But was the front?
I dashed through the house in my socks, nearly slipping in the hallway when I collided with the entry table that had come with the house.
It wasn’t.
Crap.
I flipped the deadbolt and went back to the kitchen, heart thundering. There’d been some recent muggings close to campus, but that was several blocks from here, yet unease lingered. What if someone had been watching me at the window the entire time? What if they knew I lived alone?
I turned off the inside light, and with my phone in hand I peeked out the window again, this time squinting and taking in every single detail I might have missed before. I saw my blue garbage can, sitting where it normally does until pick-up day on Friday. There was an old washing machine out there that the landlord had yet to carry off. It wasn’t worth much judging by the rust. Neither were the dead houseplants I’d set out when I moved in. A white cat was next door, eating out of the neighbor’s dog dish. And there you go. That was the culprit . . .
My eyes went further out, and that’s when I saw it—something white hanging on one of the porch posts. A note? Probably something the landlord left. I had sent him an email earlier that I was going to repaint the kitchen next. He’d mentioned something about giving me a check for paint.
I really should go get the check.
The noise had more than likely been the cat next door.
Okay, go get it then, smarty-pants.
I grabbed a heavy-duty flashlight—just in case I needed to whack someone over the head—and eased out onto the rickety porch.
I raced to the post, snatched the white thing, ran back inside, and locked the door.
It was a long white envelope with my name scrawled across the front.
I tore it open, but there was no note—just a long-stemmed daisy. With a frown, I twirled it around in my fingers. Soft and delicate with white petals and a spongy yellow center, it was pretty and delicate . . . and my professor landlord had definitely not sent it.
Was it Bart? He’d sent me several bouquets last spring after we’d broken up, but I’d either turned them away or given them to friends. I paused, recalling my conversation at lunch with Isabella.
Wasn’t she going to a hump-day party tonight at the Tau house, Bart’s frat?
I called her. “Hey. Can you tell me if Bart’s there?”
A pause. “Uh . . . have you lost your mind? He cheated on you.”
I waved her off even though she couldn’t see me on the phone. “Someone left a daisy on my back porch just now. I want to make sure it wasn’t him.”
“Okayyyy, let me find the bastard.” I heard her walking around the frat house, opening doors. Someone yelled at her in the background and she giggled. “Oops. Sorry. Go back to fornicating.” A door shut.
And so I waited.
A few minutes later, she ventured out to the dance floor, and I heard her pushing and shoving her way through couples dancing to an Adele song. “Bart the Asshole! Where are you?”
I giggled.
Sure enough, she found him wrapped up with a girl on the dance floor. She covered the phone, muffling the sound, but I heard his disgruntled voice telling her to fuck off.
She got back with me. “He’s been with her all night, Sunny. I saw them together on campus today too. Maybe Bart has finally moved on.”
So it wasn’t Bart, unless he’d gotten someone to do it, and that just seemed scary and way out of character. It wasn’t him. He’d own it. He’d want me to know he was trying to get me back.
Isabella offered to come over and sit with me if I was scared, but she sounded a bit loaded; plus she’d ridden with her roommate.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“It’s just weird.”
I told her goodbye, sat on my bed, and looked out the window at Max’s house. His bedroom light was on, so I texted him.
Thank you for my gift.
No response.
Hello? I typed. Are you there?
I didn’t get you a gift. Sorry. What did you get?
Dammit. I really wished it had been from him. I typed, Someone left a daisy on my back porch inside an envelope with my name on it. It’s strange.
Are you scared?
Maybe, I texted.
Want me to come over? Warning: I sleep in the nude.
I giggled, already feeling lighter. What makes you think you are spending the night?
Someone left you a creepy flower. I’m staying the night there or you’re staying here.
He was right. I didn’t want to be alone.
I can sleep on the couch, he offered. But I know you want me in your bed, Cookie. Don’t lie.
I pictured his long and muscular frame draped over my small apartment sofa. Guilt flew over me.
Hello?
Just shut up and come over, I said.
Max
I’D BEEN GOING OVER NOTES in bed when I got her text. I jumped up and threw on some shorts and a shirt.
“Where ya going?” Tate asked from the couch where he was sitting with Kiki, a girl from one of his classes. They were watching a horror flick.