Page 18 of Knotting With A Stranger

“Oh, honey.” Hannah pulls me into a hug, her familiar scent—vanilla, coffee, and home—wrapping around me. “You’re allowed to hope, you know. You’re allowed to want things.”

My phone buzzes a third time. Hannah releases me with a knowing smile.

“Go on, check it. I’ll collect the empty baskets from the shelves in the shop.”

Hands shaking slightly, I pull out my phone and read James’s message.

Just wondering if you’ve committed any felonies today. You know, for research purposes. Also, hypothetically, what are your thoughts on Valentine’s Day? Asking for a friend. Who might be me. Who might want to try asking about meeting up. If you’re still interested.

I stare at his words, my stomach doing that familiar flip even as anger bubbles up. Two weeks of silence and he just waltzes back in with his charming serial killer routine? I’m torn between the urge to tell him off and the traitorous flutter in my chest at seeing his name on my screen again.

Oh, look who’s emerged from witness protection. Should I alert the authorities that you’re alive?

Ouch. Deserved that.

You think? I was THIS close to posting missing-person flyers with your chat avatar on them.

Would you have described me as armed with questionable timing?

Despite myself, I snort.More like ‘Approach with caution. Known to disappear without warning and reappear with suspicious Valentine’s plans.’

There’s actually a reason for that. One I’d rather explain in person.

Hmm. Sounds exactly like something a serial killer would say.

Says the woman who knows suspiciously specific details about body disposal, thanks to her true crime obsession.

Hey! Those are purely theoretical knowledge points. And you’re deflecting.

A pause, then.

You’re right. I am. Look, I know I messed up by vanishing again, but I swear I had a good reason. One that involves an emergency out of my control, location, and a series of unfortunately timed events.

And you couldn’t send a single ‘hey, not dead’ text?

Would you believe my phone got eaten by a mountain goat?

Now I KNOW you’re making shit up.

He pauses for a moment.Yeah... I am. But the truth is… unusual. And not great. And I’ve been beating myself up about going dark on you.

That’s... surprisingly honest.

I owed you that much. I really messed up, didn’t I?He responds quickly.

The fact that you know that helps. A little. Maybe. Jury’s still out.

Fair enough. I miss our talks. And your terrible puns.

Hey! My puns are works of art. Unlike your disappearing act.

Meet me for coffee, and I’ll tell you the whole ridiculous story. I promise it’s worth hearing. And if it’s not, you can add pathological liar with a vivid imagination to that missing-person flyer.

I bite my lip, staring at the screen. Meeting in person would make this real. Would risk turning this perfect bubble of connection into something that could disappoint. Or hurt. Or end. But there’s something about the way he owns up to his mistake, the thread of sincerity woven through his playful words… Unless he’s lying about that, too.

Fine. Valentine’s it is. And you’re buying or baking. And it better be a REALLY good story about that goat.

Deal. Though I should warn you, I clean up surprisingly well for a suspected serial killer.

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