Page 2 of Guarded from Sabotage

“Ohh, I love avocado.” Raya pauses and scans me from head to toe. “Sarah. You look so pretty today. I adore that outfit. The skirt is so cute, and the shirt brings out the green in your eyes.”

“Thanks.” My lips curve up of their own volition. “I went shopping with my mom when I visited for Christmas.”

As we leave my office, Raya asks, “Where do your parents live again? New York?”

“Not anymore. They used to live in Lake George, where I grew up. But once they retired, they wanted to go somewhere warmer. So they’re down in South Carolina now.”

“Oh, that’s nice. Are they near the ocean?”

“Yeah, they’re just outside Charleston. Their house is a ten-minute walk from the beach. So it’s nice. They love the water, so they’re happy.”

While I’m glad my parents are finally enjoying their well-deserved retirement, a nostalgic part of me still wishes they lived in Lake George, running the restaurant I spent most of my teen years working in.

“I love the ocean,” Raya enthuses as we step out of the air-conditioned building and into the warm air. The sun kisses my bare arms, and I can practically feel the vitamin D seeping into my body. A gentle breeze lifts my hair and rustles the hem of my skirt.

It almost chases away that ominous feeling I had from before. Almost.

I’m sure it’s nothing. Just random paranoia stemming from a bad dream I don’t remember or that text from Tanner yesterday asking if I still had his Rush T-shirt, then getting snippy when I said I didn’t.

What I wanted to say, but held my tongue, was maybe he should ask one of the women he cheated on me with. Instead, I told him no again, and blocked his number.

Honestly, it felt great, and I’m not sure why I didn’t do it sooner.

“I can’t decide,” complains Raya, turning towards me as we wait in line. It’s a relatively short wait, with only two people in front of us, which is a pleasant surprise at this time of day. “The chicken and avocado club sounds really good, but Iamtrying to eat healthier. Maybe I should get the vegetable pita instead.”

A second later, she grimaces. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to come out that way. I wasn’t trying to say you shouldn’t get the club?—”

“I know.” Smiling at her, I add, “I didn’t think anything of it.”

Slightly flustered, her cheeks pinking up, Raya says, “You could order anything, Sarah. You’re so slender, and you run all the time?—”

“Not all the time.” I mentioned I go jogging occasionally and she somehow translated that into me being some kind of marathon runner.

“I just have all these curves,” she groans. “And it seems like all I have to do islookat a dessert and it adds two pounds.”

“You’re beautiful,” I assure her. “Trust me.”

“Then why haven’t I had a date in months?” She shakes her head. “My mom says I need to get out more. Try online dating or something. Or—” Her face brightens. “I saw an ad for speed dating coming up next weekend. We could go. That might be fun. What do you think?”

Inwardly, I cringe. Speed dating? Making rushed small talk with random strangers? That doesn’t sound very appealing. It’s not that I’m averse to dating again, but I’m not sure that’s the way I want to go about it.

“I’m not sure…” I hedge.

“It’s been six months, though. Time to get back out there. Just to meet people and have fun, if nothing else.”

Just as I’m trying to figure out an excuse that won’t make me sound like I’m still pining after my cheating ex or completely anti-social, I’m saved by the counterperson asking for my order.

After I place my order for the chicken club—I’m really not worried, after growing up around food I have a healthy relationship with it—I tell Raya, “I’m not sure about speed dating. But if you want to do it?—”

“Miss?” The young guy at the counter looks at me with an apologetic expression. “I’m sorry. But I can’t take this card.”

“What? Why?” I glance at the counter, searching for some sign I missed; maybe something that says they only take Discover or American Express instead of the Visa I handed him.

“It’s declined,” he tells me unhappily. “I’m sorry.”

What the heck? I have autopay set up on all my bills. There’s no way I missed a payment. And I never got a notice, either.

Then I realize everyone is looking at me, and my stomach squinches into a knot. My face goes hot. I’ll have to figure this out later, when I have time to call the credit card company. In the meantime, I reach into my wallet and pull out my emergencyMastercard and hand that over instead. “Try this. It should definitely work.”

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