by Jessica Ames
I slide my gaze toward the flowers. “They’re gorgeous. Who are they for?”
Residents often get gifts sent in, including flowers.
“They’re yours.”
I snap my attention to him, the flowers forgotten. “What?”
“The card is for you, honey. I didn’t even know you were dating.”
“I’m not.” I reach for the card and see, sure enough, it says ‘April Collins’ on the front.
Weird. “Who would be sending me flowers?”
“Well, open the card and find out!”
He nudges me with his shoulder, so I open the tiny envelope the card is in and read over the words.
* * *
April,
* * *
You mean more to me than you know.
* * *
X
* * *
There’s no sign off. Just the kiss at the end. “I guess I’m still in the dark.”
I hand the card to Nolan who takes it and scowls when he finishes reading it.
“What kind of cryptic bullshit is this?”
An uneasy feeling slithers through me as I read it again. The obvious culprit is Milo. It doesn’t look like Milo’s writing, though, but I guess he could have asked the florist to write it out for him, and I can’t imagine who else would send it.
Why would he send this? I don’t care that we argued. It certainly doesn’t warrant flowers.
“Who delivered them?”
“I don’t know, some kid from the florists, why?”
I pull my cell phone out of my purse and text Milo, telling him off for sending the flowers. I don’t need him getting any ideas about us. He texts back almost immediately with a “what flowers?”
I frown at my phone.
“What?” Nolan asks.
“Milo says he didn’t send the flowers.”
Which leaves the question, who did?
“You have a secret admirer, April.”
“Who has a secret admirer?” Maxine demands as she comes around the corner. The nurse is barely five-three and has blonde hair, pulled into a tight ponytail. She’s worked here at least four years longer than I have.
“Miss Collins here.”
I roll my eyes at them both. “I do not have a secret admirer.”
Although the card suggests otherwise. Clearly, someone does care for me.
Knowing it’s not Milo, I’m starting to feel a little weird. Who else would send something like this to me?
For a moment, Chris’s name flits across my mind, but that’s a childish want. He’d never send me something like this. He barely acknowledges I exist, and when he does, our conversations do not make me think I mean a lot to him.
“These look expensive,” Maxine says. “I sent Jen a bouquet last month for her birthday and it cost me the GDP of a small country. This is much fancier—and bigger.”
Jen is her fiancée. They have a relationship I aspire to have. It’s clear to anyone with eyes that the two women are deeply in love.
I peer at the blooms as Maxine’s words careen through my brain. It does look full and expensive.
Who on earth could have sent them?
Maxine pats my shoulder. “Well, girly, when you find out who it is let me know,” Maxine says. “I hate not knowing.”
“You’re not the only one,” I murmur. “Right, someone update me on the residents. Time to get to work.”
10
Chris
It seems to take ages for my weekly visit to Luke to come around. I hate going, I hate the reminder of what I did, but it does mean I get to see April. It’s the only silver lining, and it’s a silver lining I don’t deserve. Despite what J said, I shouldn’t get my chance at happiness when Luke never will. He’ll never get to see his kid grow up or walk her down the aisle on her wedding day. He’ll never hold his grandkids or snuggle up with his wife again.
Yeah, I really don’t deserve to find any good in my life.
I push down my maudlin thoughts and focus on the source of my attraction—Miss April Collins. She’s standing at the reception desk, her hair pulled up into a topknot that is coming loose in places. Strands of hair brush against her face where they’ve come free of her tie and make her look sexy as all hell. My cock stirs in my jeans as I take her in. She looks delectable in those scrubs she wears, and I’d love nothing more than to strip her out of them.
As I come to the desk, I see a huge bunch of flowers on the cabinet top behind her. They’re wilting slightly, so must be a few days old, but they’re impressive.
“Morning,” I murmur at her as I snag the pen off the top of the desk to start writing in the sign-in book. It’s a testament to how much of a jerk I’ve been to her in the past that she seems surprised I’ve spoken.
“Oh… morning.”
I jot my name down, my scrawl barely legible as her eyes bore into me.
“So, um… I need to ask you something,” she says.
I raise my gaze to meet hers. She’s staring at me, and I can see the curiosity in her eyes.
“Shoot.”
“Did you… um… send me flowers earlier in the week?” She gestures over her shoulder to the newly wilting arrangement on the cabinet.
My brows knit together. “Not that I remember.”
I definitely didn’t, but her expression makes me wish I had. She looks disappointed.
“Oh, I thought maybe…” She breaks off and shifts a little, her discomfort clear.
“Why?” I ask.
“I got the flowers and a card, but there was no name on it.” She huffs. “I’m not a fan of mystery and this one has me completely baffled. I can’t imagine who sent them. I don’t have many people I’m close to or friends with who would send me flowers—especially not with that message in.”
I want to ask what the message was, but I’m not sure it’s my place.
“So, you assumed I sent them?”
