Page 22 of Passion in Bloom

I shook my head. “I’ve got plans to try to sleep in.”

“You could spend the night. I got that guestroom for my grandkids but they only visit once or twice a year. They’re going to the other grandparents for this holiday season.”

“No. Thank you, but I think I’ll be most comfortable in my own bed.” It felt like a lie. I was sleeping terribly on my own. If I sat down and thought about it, I’d probably feel safer if I was in Nance’s house, with her German Shepherds on guard and her husband a call away even if he was busy trucking.

That sense of safety would be a blessing, but it was one that I had no right to try to take advantage of. I couldn’t afford a false sense of security. It would be an illusion, a distraction. Because I could never be safe when David was near.

Later that night, I tried and failed to relax just like I told her I wanted to. In bed. Lights on. Phone in hand. More than once, I debated texting Roarke, just to see if he was home too.

I couldn’t surrender and lean on Nance, and I sure as hell didn’t want to lean on Roarke either. That was the start of my downfall. The second I depended on someone, then they were in control. In charge. I had to stay independent.

After a lifetime of shunning help, I was simply ill-equipped to know how and when to trust it when it was offered now.

Staring at the numbers he’d given me, I felt slightly better. If I had to call someone, at least I had his contact info already, right?

Over the weekend, relaxation remained out of my reach. I couldn’t unwind for more than a minute before thoughts and worries about David would come rushing back and have me tensing and paranoid all over again.

On Sunday morning, I hoped that going into town and grabbing a few things at the food mart would preoccupy me from the constant anxiety. It didn’t, not when the entire drive there had me roving my gaze all over, trying to spot David watching me.

At the mart, I had further bad luck in finding Ashley manning the register.

I tried my best not to make eye contact. Like an impersonal robot, detached and moving by autopilot, I set my few essentials on the narrow conveyor belt.

Too soon, she spoke.

“Why’d you come back here?” she asked.

It was a stupid sense of déjà vu to when I first returned. What business is it of yours?

“To get attention or something?”

I almost laughed. Try the opposite, Ashley. The supreme opposite.

“Because it’s kind of pathetic that you just waltzing back in town—all because you couldn’t manage life in the big city—gets these men asking around about you.”

I jerked my head up so fast I probably gave myself whiplash. “What?”

She scoffed, ringing up my items. “You heard me.”

“What men?”

She smirked, as if she debated answering me or keeping me wondering.

“What men have been asking about me?” I tried to keep the hysterical edge out of my voice, but it was hard. David had to be. She had to be referring to David. But who else? Was he working with someone? A helper?

“Marty is,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “You get into some kind of trouble or something?”

Fuck.

Anger swarmed within me, coursing through my veins. For once, I wasn’t angry at her, but at that cop. At Roarke for ever getting the law enforcement involved.

“Are you?” Ashley asked as I jammed my card into the card reader.

“No,” I bit out. I was in trouble, on the run for the rest of my life from a narcissist, abusive asshole of an ex. But she was implying something else. That I’d done something to be in trouble.

Nope. All I’ve done was trust the wrong person when help was offered.

“Who else has been asking about me?” I asked as I grabbed my bags.