Page 62 of Prime Time Romance

And just like I knew there was someone in my bedroom this morning, I know that when I turn around, I won’t be alone.

I twist.

It’s an eerily slow 180-degree turn as my brain chants over and over, Please be Poppy. Please be Poppy. Please be Poppy.

It’s not Poppy.

The creature snorts.

It’s not Luce either.

I have always thought horses to be docile creatures. But this one flares its nostrils as if it knows why I’m here and it doesn’t like it.

Beside it are a second black-and-white-spotted horse, two goats, and a chicken.

“Hey there, friendly creatures of the barn.” I make my best attempt to sound gentle, but these are not the sweet and fluffy farm animals that used to frolic through scenes of Carson’s Cove. I’m looking at an angry farm animal gang, and they’re all staring at me with the same expression: Intruder.

“So…I’m just gonna sneak past you guys, if you don’t mind.” I attempt to move around them.

But they do mind.

They mind a lot.

As soon as I take a step, the chicken squawks and flaps its wings. It startles the goat, which then rams into the side of the first horse, which snorts so loudly it irritates the other horse, which rears up onto its hind legs, letting out a loud nehhhhh.

My heart lurches, letting out a stream of adrenaline that pumps through my entire body.

I sprint full-speed away from the barn and the horses and the chicken and the goats, back down the driveway toward the spot where we left the car.

The sound of galloping hooves behind me only fuels me to run farther and faster. As if my life depends on it.

The black-and-white horse overtakes me as soon as I make the final turn at the end of the driveway back onto the road.

But only because I stop dead in my tracks as I realize that Poppy’s car is gone.

“Come back!” I yell, not entirely sure if I’m talking to Poppy or the horse that is now barreling down the road toward town.

Neither return, and I’m left alone in the middle of the road, attempting to piece together what just happened.

Luce’s animals are freely roaming the countryside.

Poppy is definitely gone.

Whether those two events are directly connected is not completely clear. Neither is whether Poppy intentionally abandoned me or fled in fear.

“Okay, no need to panic,” I say to no one but the birds.

The sun has risen enough that I can see now without a flashlight, which is great because I seem to have dropped mine.

I start to walk, following the same road taken by the fleeing horse.

It’s a long, flat stretch of country road serving as a visible reminder that I have a very, very long walk ahead of me.

I spend the first thirty minutes straining my ears for the sound of tires on gravel, sure that Poppy is looping back to pick me up at any moment.

I spend the next thirty minutes cursing her name because who the fuck does she think she is, dragging me out of bed and leaving me like that?

The last thirty minutes are a blur.