Page 12 of Love Finds Home

Ginny’s eyes flash to mine, a look of panic or self-loathing on her face. Not really sure—the vodka might be making my eyesight blurry. “Oh.”

“When I confronted him, he smacked me and told me to mind my own business.”

“He hit you?”

“Just once. I got the fuck out of there and called Bash. Made him swear he wouldn’t tell the others. Tiny, in particular. He was across the world fighting in an actual war. I didn’t need him to worry about me.”

“You know he’d have dropped everything to be there for you.”

“I know. But it was my mess, and I needed to clean it up. Bash found him stealing money from me and threatened him with losing his dick if he didn’t sign the divorce agreement and walk away. It lasted six months.”

“Is he back? Bothering you again? Is that why you’re here?”

“No. He moved to Baltimore as soon as he could to get away from my family’s influence. I heard he died a few years back, but I didn’t look into it much. I’m here because of Stefon.”

“What is it with you and guys with horrible names?” Ginny cracks up again, allowing me the tension break that I need to get through everything.

“It really should be a red flag, right?”

“Maybe?”

“I met Stefon at the studio. He was an art buyer and was in quite a bit. He asked me out a few times before I said yes. I don’t date. Haven’t really dated since Barty. I have needs I take care of, but my focus has been on my art and the studio. But he was cute and polite. Very gentlemanly.”

“Until he wasn’t?”

“Until he wasn’t. But it wasn’t like before. He just gave me this vibe, and then he started showing up places I was. Places he shouldn’t know I would be at. The grocery store on a random Tuesday. My doctor’s appointment that I never told anyone about. Family dinner. Outside the studio at all hours of the day and night. It became too much, and I broke it off with him.”

“That sounds super clingy. Did he not take it well?”

“I thought he took it fine. Said he’d see me at a meeting a customer had set up with him as the buyer in a couple of weeks. But I started noticing things.”

Ginny sits forward, lowering her voice. “What kinds of things?”

“It started with my easels. They were moved, but I couldn’t prove it.”

“How so?”

“They had been adjusted to the left or right, just enough to make me think I knocked into them, maybe. But not enough that anyone else would notice, you know?”

She nods her head, asking me to continue.

“Then I noticed my paints were put up in the wrong order. Like the blue was put next to the beige. Or the red was gone completely. Or my brushes were dirty when I would come to the studio in the mornings.”

“And you don’t leave dirty brushes? Ever?” She looks skeptical, and I don’t blame her.

“Never. They are the worst. Might as well throw them out and get new ones.”

“Dirty brushes bad. Got it.” She nods, wobbling a little with the movement.

“I know you probably think I’m crazy. Hell, I thought I was losing my fucking mind.”

“What else happened?”

“I started seeing rose petals everywhere.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah. I know. Not helping with the not being crazy, is it? I’m serious, though. I left the studio one night and there was a trail of rose petals from the back door to my car. I purchased the Jeep after that. And another night they were outside my apartment. But it was like the same bunch of petals. Same color, except the second time they were wilted. And the third time the petals looked old, dried up and turning black on the edges.”

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