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“Because I know why your stalker disappeared for five years,” I growl as the blood-red heat of possession, protection, and vengeance merge into one white-hot flame of murderous violence. “Kieran did five years in Federal Prison for attempting to sell candy-coated Fentanyl to an undercover DEA agent. He was released last week. I know because we were in the same fucking prison block. Looks like he called himself Padraig in prison to sound like a tough Irish thug from Southie.”
Connie stares at me, her mouth opening, then closing silently. She blinks twice, then shakes her head and blinks again. “I . . . I don’t understand. It’s the same guy? The guy Kieran that you said you have unfinished business with? It’s . . . it’s the same Kieran?” Her face pales when I nod. “How . . . how can that be, Xavier? How can it be that you escaped from prison and chose my truck to escape in and now we’re . . . now you’re . . . nowhe’s . . . ohmygod, I’m about to freak out, I’m about to lose my shit, I’m about to—”
“Drive.” I bark out the order as the blood roars in my head. “Drive away now, Connie. Because I’m losing my mind too. And if you don’t drive away now, I’m going to get out of this truck and beat Kieran to death in the Bloom Foods parking lot and get blood and brains all over my new pink hoodie. Drive, baby. Just drive.”
7
CONNIE
The drive is surreal. Everything feels made up, like we’re in a cartoon world or a doll-house. The cars pass like boxy little toys. The road looks squiggly like it’s drawn with crayon. The sky is water-color blue. The clouds float above us like chubby ghosts.
Xavier and I stay silent all the way through my next two Bloom Foods deliveries. He’s got his hood pulled low over his face, stays slumped far down in the seat. It didn’t look like Patrick had binoculars, wasn’t holding his phone up, so he hopefully didn’t recognize Xavier from so far away. But Patrick would have noticed that there’s a man riding in my truck with me. Shit, he probably saw Xavier kissing me, pushing me down on the seat! I don’t know how he’ll react to that, whether it’ll provoke him to try something violent. So far he’s been keeping his distance, which makes sense if he’s on parole and doesn’t want me to file a police report for stalking. But I’m worried this seemingly random coincidence will push him over the edge.
Just like it seems to be pushing Xavier over the edge.
Now I glance over at Xavier, see the way his razor-sharp gaze is riveted on the truck’s side-mirrors. He’s staring at the cars behind us so hard I don’t think he’s blinked in almost an hour. When we stopped at the other two Bloom Foods locations, Xavier unbuckled his seatbelt and poised his body like a tiger ready to strike at any sign of Patrick, any sign of danger.
And now suddenly I realize I’m smiling.
It makes no sense, but somehow it makes perfect sense.
“It’ll all fit together,” I whisper, repeating the words Xavier had said to me when I was freaking out about how we can everbe together. I still don’t know how we’re going to pull it off, but something about this inexplicable coincidence with Patrick makes me believe that fate really did send Xavier to me.
Sent him to protect me.
“Did you say something, baby?” Xavier’s gaze is still focused on the road behind us. There’s been no sign of Patrick following us after that first Bloom location, but I’m not sure if that’s a good thing. He might have recognized Xavier after all. Or maybe he heard about the prison break and suspects that Xavier escaped in my truck. But wait, Patrick wouldn’t know I even delivered cookies to the prison, would he?
Ohmygod, is that another weird coincidence? I apply to be included in this “humanize the convicts” government program and randomly get assigned to deliver cookies to this particular prison, the same prison which holds both my stalker and my savior?
It’s too much to explain away as just coincidence.
This is fate baking my cake.
Destiny crumbling my cookie.
Serendipity sweetening my pie.
“You were right,” I say in a deadpan monotone through my cartoon-doll smile that’s so plasticky that it’s ultra-real. “It’s all going to fit together. I just don’t know how.”
“I do,” says Xavier, his voice a low rumble, tone oozing with deadly authority. “First, we go to your store so you can deal with the morning rush and then the police. My guess is Xavier will be watching the store. He’ll probably wait for the customers to clear and then the cops to leave before making a move.”
“What . . . what move?” My throat is dry, making it painful to swallow. “You’re scaring me, Xavier.”
Xavier takes my hand in his. “You’re never going to be scared again after today, Connie. It all ends today. I’m going to end it today.”
“End what, exactly?” My body tenses with anxiety, and now nothing feels like it’s coming together. Instead everything feels like it’s coming to a head, about to fall apart. “Xavier, I’m already stressed about having to lie to the police right now, OK? And I have to open my store for business. It’s one of the biggest sales days of the year for a store like mine. And my business is already in debt. And today’s already been insane. And—”
“Your business is going to be fine,” Xavier says with a confident grunt. “Your product is amazing, which is the hardest part. The rest is easy. You need to cut costs, which you do by not throwing away all those perfectly good cookies which are slightly misshaped. Or you can put up a separate display of irregular cookies, which I guarantee folks will love because each one will be unique.” He grins, squeezes my hand. “Just like you, babe.”
A little smile breaks on my tensed-up face. “Did you just call me misshapen and irregular?”
Xavier grins, kisses me wetly on the cheek, making me giggle as the tension temporarily drains away.
“Your shape is perfect and you damn well know it,” he rumbles against my wet cheek before kissing me again and then drawing away and continuing with his surprisingly thoughtful suggestions. “Also, you’re going to raise your prices.”
I frown. “You don’t even know what my prices are now!”
Xavier shrugs. “I knowyou, Connie. You’re sweet and generous, modest and humble. Which means you’re almost certainly charging less than your customers would be perfectly happy to pay.”
