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“I thought you said you were making hot chocolate with whipped cream,” I said, my eyes watering and throat burning from the generous gulp I’d just taken. And it had nothing to do with the temperature of the liquid. The rest of the weekend had been uneventful, aside from me wallowing, and Hazel had suggested greeting the new week with a sweet drink.
“It is,” Hazel said over the rim of her mug. “Hot chocolate with whipped cream flavored vodka.”
I nodded and took another, smaller sip because wow, Hazel seemed to really like “whipped cream.”
“Thanks for staying in with me tonight,” I said.
I set the mug down on the coffee table and grabbed a string of red, yellow, and orange lights shaped like leaves. Stepping on the couch, I placed one end of the strand at the corner of the window.
“Of course. I’m glad we finally get to spend some relaxy time together.” She took a sip of cocoa and handed me a tack.
“Does relaxy time include using me as manual labor to hang all your fall decorations?” I moved along the couch, holding the string as I went, and Hazel handed me another tack to secure the next length along the top of the window.
“Hey, you’re taller than I am, and tell me these aren’t adorable.” She held up what was, I assumed, a turkey. It was made out of papier-mâché, sequins, and twine, and looked as if it had suffered a stroke.
“It’s still September. A little early for Thanksgiving decorations, isn’t it?”
“They’re not Thanksgiving decorations, they’re autumn décor,” Hazel clarified, accenting the last word a bit.
A slice of dread ran through me as I realized these things would be up for the next few months.
“Where did you get that thing?” I asked, trying to find something positive to say.
“The farmers market. Isn’t it unique?” She smiled at stroke turkey—which I was now mentally calling Stroky—and I just nodded.
“It’s something, alright.”
“So,” she said, handing me another tack, “how’s everything going with Hottie McGovernor?”
I wished I could reach my cocoa just then because I needed a distraction from the question. I had no idea how it was going with Roman. Mostly because I hadn’t heard from him in two days, not since our wham-bam-can’t-come-inside-cuz-I-don’t-trust-you-but-I’ll-have-sex-with-you-in-the-car-thank-you-ma’am incident.
I didn’t realize I hadn’t answered her question until she followed up with, “Are you worried about your busy schedule coming up?”
“Yeah,” I said, though that wasn’t entirely true. The traveling was just the tip of the iceberg.
Roman’s secretary had sent me an e-mail this morning, outlining the itinerary for the next month. October was right around the corner, and most of it would be spent campaigning in various cities, with only a few days in between to pop into work.
However, since the fundraiser, I hadn’t actually talked to Roman. The one follow-up text he’d sent me, informing me of my required appearances, didn’t count as an actual conversation. He hadn’t mentioned the blog post, so I hadn’t bothered asking. I was trying to take Paige’s advice and not worry about it.
I leaned down and Hazel handed me another tack. Two more, and the leaves would line the whole window.
“Everything will be okay,” Hazel assured me. “I bet you won’t ever run into Warren again.”
I sighed. It was a logical conclusion to draw, from her perspective. After the panic attack at the fundraiser, Paige had apparently texted Hazel to rush home and check on me, since she couldn’t leave the mansion. I had amazing friends. Even though I was inarguably making Paige’s life harder, she was still supporting me.
Because of the agreement, I hadn’t gone into the details of what had happened that night. Problem was, I could really use some advice.
“I think I spooked Roman,” I admitted.
“What do you mean?”
“After seeing Warren, I sort of had that mini-attack, but Roman calmed me down before it got really bad.”
Hazel’s eyes went wide. “That’s great! Well, not great you had an attack, but it’s great how he helped you.”
Exactly what I thought. He’d been so amazing. Calming. Comforting. Which was why I was convinced there was something real between us. Why I had let myself get caught up in the backseat of his car. None of that mattered at the end of the night, though, because once we were done, the masked man had returned.
“I’m pretty sure it changed Roman’s perception of me. He’s been different.” I didn’t know how else to describe it without going into all sorts of details.
