Page 68 of The Finish Line

“Right now, I fear for you both. Just do yourself a favor and get out of a public place. It’s not safe for others. It’s just going to take some time to adjust.”

“Adjust.” The word is acid on my tongue. “That’s a word she’s used multiple times.” The cashier eyes me as she rings me up, and I toss two bars of chocolate onto the counter before shoving half of one in my mouth and chewing slowly, daring her to judge.

“Have you been honest with her about everything?”

Canting my head away from the cashier, I lower my voice. “I haven’t even been able to get past the rehash since she left Triple. She’s... impossible.”

“Just give her more time, and try not to think about what’s going on here. Do yourself a favor and keep your business brain out of it. We’ve got it covered. Just concentrate on her.”

I let out a pained groan. “If I concentrate any harder—”

“I know, man, I know. Tessa is just as fucking hard to crack when she gets pissed at me. Just do what you can. I’ll call you back soon.”

“When?”

“When, what?”

“When will you call me back?” I snap, swallowing down another mouth full of chocolate.

I don’t miss the laughter in his tone. “You need a when?”

Again, I turn away from the cashier, who’s doing a shit job of hiding her smirk. “Yes, Sean, I need a fucking when.”

“I’ll hit you up tomorrow.”

I end the call and turn to pay the cashier.

“Flowers?” she offers a suggestion, nodding toward the buckets of bunched stems nearby. Though it’s a typical gesture, it’s not a bad idea. The woman loves a garden and spends endless hours doting on her own. Grabbing every single flower in the bucket, she nods in approval as I hand her my card.

“Thank you.”

“If four dozen roses don’t help, honey, you might want to think about something shinier.”

“Noted.”

The wheels of my shopping cart squeak on the uneven pavement beneath me as I haul out my load of supplies to the Camaro. Once unloaded, I close the trunk and pause when I see a familiar car parked a few rows down. The same rental car I spotted back at the gas station.

Not a coincidence.

Glancing back toward the store, I see a man standing, waiting at the side of the entrance, his eyes averted.

My phone rumbles in my pocket, and I lift it to see a late warning.

We’re on him.

I type back a quick reply.

Let me handle it.

Pushing my cart back toward the store’s receptacle, I dial Cecelia.

“Hey.”

“How is your day going?” I ask.

“Well, considering I only got here an hour ago, okay so far. What’s up?”

“I did call for good reason.” The irritation of her remark combined with the arrival of a new stalker is coming through my call, and I rip at my hair in annoyance before I lighten my tone. “A very good reason.”

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