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After arming herself with a stiff mug of coffee, Alanna opened the screen door into the backyard. The door slid like a dream.
Sully.
Alanna knocked back another mouthful of coffee to stifle her groan. Her mother puttered about the small backyard, the knees of her cotton pants already stained with the fresh potting soil she was smoothing across a bed of delicate white roses.
“There you go, my girls,” she cooed beneath the brim of her straw hat. “You darlings are coming up so beautifully. A few more weeks, and you’ll be dazzling.”
Alanna smiled to herself. Her mother always chatted to her roses, telling them stories, encouraging them to grow, and complimenting them every step of the way.
“These are tea roses,” her mom said without looking at Alanna. “Beth from two blocks down grows them in her garden and let me have a cut. I grafted it last year, and they’re doing really well.”
Alanna stepped up next to her mother to admire the delicate buds waiting to bloom.
“Roses are fussy little things,” her mom explained. “They need a lot of care and attention. They aren’t made to thrive in desert conditions, but if you work hard enough and give them lots of love, they’ll bloom every year.” Her mother turned to her. “It’s worth the work.”
“I’m sorry.” The words felt awkward, but Alanna pushed them out anyway. “About yesterday. I was upset about something else at the office, but that’s no excuse for the way I acted. I was out of line.”
Her mother pulled off her gardening gloves and put a hand on Alanna’s arm. “You were always worth the work, too. I’ll be more careful about the stove.”
It never ceased to amaze Alanna how easily and freely her mother offered forgiveness. Her mother couldn’t hold a grudge even armed with a net and tether hooks. What would it be like to be able to let go of hurts as if they weighed nothing? To have a heart always open and ready to receive an errant daughter back into the fold?
Alanna couldn’t know. She just wasn’t that type of person. All she could do was appreciate her mother’s generosity.
“You need to apologize to Sully, too,” her mom said.
Alanna looked down into her coffee mug. “I will.”
“He’s a good man.”
“I know.”
“A really good man.” Her mother tightened her grip on Alanna’s arm. “Good people are special. There aren’t so many of them in the world.”
Alanna could tell where this conversation was going from a mile away. Too bad she didn’t go for nice guys. Though she couldn’t deny the jolt of electricity from the kiss she’d shared with Sully. Her lips buzzed, and her knees turned a little shaky. Surly that was just the caffeine kicking in. Sully was a nice guy, but that kiss had been anything but nice. It’d been passionate, merciless. It’d whispered sweet, dangerous promises.
But she didn’t have time for distractions, even distractions of the handsome handyman variety. She’d apologize to Sully, pay him for his work, then begin brainstorming epic, world-shattering revenge to rain down upon Chip Rupert the Third.
She lingered in the yard with her mother for another few minutes, finishing her coffee while her mom pointed out this rose hybrid and that one, and the birds of paradise she was growing along the shadier side of the house.
Finally, Alanna stepped back into the kitchen, pausing to swish the screen door back and forth a few more times to marvel at the smoothness of the movement. Sully sure knew how to use his hands… and his lips. Poignantly ignoring the throb in her lady parts, Alanna washed out her mug, put it in the dishwasher, and finally remembered to feed the cat.
Damn.
She usually fed Petunia at 8 AM. It was past 9. What punishment would that little fur devil unleash as retribution? Piss in her Manolo Blahnik floral pumps? Smash her beauty cream? Knock over the dumb plant with its ridiculous white bow?
For some reason, that last thought upset Alanna the most.
She went to the pantry, grabbed a tin of cat food at random, and turned to the food dish on the floor in the corner. She stopped. Her hand tightened on the can of cat food.
A dry, congealed lump of last night’s wet food sat in the dish. It looked like Petunia hadn’t even touched the stuff.
For all of the cat’s many, many, maaaaaaany problems, eating wasn’t one of them. Petunia loved food like Superman loved wearing red underwear on the outside of his clothes. Alanna set the unopened tin on the counter.
Was something wrong with the cat? She hadn’t seen Petunia all morning. Though that wasn’t so unusual. The feline was spending more and more time on top of Alanna’s bed, but she still liked to hide beneath the bed anytime she got spooked.
Had she seen Petunia last night? Alanna struggled to remember. Honestly, it’d taken most of her focus just to make sure the wine from the bottle landed in her glass.
“Petunia?” Alanna called as she climbed the stairs. A thought hit her. Was this some new psychological tactic in their ongoing warfare? No… the cat couldn’t possibly be that smart, could she? Alanna entered her bedroom. No huge orange-and-white cat sprawled at the foot of her bed. She dropped to her knees and peered into the darkness. No blue eyes dared her to stick a hand in.
