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“I’m serious. I know things didn’t work out with that Stephen, but I couldn’t have told you right up front he was too much of a weenie.”
Addy laughed at Shelia’s description of the last guy Addy had been serious about. “He screamed when that spider jumped on him and tried to climb in my arms. It was funny but telling. Not to mention, he was so small I could easily cradle him.”
“That’s why this big one’s such a departure. You usually like them manageable.”
“That’s not true. Stephen wasn’tthatsmall. And he made really good waffles.”
Shelia made a face. “Baby, if you can bench press them…”
Addy frowned. “I don’t choose guys based on their size.” Okay, so the last three guys she’d dated were slight, nerdy, and about as threatening as a puppy. That didn’t mean she intentionally chose guys she could handle easier.
Shelia guffawed. “Yeah. You know I’m right.”
“Okay. Fine. I’ve chosen guys who are a little less masculine than the Incredible Hulk living at the Finlay house. So what? Makes sense in a weird way. My subconscious probably overrode my brain, making me think on some level I could better fight them off if there was a threat.”
“That college degree comes in handy sometimes, doesn’t it?”
Addy shook her head and lifted the arrangement, placing it in the cooler sitting across from her workspace. The Mortillaro girl and her mother were coming in later that afternoon to look at Addy’s design for the “Fairies and Moonlight” Sweet Sixteen extravaganza centerpieces. The mock-up looked good, but who knew what sixteen-year-old girls liked these days.
Teenage girls. She’d been one of those. Cocksure, swaggering, glossed, and moussed. She’d worn her hair curled, her makeup thick, and her skirts short. She’d been on top of the world—a good girl who craved a little bad in her life.
Her seventeen-year-old self could not see what her thirty-three-year-old self could now see plain as day—Robbie Guidry was a stereotypical stalker type.
But to Addy, Robbie had been danger and desire.
Everything her parents would refuse her.
There were so many girls like her out there. Girls who loved a bad boy. She touched the charm of the Patron Saint Raphael at her wrist and made a mental note to call the Archdiocese about her advocacy group talking to the health classes at the parish schools about recognizing dangerous relationships.
She turned to start on another order when the shop phone rang. Addy scooped the old-fashioned corded phone from its cradle. “Fleur de Lis.”
“Why didn’t you answer your cell phone?”
“Hey, Dad.”
“I’ve been calling you all morning, and now you’re forcing me to use your business line. If you’re going to carry a cell, shouldn’t you answer it?” Don Toussant’s temperament almost as bristly as his graying moustache.
Addy glanced at the locked cabinet housing her purse. “Yeah, I forgot to pull it out this morning.”
Her father’s silence was answer enough. Addy never forgot her phone. She kept it in a pocket or sitting nearby at all times… all part of her process.
“Hate to tell you this, baby, but on top of what went down last week, the parole hearing for Robbie is Monday.”
Addy felt her stomach drop to the floor. The escalated threats now made sense. Robbie thought he was getting out and wanted her to remember he’d not forgotten her. “Oh.”
“I wanted you to know talked to Andre, and he talked to someone down at the parole board and he thinks they’ll grant parole this go around. Too much overcrowding and Robbie has been a good boy.” Anger in her father’s voice, maybe a little of it leftover for her. He’d never gotten over the fact his good Catholic girl had conducted a secret affair with a creep.
“I knew this day would come, Dad,” Addy said, her heart pounding at the thought Robbie would be out, able to contact her, able to cause trouble. She’d hoped after all the years he’d spent behind bars he would reform and want to move on, but the occasional reminders he sent to her told her differently. “I’m going to keep living my life. I refuse to live scared.”
If she kept saying it, it would be true.
“Yeah, but after the crap he pulled last week, I wish you’d reconsider the gated community idea. I’d feel better if you weren’t in that old house with your crazy aunt.”
“Dad, don’t call Aunt Flora crazy.”
“She was crazy before the Alzheimer’s. I’ve always called her crazy… to her face. Not changing now.”
Addy knew how much her father loved Flora so she let it slide. “I can’t leave Aunt Flora and she won’t move. We have sturdy locks and nosy neighbors. I feel good about where I live, Dad. It’s safe.”
