Page 60 of What I Should've Said

Her laugh fills my ears until the line clicks dead. Though, she can’t stop herself from following it up with a text message.

Lillian: Just FYI, all the BEST books start with banging the boss.

Me: You’re a psycho.

My phone vibrates in my hands again, but I ignore it, shoving it back into the side pocket of my leggings. My best friend is a highly intelligent girl, but she doesn’t have a clue when it comes to Bennett Bishop.

I’m more likely to strangle him than have sex with him. That is fact.

I give myself another five minutes to do a few stretches, and once I hit the timer on my smartphone and put on my favorite workout playlist, I give my AirPods one last adjustment and get moving.

My pace is slow as shit. More walking than jogging, but it doesn’t matter. It feels good. The air is crisp like an apple, and the sun shining down through the trees provides just enough warmth on my face to take the edge off.

And the view is something special. The leaves are showing the first early signs of change. Some are still a vibrant green, but others are already highlighted with tiny dots of red and orange and yellow. It makes me excited to see what Red Bridge looks like when the season really shifts from summer to fall.

Before I know it, I’m ten minutes into my walk-jog, and Leo Sayer has taken my ears back to 1976, telling me he feels like dancing the night away.

Another five minutes and my leg muscles decide to remind me that the last time I ran was when I pulled a Julia Roberts and left my wedding.

But two minutes after that, all thoughts of getting tired fly out the window when something catches my attention in my periphery. I glance over my shoulder, and the sight brings me to a dead stop in the middle of the trail.

It also makes me scream. “What the hell?!”

The fluffy, four-legged creatures behind me also come to a stop, and when I pull my AirPods out of my ears, I note the faint sound of a few small bells ringing from the crowd.

Yes, the crowd of fluffy white sheep staring at me.

Are these Farmer Tad’s sheep? If not, how many freaking sheep farmers are in this small town? It feels like an overpopulation.

The crazy thing is, the longer I stand here, the bigger the crowd gets as more sheep come around the bend and stop with the group.

How many are there? I try to count, but I get to forty and have to start recounting because I lose track and more keep coming.

But they all stop. And wait. And look ahead…at me.

“Uh…hello? Hi? Can I help you with something?”

They don’t respond. You know, because they’re sheep.

Just…keep going. Maybe this is like a thing? A Red Bridge thing? Maybe these sheep come here in the mornings too, to get a little fresh air?

“I…uh…I’m going to keep on running. You guys have a great day, okay? Maybe…uh…head back home? Yeah?”

But when I turn on my heel and start to run down the path again, I steal a quick glance over my shoulder and note they are now moving with me.

It’s like they’re following me down the trail.

I stop.

They stop.

I look at them. They look at me. Baaaaaaa.

I offer another wave goodbye, point toward the other side of the trail, and start to run again, but they just do what I do.

If I’m moving, they’re following.

If I stop, they’re waiting for me.

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