Page 12 of Say Yes

Lindsay

Colton boltsthrough the door and comes to an abrupt stop. I know he’s experiencing what I did just a minute ago, complete shock. I stare at the disaster that was once my living room. It now looks like a war zone, utterly trashed. Everything that could have a slash mark in it does, every breakable item is in pieces, and . . . I suck in a breath when I see what’s scattered over all of the debris. Rose petals.

My inhale draws Colton’s gaze, and he reaches out to pull me into his embrace. I sigh with relief because there is nowhere else I feel safer. He whips out his phone and calls the police, then hangs up and cuddles me close.

For some reason, I can’t bring myself to care too much about everything that is ruined. I only feel relief at having Colton in my arms. Who knows what might have happened if one of us had been here.

I rest my cheek on his chest and close my eyes to get myself together. When I open them again, I see something I’d missed before. “Colton.” He looks down at me, and I point to the wall next to the door. There is a white envelope taped there and it is surrounded by what looks to be rose petals mashed into the painted cream surface.

Both of us know not to touch it, so we turn away and simply hold each other while we wait. My mind is spinning out of control, wondering about my decisions in the past, should I have done something about those notes? Told the police? Approached the person I think is responsible? I would never have believed him capable of this.

“Honey,” Colton says gently, “I know this is scary and probably freaking you the fuck out, but you need to tell me what else is bothering you. Do you know anything about this? Why? Or who?”

I debate how much to tell him and hide my face in his shirt so he can’t read my thoughts on my face. Unfortunately, my plan backfires. He puts pressure on my chin and lifts my head, his eyes narrowed.

“Honesty, Lindsay,” he warns, his expression tight.

Sighing, I gesture in the direction of the envelope. “I’ve been getting little notes in the mail for a while now. They are harmless, just little poems and a—” I break off wondering just how deep in shit I am with him. But, it’ll only be worse if I hold back and anyway, I’m going to have to tell the police everything. “They each had a rose petal.” I wince when Colton curses viciously.

Despite his obvious anger, though, he continues to hold me in a gentle embrace. For the first time, I notice just how natural it is for him to protect me, care for me, to love me. Those are always his first responses and it doesn’t matter how angry he is, I always feel safe and loved.

“You know who it is, don’t you?” His voice is deep and growly, clearly pissed. Guilt trickles through me for keeping this from him, but I truly didn’t think it was a big deal!

“No,” I say honestly. “I have my suspicions, though.”

He doesn’t’ say anything, so I peer up to find him staring down at me impatiently. “You have to promise not to go off halfcocked and do something stupid,” I caution. He snorts but otherwise doesn’t speak, just continues to glare at me. “I just,” I sigh and contemplate how to tell him while keeping him calm. It’s not looking like there’s a solution to this one. I might as well go hunting for a unicorn.

“I think it might be Grant.”

His eyes widen. “The little punk from your bakery?” he asks in surprise.

He looks around thoughtfully once again. “I can see him sending the notes, but I have to say, I wouldn’t have pegged him for being violent or flying into a rage. He seems more like the type to sulk and make himself a martyr.” I don’t disagree and it bums me out that I’d been so wrong about him.

The police show up and take our statements, then do all that policey stuff they do at a crime scene. An older officer with a portly belly, thick glasses, and a handlebar mustache steps out of the house and walks to where I’m sitting on a front step. Give the guy a donut and he’s straight out of a crappy cable cop show.

“Does this mean anything to you?” he asks, holding out a plastic evidence bag. Inside is a white note card, probably the one removed from the envelope on the wall.

I take it warily, not really wanting to see what’s on it, then feel like throat punching myself for being such a coward.

The card has a printed poem on the front, similar to all of the others, but when I turn it over, I see more writing, this time in permanent marker, with bold block letters. So much for handwriting analysis. Then again, what the hell do I know about that stuff? I just want to make cupcakes. I give myself exactly thirty seconds to pout, then inspect the message on the back of the card.

I’m sorry, my sweet Lindsay.

I shouldn’t have done this, but you made me so mad, acting like a whore with your next-door neighbor. I’m getting impatient waiting for you. End it with him or when I come for you,

I will end him.

Xoxox

I dropthe baggie and scoot away from it like it is on fire. Okay, this has officially crossed the line, and I’m getting freaked out. Colton comes from somewhere behind me and before I can snatch it up, he bends down to retrieve the notecard.

His face clouds as he reads the handwritten part, anger tightening the muscles and darkening his eyes. He’s suppressing his rage, keeping it in check around the cops, but I know him better and I can see it vibrating around him, crackling like static in the air.

Handing the item back to Police Officer Cliché, he presses his mouth into a straight line and does an about face. His grim expression softens just the tiniest bit when his gaze lands on me.

“No more arguing, Lindsay,” he says with steely determination. “You’re moving your little ass in with me today.”

I nod in silent agreement. I won’t do any good now to tell him I’d already made up my mind to do just that and was planning to tell him tonight. I’m not sure he’d believe me and I didn’t want to find out.

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