AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“If you want, you can go.”
“No. No, I’m being silly. I’m happy George called you. You are the best.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed my cheek.
“I’ll call you if there is any reason for us to be concerned.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you need anything?”
“Chocolate.” She grinned.
“You got it.” I was planning to shove my face full of powdered doughnuts. I would call it therapy.
As soon as I got in the car, I cranked up Stevie and blasted the heater. It was only twenty degrees out. I shivered most of the way to the store even though I was wearing an insulated coat and flannel—lots of flannel. Basically, I was turning into a lumberjack with a messy bun. If only my friends from Florida could see me now. Long gone were the cute halter dresses and heels I loved to wear to client appointments. I never used to go days without shaving my legs. I wasn’t even sure of the last time I had seen my legs outside of bathing. I’d sworn I would never wear leggings every day. I was such a liar. Just ask Patrick. I cranked up the music even louder, attempting to have Stevie drown him out of my head. “Edge of Seventeen” blared. It was more like edge of my sanity.
I couldn’t understand why he was so upset with me. It was twenty years ago. Couldn’t he see I was a hot, divorced mess? He should be thanking his lucky stars he got perfect, albeit a bit plastic, Nina. But given his job, he probably loved that about her. Heck, maybe he even worked on her. Was that legal?
The worst part of it all was that he knew I was still attracted to him. I banged my head on the steering wheel while stopped at a red light.You are more than welcome to merepeatedly sounded in my head. Worse, I had said it with an audience. Paul wouldn’t even look at me now. Apparently, my superpower was repelling men. I wondered if Paul would tell Charlotte what a fool I’d made of myself.
I turned onto Main Street and had to smile a little. Fair Hollow was quaint and charming, especially this time of year. Wreaths adorned every lamppost, and lights were strung across the street. Snow was atop every shop and café. It was like living in a Hallmark movie, minus the happily-ever-after. I was living more of aNational Lampoon’s Christmas Vacationsort of life. I would not be surprised if I got bit by a rabid squirrel. I might welcome it. I could use an extended stay in the hospital. It would be like a mini vacay at this point; you know, except for the shots in my stomach.
After my fourth listen of “Edge of Seventeen,” I pulled into Bradfords. It was the only full-service grocery store for miles around. It was on the classy side, given the clientele, but the locally owned place was closed on Sundays and only open until nine on weekdays. It was cute until you had a craving for some fudge ripple at midnight. We really should install an ice cream machine in the dining hall.
I grabbed a basket, pulled out my phone, and dialed George as soon as I entered the store—to the sound of some cheery instrumental Christmas music. Signs everywhere wished me aMerry Christmas. It did little to improve my mood. That’s when I headed straight for the bakery. Perhaps sugar would give me a boost.
George answered on the third ring. “Hello, dear one.”
“Hi, George. I’m at the store. What can I get you?”
“Funny thing: I lost my list. Can I call you back?”
“Sure.” I was becoming increasingly worried that he was having some sort of episode. “Would you like me to call Dr. Schultz for you?”
“No, dear one. I assure you I know exactly what I’m doing. Talk to you soon. Good luck.” He hung up.
I stared at my phone. What did that mean? The old man was losing it. I thought I was going to call Dr. Schultz after all. You know, right after I got my doughnuts and ... chocolate milk. I was going to live dangerously today. Dangerously close to not fitting into my bridesmaid dress, that is.
The bakery case was filled with beautiful sights. Given the mood I was in, I had to talk myself out of getting a dozen of the amazing, empty-carb-filled confections that filled my soul with pleasure. Who needed men when you could have pastries? I refused to answer that question.
With my bag of doughnuts, I meandered over to the dairy section to get a pint of dark chocolate milk. Still waiting for George to call, I grabbed a doughnut out of the bag and sunk my teeth right into it. I closed my eyes and let it work its magic. No doubt I looked like a walking ad for PMS medication. What did I care? I grabbed a bottle of milk and opened that baby up and took a big ol’ swig. This was the life. Shopping in flannel, eating doughnuts, and drinking chocolate milk while all the shoppers steered clear of me. That was a good idea. I probably looked like I was on some sort of bender.
Next, I headed for the candy aisle to pick up something for Charlotte. When I arrived, my least favorite person on the planet showed up: dirtbag Dave. The photog and journalist (though I use the word loosely) who loved to harass Charlotte and me. Mostly me for some reason. He was the guy who posted pictures of me holding up the vaginal yeast cream. Well, I had a new lovely picture for him to post today. I held up the half-eaten doughnut. “Here’s to you, Dave.” I then proceeded to shove the rest of it in my mouth, raspberry filling dripping down my chin.
Surprisingly, he didn’t snap a picture with the camera hanging around his neck. He did something more unsettling. He sauntered toward me wearing a devious grin. Coupled with his translucent skin and blond, slicked-back hair, it made him look demonic.
I chewed the doughnut slowly, savoring every bite while wondering what the dirtbag was up to now. The last time he showed up was a couple of months ago, saying he heard rumors that Drake and Charlotte were on the rocks and he would be willing to pay me for the inside scoop.Dirtbagwas actually a kind word for him. I had otherdwords to describe him, but my mother would not approve of them.
“Izzy, you’re looking well,” he hissed, like the slithering snake he was.
I swallowed down the doughnut, grabbed the chocolate milk from the basket, and took a long swig. I was hoping he would get the vibe that I wasn’t in the mood for his creepy antics. The fact that individuals made a living stalking and lying about other people was so sick and wrong. It was because of jerks like him we had to go to such extremes about the wedding. If not, Drake could have paid for all sorts of professionals to deck the halls until they were holly and jolly. Don’t get me wrong—I was happy to do whatever I could to give my baby sister the wedding of her dreams. But look at me: I had resorted to becoming a lumberjack with powdered sugar sprayed all over my coat.
“What do you want?” I stared at him coldly as he got too close to me.
His devious smile changed to pure evil. “Oh, I just had an interesting conversation with afriendin LA.”
I rolled my eyes. “Anyone who is friends with you probably needs a psych evaluation.”
“That hurts.” He pretended to faux stab himself in the heart. Though I highly doubted he had one. “Here I thought we were friends.”
