Page 4 of Return Policy

The golden hour from the sun is still emitting plenty of light, so I down the rest of my drink, toss the cup in a trash can, and head towards the woods. I glance around, making sure Seth is distracted and doesn’t see me leave. I have no interest in talking to him tonight. Especially alone.

He’s enthralled in a conversation with one of the other guys on the football team. I make my escape, venturing down the path towards a quiet rock, away from the party. Leah, my bonus sister, has brought me here a few times. It’s her favorite place to get away and think. I settle on the cool rock, placing my backpack next to me, and unzip it to pull out my notebook and a pencil. The interior pages are blank, without lines, which is perfect for my particular usage.

Spinning the pencil between my fingers, I fight the urge to draw what always slips to the forefront of my mind. The face I’ve drawn for years but somehow never tire of looking at. I draw her as a child, a teenager, what she’d have looked like if she grew up and had kids. I’ve drawn it all and somehow, I never run out of ideas. The current one I’m working on is what she would’ve looked like at high school graduation.

I sigh at my unhealthy obsession and unscrew the flask, then take a swig of the deliciously potent whiskey. The strong liquid glides down my throat, leaving a familiar burn in its wake.

As I put the finishing touches on my drawing, a rustling in the bushes steals my attention, and my heart stops beating.

Please don’t be Seth.

“Who’s there?” I shout in attempted bravery. My hands tremble as leaves crunch beneath someone's heavy feet, the sound growing closer by the second. Breathing is a distant memory, and I might pass out if the person doesn’t reveal themself soon.

“I come in peace,” a male voice says. The unfamiliar husky tone laced with humor relieves my anxieties as a tall figure steps out of the bush, holding his hands up in surrender.

Holy shit. I’ve died and gone to hot guy heaven.

The spitting image of all my favorite fictional men come to life is standing before me with delicious chocolate brown hair and a panty-soaking, crooked grin. He rubs a hand along his sharp jawline, and adorable dimples pop through as he smirks at me. A tattoo peeks out from his v-neck T-shirt, with more running along his arms.Am I dreaming?I dig my fingernails into my palm.Nope, that definitely hurt.

“You going to say anything, or are you just gonna keep eye fucking me?” he asks as his gaze rakes over my body, eliciting a shiver.

“I was noteye fuckingyou!”Liar, liar, panties on fire.“You caught me by surprise. I thought I was out here alone.”

“And I thought my devilish good looks shocked your pretty mouth speechless.”

My lips part, and then I smash them shut. “Wow, aren’t youhilarious?”

“I try.” He winks, and I clench my thighs together as his eyes drop to the sketchbook on my lap.Is it getting hotter out here or is it just me?“What are you doing sitting here alone instead of at that party?”

“Oh, uh…” I’m definitely not about to tell this stranger the truth.I’m avoiding my overbearing ex like a coward.“My friends were momentarily busy, so I thought I’d slip away for a bit of doodling.”

“Doodling?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Can I see said doodles?” he asks, taking a few steps closer and extending his hand, presumably for my sketchbook.Yeah, fat chance.

“Ha.” I fake laugh. “Absolutely not.” I snap the sketchbook closed and shove it into my backpack, zipping it shut. If he saw I drew the same face repeatedly, he’d think I was a stalker. Sure, I draw other things too. But most of the time, she’s my favorite subject.

When I turn back to face him, his sideways grin has turned into a full toothed smile.

“What?” I ask, unable to keep my lips from curling up.

“Nothin’.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Just you dramatically hiding the notebook in your bag makes me all the more curious.”

“I amnotdramatic,” I scoff, folding my arms across my chest. He raises his dark brows, eyes flicking down at my pushed-up chest before returning to mine.

Oops, I definitely forgot I was wearing a low-cut dress.

“Whatever you say, Sunflower.”

I cock my brow. “Sunflower?”

“Yeah,Sunflower.” He waves a hand at my torso, and my eyes drop to the little pastel sunflowers dancing across my dress.

“Very creative,” I tease, attempting to stop the corners of my lips from turning upwards but failing with flying Technicolor.

“I tend to be quite creative, yes.”

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