Page 79 of Red Hot Roaster

“Lauren, can you wait another sec? I gotta go check something.” I slammed the fridge door closed and dashed over to the pantry. When I slid in and switched on the light, I froze. More shelves jammed full of evidence that Rafe had struck again.

I returned to the island and grabbed my phone. “Hang up, Lauren. I’m calling back for a video chat.”

“Rose, are you okay? Do you need help? Are you in danger?”

“Yeah, I’m in danger—of losing my mind. I’m okay, but I want you to hang up. I need to show you what Rafe left…when he left.”

It didn’t take long, and we were back on our call. Video this time, switched to the back camera.

“Why are you showing me the inside of your refrigerator?”

“Notice anything different?”

“Well, yeah. It looks like the produce, dairy and meat sections hooked up for a threesome and moved into your fridge with their love children.”

I stopped panning and started giggling. Which turned into coughing and hacking, thanks to my hoarse throat.

Lauren talked over me, not concerned at all. “Quit waving the damn phone around. You said you went grocery shopping so…?”

I recovered enough to lift my phone and show her the two obviously still-full grocery sacks sitting by my fridge. Circling the island, I stepped back into the pantry to train the camera on the shelves. Chock-a-block with canned goods, cereal, bags of pasta, boxes of rice, flour, sugar, raw veggies—you name it, it was there. In multiples. It looked like I was all set to survive a once-in-a-century-snow-ice-sleet-hail-storm the likes of which Portland had never seen. Maybe throw in an earthquake for good measure.

“Oh,” my never-at-a-loss-for-words bestie breathed out.

“Yeah,” was my equally brilliant response.

“A little over-the-top, even for Rafe.”

“Ya think? And that’s not all.”

I motored out to the island and held my phone over the row of Post-its. Starting at the left, I moved slowly along, giving Lauren plenty of time to read each. Her “oh” was followed by a series of gasps.

“But wait. There’s more.” I switched to the front camera and gave her “big eyes” before I thumbed the text icon to whisper, “Just got in. Easy drive, no snow. Straight to roastery to meet owners. Sending house address later. Princess pissed at me. Set alarm? Eat breakfast?”

“Wow. That’s a book for him. How did you respond? Or did you?”

“I was overwhelmed by all the Post-it action,” I said.

“Understandably,” she assured me.

I went on, “He must’ve textedrightwhen he got to Boise this morning to let me know they were safe—as promised. Which meant they left in the middle of the night.”

“Rose, youdidget back to him, didn’t you?”

“Yes, about an hour later. Short and not as sweet.”

“Uh-oh.”

“In my defense, I was still sorting out his Post-its, and I hadn’t seen his grocery shopping spree yet,” I wailed.

“What. Did. You. Text?” My girl wasn’t letting me off the hook.

“Thanks for letting me know. Pirate pining. Yes. No.”

She winced. “Harsh, Rose, harsh.”

“Lauren, I don’t know how to feel!” I almost, but not quite, shouted at my bestie. “When we met up yesterday, I laid it on the line. He cut me off—shut me down. I cried, got mad, cried some more. I said awful things to him, hurtful things.”

She made some comforting noises, but I steamed ahead. “Then I come home to find everything that Rafe’s bought for me. And that’s after everything he’sdonefor me in the past couple of months. When heknowsI detest needing help or trusting anyone for help.”

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