I wish I could take the words back as soon as I say them, because although she flushes a pretty pink, she ducks her head, clearly mortified. I don’t like that she does. I don’t want to be the person to cause her discomfort.
“I just… I don’t… fudge. I know that’s kind of presumptuous of me, but you’re the only other person…” She breaks off, cringing. “Oh, God, I need to stop talking.”
Her rambling is endearing as hell. I want to reach out and tuck an escaped piece of hair behind her ear, but I don’t move. I don’t dare. If I do I’ll touch her.
“You’re fine,” I assure her.
I follow her bottom lip as she pulls it between her teeth. “But if you didn’t send them, and Milo didn’t either… then who did?”
Is she worried about this? There’s a hint of concern in her expression, but she shuts it down so fast, I’m not sure if I imagined it or not.
“It was probably my mom or gran,” she says after a moment.
“Do they often send you flowers?”
“Well, no, but that doesn’t mean they wouldn’t.” She waves off the concern. “If it’s not them then I guess I have a secret admirer. I just wish I knew who it is. Not knowing is killing me.”
I wish I knew who it was too, although not for the same reasons as her. I don’t want anyone else sniffing around her.
But you’ve never made a move… why would she wait for you?
She should have been snapped up already. She’s an amazing woman. Yet, I can’t bring myself to go there, even though I’m attracted to her, even though she’s my light in the dark. Why? Because everything I touch gets destroyed. I’m not good for her, and she’s too good for me. I don’t want to put out her vibrancy.
But the thought of her with someone else… suddenly, my chest feels tight. I’m a selfish bastard for wanting her to myself without actually offering her anything, but I can’t help it. I don’t deserve her, but I can’t stop thinking about her either. She’s always on my mind, and I don’t know how much longer I can keep denying what I want.
“They�
�re beautiful flowers,” she continues rambling. “If nothing else, I want to thank whoever bought them for spending that much money.”
She fingers the blooms and turns back to me. “I should let you get on with your visit. I’m sorry for assuming…”
I shake my head. “It’s fine. Don’t sweat it.”
Pink rises in her cheeks. “I really didn’t mean anything by it.”
“April, it’s not a problem.” I hate that she feels she needs to justify herself.
“They really are beautiful flowers.” She sounds almost wistful.
“Well, you’re beautiful too, so it’s only fitting.”
She freezes, her fingers inches from the blooms.
Now why in the fuck did I say that?
“What?”
I don’t want to take it back. I won’t. It’ll hurt her to do it, so I have to follow it through.
“You are beautiful, April.”
The blush deepens and I love the way it colors her cheeks. She swallows hard.
“Chris…”
Hearing my name spill from her lips goes straight to my cock. I need to get out of here, before I do something I’ll regret. Something like kiss her senseless because that’s what I want to do. I want to take her mouth so badly my legs feel wobbly.
It’s a good thing the desk is between us. It’s a physical barrier between us, and right now I need this.
I push away from the desk. “I better go see Luke.”
She nods, her expression uncertain.
“Okay…”
Inwardly, I cringe. “Catch you later, April.”
“Yeah, bye, Chris.”
I turn and practically race up the corridor, muttering under my breath, “What the fuck are you doing Chris?”
And to that, I have absolutely no answer.
11
April
My keys seem to have disappeared into the ether. There’s no sign of them at all. Bekah isn’t too concerned, even though I’m freaking out. She reasoned I got in the house, so they’re in here somewhere. The question is where. We’ve turned the entire place upside down and we still can’t find the freaking things. I’m starting to think Bekah is right—I do need a tracker on them.
It’s Friday night, and I should be out there, living my best life—or whatever thirty-two-year-old divorcees do. Instead, I’m curled up on the couch, a carton of ice cream strategically placed on my knee, while I watch some action movie in the dark, pretending I’m in the theater watching it.
Yeah, this is how sad my life has become.
I’m home alone—because Bekah is working—eating ice cream directly from the carton, imagining the hot guy lead is my husband and would sweep in to save me if I ever needed saving.
I need help.
I can feel my eyes getting heavy as I watch the movie, which just adds to my pathetic behavior. It’s barely even nine-thirty and I’m already drifting off. I swear I could keep going all night in my twenties.
I let my eyes flutter shut.
* * *
The screen is stuck on the menu when I open my eyes. Fudge, how long was I out for? I snag my cell and swipe over the screen. It’s nearly midnight. Great, no way in hell am I going to sleep tonight.
Stretching, I sit up and work the knots out of my shoulders and spine. It’s not the most comfortable couch, but I feel like I’ve slept on a block of cement. I turn to the lamp on the end table and flick it on. The room is illuminated in a soft glow, but I still squint against the brightness.
As I turn back to find the remote to turn the TV off, I freeze. And the blood in my veins chills.
Sitting on the coffee table are my keys. Not the new keys I got recut, but my old keys. I recognize the keychains attached to them. My mouth dries. One hundred percent they were not on the table when I went to sleep. I know this because I put the ice cream carton on there, and I’m not that dopey. Bekah and I also turned this room inside out to find them, and since Bekah searched with a police officer’s eye, I’m pretty sure she didn’t miss a set of keys sitting right out in the open.
