Page 7 of Chasing Wildflowers
He’s in his late thirties, attractive, with light brown hair that brushes his shoulders and dark brown eyes that always look like they're up to mischief. He’s asked me out a few times in the past. But as the saying goes, “don’t shit where you eat”.
I sling my purse over my shoulder, the strap catching my hair before I tug it free, and turn to face him. “Nope. My only plans include pajamas, a big glass of wine, and a book.”
A rom-com and a glass of wine are exactly what I need. Maybe one with a blonde MMC. The polar opposite of the dark-haired stranger who has been haunting my thoughts all day. Which is absolutely ridiculous because he said a total of two words to me. I don’t get hung up on men, unless they are fictional. As Emily Gilmore once said:He’s just a man, Lorelai.
Rodney chuckles, his elbows braced behind him on the counter, and a knowing look in his eyes. “Twenty bucks says Kam calls you before you get home and drags you out tonight.”
“The only place I’m going once I get home is the kitchen for snacks,” I counter, sticking out my hand. Do I know I’m going to lose? Most likely. Am I going to back down from a bet? Absolutely not.
He grasps my hand, smug. “You said that last Saturday, too.”
“I’ll see you Sunday.” I take my hand back, slinging my purse higher on my shoulder and head for the door.
“I’ll see you in a few hours,” he calls after me, amusement rich in his voice.
I flip him off over my shoulder, grinning as his laugh follows me out into the warm summer sun.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket as I’m sliding behind the wheel of my black Jetta. “Damn it,” I mutter. I love my best friend, but I already know why she’s calling and it’s going to cost me twenty bucks.
I pull it out and bring it to my ear. “Hey, Kam.”
“We’re going out tonight!” she declares, skipping the hello entirely. That’s Kam, ask forgiveness, notpermission. I’m not sure if I love her more for that…or despite it. Depends on the day.
“I just got off shift…” I whine, letting my head fall against the headrest. “Why don’t you come over? Wine and aGilmore Girlsmarathon, best of both worlds.”
“Come on, Lane, please. The band is playing and I want to dance.”
Her enthusiasm leaks through the phone, impossible to resist. I sigh, shoulders dropping in defeat. “Fine, but no shots tonight!” I warn, turning the key. The engine purrs to life,I think I’m okayby Yungblud and MGK flows through the speakers.
“I can’t promise that. Pick you up at nine,” she sings before ending the call.
Damn it. There goes my quiet night in.
I learned quickly that it’s futile to argue with Kam. Once she sets her mind on something, she doesn’t budge. That’s how we became friends. We met at the local book club after the librarian, Monica, suggested I join. We bonded over our shared love of romance novels, especially the dark ones. Kam decided right away that we were going to be best friends. I was hesitant.
I grip the wheel tighter as my mind drifts. It took me years to trust anyone again after leaving my old life. A fist to the face, thanks to Leslie Everstine, was all it took to realize the women around me weren’t true friends. I thought I could confide in her. That I could trust her. One day while we were out to lunch I told her about the abuse. I hadn’t even made it home before she called Byron to tell him about the “horrible lies” I was accusing him of.
Kam is different. She’s loud, unapologetic, and the first person who truly sawme.The only person in this world I trust. But even she doesn’t know about my past.
I drive down Main Street, humming along toPassengerby The Deftones, letting the beat steady my nerves. Fresh flowers bloom along the sidewalk in a rainbow of colors, perfuming the air with their sweet floral scents. The shops are each unique and well cared for. It’s like a snapshot straight out of a travel magazine, and the exact reason I picked New Haven.
I still remember the photo that stopped me mid-scroll; Main Street in the fall, leaves falling to the ground in beautiful shades of golds and amber, pumpkins sitting atop hay bales lining the sidewalks. I knew instantly, it would be home.
I turn onto my street, and my eyes snag on a green Ford Bronco I’ve never seen before in the review mirror. My heart rate spikes and my hands tremble on the wheel as panic creeps in.
Are they following me?
The rational part of my brain tries to cut through the panic.Calm down. It’s nothing. Just paranoia fucking with you.
I pull in front of my house but don’t kill the engine, watching as the Bronco rolls past, disappearing down the street until it's out of view. The windows were too dark to see the driver, but I noted the license plate: New York.
My chest loosens with a shaky breath. “You’re fine,” I whisper, resting my forehead against the steering wheel for a moment, to collect myself, before climbing out.
Smooth stone clicks softly beneath my shoes as I head toward my small one-bedroom house. I’m drained, both mentally and emotionally. All I want is a hot bubble bath and a few chapters of my book.
Still, a smile tugs at my lips when I take in my home. I bought it with the money I had left over after paying for my new identity. Money I had secretly been hiding away for years, always looking over my shoulder and changing hiding spots. Constantly terrified Byron would find it.
She wasn’t much when I bought her, but five years, a few good friends, and a whole lot of YouTube later, she’s mine. The wraparound porch with twin rocking chairs, where I read in the summer. Warm Paint colors I chose myself. Everything about it feels like freedom.
