Page 158 of Flirty Fall Fling

This morning, I’m a woman alone in a haunted house.

Both of our cups said once in a lifetime. I spent weeks refusing to believe it. This morning, I finally do.

I sit on his side of the bed and watch the frost melt off the pumpkins in the backyard. Charlie sits in the window, unamused.

The smell of pancakes and my growling stomach coax me downstairs.

Josie stands at the stove in her flannel pajamas, and Winter sits at the table in silk pajamas.

My cousin takes one look at me. “He’s gone.”

“Yes,” I say.

Instead of explaining, I put the note on the table. Winter reads it with her jaw set. Then she reads it again.

“Actually, fuck him!” she says.

“I want to, right now,” I cry. “He was the best I’ve ever had.”

Josie holds back laughter until she can’t. She covers her mouth, apologizing the entire time. “Sorry. It’s actually not funny. I suppose this is one of those cases where you should be careful what you wish for.”

“Not helpful,” Winter says to her, but her mouth twitches.

I put my head down on the three-hundred-year-old table.

“Thirty days was his record,” I tell them. “I got bonus days and a thank-you note.”

“At least he left a note,” Winter says. “It has his signature on it. Sell it.”

“Can we hex him?” Josie asks.

“No.”

“Just small, annoying hexes. Like his pillow stays hot for a year. Every light he approaches turns red. Five-minute hot showers. It’s enough to make someone crash out.”

“He disconnected his phone.”

Winter turns her mug in a circle. “This doesn’t make sense. I’d have bet on him.”

“You’d have lost,” I say, and my voice cracks in the middle. “Going no contact like that is cruel as fuck.”

Josie abandons the griddle to quickly hug me. “The good thing about this is you can literally have any man you want. I’ve seen the comments all those guys have left under your picture.”

“I don’t want anyone else,” I tell her.

“Pancakes are burning,” Winter says, and all of them are instantly removed and plated.

My phone rings while Josie pours more batter. It’s a local number, so I answer. Anything else, not happening, not after my business was doxed online.

Brandon from Antique Restoration confirms they’ll be working on the roof on Friday, then very politely asks for the forty-eight thousand dollars. I get his information and contact my bank to wire the money. I should feel good about taking care of this. Flora would be excited. The Historical Society is thrilled. It took a lot of guts and gall, and I made it happen. But at what cost?

The girls talk in soft voices. I stare at the syrup bottle and reshuffle last night in my head. How could he disconnect his phone so fast? He left his sweatshirt on purpose. Winter is a professional. None of it adds up.

“Something doesn’t feel right,” I say. Intuition takes over, and I push back so fast in the chair that I nearly fall. “I have to go to New York.”

“Right now?” Josie asks.

“Yes, I have this feeling. I have to go. I have to find him, even if it’s to get closure.”