Page 9 of Sweet Escape

I can’t imagine growing up in a place like this. Not that there’s anything wrong with it. It’s just so different from the city I’ve known most of my life.

For me, nights are filled with the sound of crashing waves in the distance, the occasional sirens, and people out on the streets until early hours of the morning. The briny smell of the ocean mixes with warm concrete and the gardenia plant that my neighbor kept on her balcony.

Now that I’m here, experiencing how peaceful my friend’s home is, it makes sense why Murphy has always claimed she had a hard time falling asleep for the first year she lived in Santa Monica.

I laugh quietly to myself and shake my head.

Murphy hated growing up here, but the one positive thing she repeated over and over is how beautiful it is. And damn was she right.

Rosewood is a beautiful place. I enjoyed sitting out on the patio at the restaurant earlier, looking at the vines as the sun was setting, the rolling hills and trees stretching out in the distance in a way that’s so picturesque, it doesn’t feel entirely real.

She told me that if I ever wanted to plan a girls’ weekend trip or just get away, that this town was a great place to do it. So, in my moment of need, this is where I came.

And something tells me I made the right choice.

I sit for a few more minutes before pushing to my feet and heading back inside. I’d been hoping to go outside to distract myself from my thoughts, but it’s so quiet all I can hear are the very thoughts I’m trying to avoid.

Instead of returning to Murphy’s room for more of that riveting staring contest I’ve been having with the little stars all over her ceiling, I wander into the kitchen and tug open the freezer, thinking maybe some ice cream might be the cure for my mental funk.

A small carton of mint chocolate chip is sitting front and center, and I snatch it with glee, smiling when I peek inside and see that there are more than a few bites left.

Perfect.

After hunting down a spoon, I dig in, closing my eyes and moaning quietly when the cool mint explodes on my tongue.

There is nothing better than a sneaky ice cream in the middle of the night to take your mind off things.

“What are you doing?”

My eyes fly wide, my entire body jerking with surprise at the dark figure standing in the doorway, and I drop the carton and spoon on the floor.

Pressing my hand to my chest, I take a deep breath, trying to quiet my racing heart.

Then I pin Memphis with a glare, only staring at his shirtless chest for a brief second. “Sneaking ice cream, which would be a lot easier if you didn’t appear out of the darkness like a serial killer.”

Bending, I pick my mess up off the floor, then turn to rinse the spoon in the sink. Once I’m done, I spin back around and look Memphis right in the eye.

“What areyoudoing?” I take another bite. “Besides scaring the shit out of me.”

“I was planning to sneak some ice cream,” he replies, crossing the kitchen in my direction and tilting the carton in my hand. He glances inside, sighs, then lets it go. “But it looks like an unwanted houseguest stole my last bites.”

Part of me wants to slam the carton on the counter, storm from the room, and leave him to eat the final two or three scoops all by himself.But that might be a bit of an overreaction. And Murphydidsay I should cool the guard dog in me a smidge.

So instead, I spoon a tiny bit and bring it to my mouth, looking him right in the eyes as I place it on my tongue. And then I moan around the cool metal, enjoying this bite even more knowing that Memphis had wanted it.

He narrows his eyes at me, irritation evident even in the darkness.

“What is your problem?” Memphis’s question is gritted out at me, filled with frustration.

I don’t answer right away. Instead, I take another spoonful and bring it to my mouth, moaning again.

“You know, I was having trouble falling asleep,” I eventually say, “but now that I’ve had this delicious ice cream, all to myself ... well, I should sleep like a baby.”

I’m being a little too caustic. I know that.

But I’ve been plotting his demise for the better part of ten years.

Okay, so maybe I wasn’t actually plotting his demise. And sure, I’ve never interacted with him before tonight, and that might make my feelings a little ... much.

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