until this evening, and even when I stop by to see if Ricky’s in, his tent flap is closed, signaling his absence. I take my stairs slowly, still unsure of how to handle the conversation with my father.

Only there’s a bundle of flowers and a beige envelope on my doormat.

I recognize them. Blood red roses with bright, coral centers. My pulse quickens as I snatch up the note. The red ribbon wrapped around it is identical to the others. My name is stamped across the note, with no way to recognize the sender.

I slide the ribbon off as I key inside, flowers in-hand. Chesna sits on the credence table, and I absently scratch her ears as I unfold the letter to see the small noteinside:

What would Daddy say if he knew you hid me away?

I lock the deadbolt, hating the quick drop in my stomach as I read the words. I abandon my things by the door, trashing the flowers, and reaching into my bedside table for the other notes I’ve kept. They were accompanied by the same red roses that stink of perfume.

My eyes scan the other notes, but this one… this feels personal. Invasive. Maybe it’s uncertainty that compels me to pick up the phone. Maybe it’s the thought that I don’t know who has my address. Or who might have the access to leave the flowers at my door. But, I dial the number without looking.

After a few rings, he answers.

“Dad, it’s me.”

“Button! I’ve been waiting for you to call me back.”

I disregard the slight dig behind his words. “I wanted to talk about the bodyguard... thing.”

His answering sigh sounds something like relief. “I was hoping you’d say that. I was thinking… I know- I know that you’re uncertain. But I just want the best for you. Warden is a world-class PPO, you know. Private Protection Officer. He worked for the Benenatis, and they’ve given him nothing but glowing reviews.”

“I know,” I chuckle, the notes forgotten on my bed. I try not to picture Warden- or those unnerving eyes- again. “I called to say that I’ve thought about it... and I agree.”

“Really??” he blurts, and I can imagine the shock on his face as he says, “That’s wonderful! We can move all your stuff back in-”

“I’m not moving back in,” I say, wincing at his sudden silence. He doesn’t know about the notes, and I don’t plan on telling him. “I’ll deal with the bodyguard, Dad. But everything else is too much.”

He’s quiet for a few seconds too long, his disappointment clear enough. “Okay. Well... How about we have breakfast tomorrow and talk over the details?”

I agree, but as I reach for the abandoned notes and shove them to the back of my drawer, an idea forms. “I have a better idea. How about dinner tonight?”

“Well, I had a work meeting planned at 9-“

“Great. Where?”.

He laughs. “You remember Blue Saloon?”

We've been a few times- years ago with Mom.

I check my watch before reaching into my closet in search of the perfect outfit. “I’ll bring my dancing boots. Love you!”

Chapter Six

Crew

Iwasn’t expecting to spend my Monday night in the back of a crowded bar that smells like beer and something distinctly sweaty. When my boss called and asked to meet, I expected dinner. I figured we’d iron out the final details of our new arrangement. Talk logistics. But I certainly wasn’t expecting this:

Boots clank against the old wooden floors, and the sound of pints slamming together fills the hall. Lines of people dance to some country line-dance.Blue Saloon, the flickering neon sign on the wall reads, covering the crowd in a sheen of fluorescent red. Music hollers from a stage centered at the back of the dance floor where a band belts out a folksy jig.

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