My heart starts to thrum in my chest, racing so hard, I feel a little dizzy.
If neither of us missed the keys, then how in the fudge did they get on the coffee table?
I wipe my sweaty palms on my yoga pants and glance around the living room. Nothing looks out of place, but then again, I haven’t left the safety of the couch—or the perceived safety. I’m a sitting duck here.
I try to listen, to see if I can hear anything moving in the house, but it is silent other than my own ragged breathing.
Something feels different, though. I don’t know if it’s in my head, but I feel as if someone has been inside, in the room with me.
I push off the couch and grab my phone. Quickly, I dial Bekah. She picks up on the second ring.
“Sweetie, I can’t talk now. I’m on my way to a case, but I’ll call you in an hou—”
“Have you been home tonight?” I cut her off.
“What? No, why?”
My breath rips out of me. “Really?”
“Really. April, what’s wrong?”
I swallow hard. “I fell asleep on the couch. When I woke up, my keys were on the table.”
For a moment she doesn’t speak, and I wonder if she thinks I’m losing my mind. Then she says, “I’m sending a patrol car to you.”
“That’s really not necessary.”
“April, those keys were not in the house. We checked, but they got on that table somehow. Can you get somewhere safe?”
My heart rate moves from thrumming to pounding. She thinks whoever put the keys there is still here.
“Oh, God,” I murmur.
“Honey, I don’t want you to panic. Just get yourself somewhere safe. Police are on their way.”
Easier said than done. I’m panicking. In fact, I’m two seconds from hyperventilating.
The only room in the house with a lockable door is the bathroom, but I’d need to cross the living room and the kitchen before stepping into the small hallway that leads to the bedrooms to get there. Right now, I’m paralyzed by fear, so moving isn’t going to be an option.
I can hardly draw air, I’m so scared. I duck down behind the couch, gripping my cell like a lifeline. I’m never going to make it to the bathroom, and I’m too terrified to try.
Moments pass in the silence as I make myself as small as I can, tucking my legs up to my chin as I try to calm my breathing. I’m being too loud, but I can’t stop from panting. My fear is into the stratosphere.
A boom on the front door makes me squeal.
Then I hear, “Police, open up!”
This spurs me into action. Knowing safety is on the other side of the door, I escape my hiding place and rush across the room barefoot. I quickly drag the door open and am greeted by two uniformed officers.
“Miss Collins?” I nod.
“The officers are there?” Bekah says in my ear.
“Yeah, Bek, they’re here.”
“Okay, honey, do what they tell you. I love you. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”
She hangs up, leaving me listening to dead air. I quickly pocket my phone and let the officer pull me to the side of the front door.
“Wait here. We’ll check it out.”
I nod and watch as both officers disappear into the bowels of the house. My heart rate is still too fast, but it’s slowed a little since they appeared.
After what feels like an eon, they reappear, holstering their weapons.
“The house is clear.”
Relief floods me. “Thank God, and thank you, officers.”
“Do you want to tell me what happened?”
“I lost a set of keys a week or so ago. They were not on the table when I went to sleep. When I woke up, they were.”
The officers exchange looks.
“I know it sounds crazy and likely you’re thinking I just misplaced them, but we searched this entire place. They were not here, and even if they were,
how did they just magically appear on the coffee table?”
The younger of the two officers says, “Well, if someone broke into the house to leave your keys here, they’re not here now.”
“They wouldn’t need to break in,” I snap. “Whoever it was had the key to get in.” A thought occurs to me. “Oh, God. What if they made copies of the key?”
“Do you have somewhere you can stay for tonight?”
“I guess my mom’s.” I don’t want to be driven out of my home, but what if this guy comes back?
“April?” I hear Bekah’s voice and glance around the officers as she comes at me. She gathers me into her arms and hugs me tight. I didn’t realize how much I needed this until she does it.
“Are you okay?” she asks, pulling back and studying my face.
“Yeah.” I swallow. “I’m good.”
Her expression says she doesn’t believe me. Then again, I don’t believe me either. Bekah turns to the other officers and tells them she’s got it from here.
Then she steers me back into the living room and pushes me on to the couch.
“We’re going to a hotel tonight,” she tells me. “Tomorrow, we’ll get the locks changed.”
I nod slowly. “Someone was in the house, Bek.”
She meets my gaze. “I know, girl.”
“But who, and why?”
“That, April, is the million-dollar question.”
12
Chris
I’m in the workshop fixing up a nineteen-seventy-two Harley Softail when I hear voices. Glancing up, through the internal window to reception, I see a police officer talking to Nova.
I straighten from my crouch as she comes to the workshop door.
“Hey, Chris, there’s a police officer who wants to talk to you.”
The curiosity in her face must be mirrored in my own, but I’m also feeling a little antsy. Has something happened to my mom or Curt? What could he want?