Page 1 of Honey Trapped

Chapter One

Norah

“Hello,” I answer on the fourth ring hitting the speaker icon as I glance at the screen. Unknown number. My pulse spikes as the silence stretches between me and the caller. “Hello, is anyone there?”

“We’ve been trying to reach you about your car’s extended warranty.”

Ugh. Not these assholes again. I keep blocking them, and for each one I block, I swear ten more call in their place. It’s never ending. My number is supposed to be private, but these jerks don’t give up.

With a roll of my eyes, I swallow the lump that had lodged itself in the back of my throat and end the call. It wasn’t him. I breathe in a sigh of relief. I can’t keep doing this to myself. He doesn’t know where I am. He doesn’t even have this number. I place my cell phone back in the holder that’s stuck to the dashboard and crank up the radio. As if on cue,Herecomes the Sun, byThe Beatlesfilters through my speakers. I take a sip of my coffee, the liquid scorches the back of my throat, but I need the caffeine to see me through the day.

I glance through the rearview mirror at the sight of Lennon strapped in her car seat as she happily munches on her animal crackers while watching Frozen for the millionth time on her tablet without a care in the world. The way I intend to keep it. I’ll do anything to keep her safe. Like move to a small town where no one knows us. Where Marco Russo doesn’t have any connections.

The only good thing to ever come from him was Lennon. Thank the stars she doesn’t look or act a thing like him. My baby girl is all me. As it should be. I wouldn’t trade my daughter for the world, but I wish I’d chosen a better father for her.

I make the short drive to the only daycare in town to drop Lennon off for the morning. Drag Creek, Kentucky is as about as small town and nowhere as it gets.

Being three she doesn’t always understand that momma needs quiet time to work. If I don’t work, we don’t eat. I’m all we’ve got.

Currently I work from the couch of my rental doing odd jobs I find on freelance sites. Sometimes its editing or writing an article for a blog post. I need to find something dependable.

Stability.

For her.

For my sanity.

I shut off the car and get my girl unbuckled, making note of her choice in fashion today. A graphic tee with a dinosaur on it paired with a pink tutu, black and white stripped tights, and her yellow rain boots.

She’s all about being independent these days. I don’t discourage her from making her own choices in clothing. I want Lennon to have freedom to express herself.

I snatch the backpack with her extra clothes in it in case of an accident and walk her inside. I squat down to her level once we are inside. “Give me a sugar.”

Lennon puckers her lips and plants a slobbery cookie kiss on my cheek. The crumbs cling to my skin.

“Ugh.” I gag and she giggles.

“Good morning, Lennon.” Mrs. Gianna takes her hand, and I trade her the backpack for a wet wipe.

“Thank you,” I mouth as I dab at my cheek.

She directs Lennon to go on into her classroom with her backpack. I watch until I see her chattering to her daycare bestie.

I’m getting ready to leave when her teacher stops me.

“I just gotta ask. Where do you shop? I love your style. Yours and how you dress Lennon. You’re both a whole look.”

I shrug with a glance down my body at my black ripped jeans, yellow tee with a faded rainbow on it, with my black oversized wrap around cardigan with deep pockets, finished off with my leopard print flats. “Thrift shops mostly for myself. I order Lennon’s online whenever I find a good clearance.”

“I’m’a need you to come over one day and go through my closet and put me together some outfits. And for my little one on the way.” She puts a palm to her baby bump.

“Oh, I don’t...I just wear what’s comfortable.”

“I’ll pay. Seriously.”

“Um.”

“What about a discount on daycare hours?”

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