Page 116 of DFF: Delicate Freakin' Flower

No thanks. I’d survived too much to go out in a cartoon death scene, and luck really wasn't on my side just now, so I wasn't taking any risks.

Instead, I’d focused on disguising myself. My hair was a little blonder than it used to be, streaked with caramel and honeyhighlights that made me look like I belonged somewhere coastal. I’d chopped some length off, too, and added soft layers around my face that moved in the breeze instead of clinging to my neck. The stylist had said I looked like a different person, especially with the new makeup techniques I'd learned online. Good, that was the point.

A lone surfer caught a wave just down the beach, his silhouette cutting clean against the rising swell. I was just about to reach for my water bottle when my phone buzzed with an unknown number. For half a second, my heart seized—what if it was the FBI? What if something had gone wrong?

I answered with a cautious, “Hello?”

“T’is I, Señor Ira,” said a dramatically bad French accent on the other end.

I snorted so loud it startled a gull off the dune. “Señor is Spanish, you idiot. If you’re trying to be French, you need monsieur.”

“Merde!” he cursed, then immediately added, “Anyway, we miss you. What are you up to?”

The laugh that burst out of me was pure relief. Ira was talking like I’d just popped out for groceries, not vanished off the grid under federal protection.

“I’m itching my leg off,” I explained, smiling into the wind. “Just had the cast removed. No shark bites, though, so I guess we call that a win.”

“You shouldn’t joke about sharks. That’s a coastal betrayal,” he said solemnly, then lowered his voice. “How are you really?”

“I miss you,” I admitted, surprising even myself with how easily the truth came. “I know we’ve not known each other long, but...”

“Doesn’t matter. You strike the mark, Gabby. You did with all of us.”

I swallowed hard and looked away from the sun. “How’s Gladys?”

“She’s good. Still mad at her son for being an asshole.”

I laughed. “Yeah. Me too." And wasn't that putting it mildly. "How about you? How are you doing?”

He sighed, the kind of sound that traveled straight from his chest to mine. “Bored. Life’s too quiet without you. I need you back in Orlando so we can stir some trouble up again. I'm fading out here.”

That made me laugh harder than I had in days. “I was thinking of opening a kitten café. That might help with the stress and trauma, you know?”

There was a beat of silence, then, “What the hell is a kitten café?”

“It’s like a regular café, but with kittens you can cuddle while you drink your coffee.”

He made a sound like he’d just choked on a gator bone. “Absolutely not. If you wanna feel alive, open a wolf, skunk, raccoon, or gator café. Now, that’s a place with flavor. Can you imagine the Yelp reviews?”

I was laughing so hard I nearly dropped the phone into the sand. We talked a while longer—about nothing and everything, about how he still couldn’t make decent sweet tea and how Gladys had joined a book club but mostly went for the snacks. For a few stolen minutes, it felt like life was normal again.

“I gotta run,” he sighed eventually, voice lower now. “Poker game with the guys.”

“Miss you, Ira. Take care of yourself, okay?”

There was a long pause before he spoke, and when he did, his voice cracked just a little. “You’re more important, Gabby. You take care of yourself.”

The call ended, and I sat there with the phone in my lap, my heart feeling like someone had squeezed it too tightly. I missed them all more than I could say. But for now, I just had to keep breathing, keep hiding, and keep waiting for the storm to pass.

And maybe figure out how to live again in the in-between because this sucked.

Webb

The mower rattled beneath me like it wanted to shake apart, the engine groaning every time I hit a bump. I was halfway through the lower field, sweat dripping down my back, and my jaw clenched so tight it ached. The only break in the monotony came when I spotted another massive pile of horse shit right in the middle of my path.

“Shit!” I bellowed, slamming on the brake and throwing an arm out toward Marcus like he’d done it on purpose.

He didn’t even look up—just kept scooping poop with the same dead-eyed calm he always had when he was trying to wind me up without saying a word.

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