Page 17 of Fumbled Into Love

“You’ll survive.” I roll my eyes. “Have you read the book for Book Club yet?” I ask, “It wassogood.”

He’s going to freak out at the end. It’s a very 2000’s rom-com, love confession in the rain, ending that he loves. He eats it up. Honestly, we both do.

“Don’t spoil it!” he yells, his head briefly darting onto the screen before disappearing.

“I didn’t even say anything. I wasn’t—”

“Remember that one time…”

“Iaccidentallyspoiled the plot one time. Are you ever going to let that go?”

Declan returns to the screen, and he smiles.

“No,” he says. I frown. There’s rustling on his end. “Want to see my new shirt?”

“Sure.” Declan unfolds a button-up shirt with a colorful pattern on the fabric. He spins around to show me the front,and I force a smile. We do not have the same sense of style. “It’s…colorful.”

“Thanks! I got it on sale. I’m gonna wear it to walk into the stadium before the game later.”

Sometimes, there’s a reason things go on sale. A knock at the door stops Declan before he can model the outfit.

“Someone is here.”

The banging on the door is so loud I’m sure the neighbors can hear it. The walls are thin, I’ve heard things I don’t ever want to hear again.

“Is it Creepy Terry?” Declan asks.

God, I hope not.

I throw out a prayer and hope it isn’t Creepy Terry, who stops by a few times a week to ‘borrow’ something. He’s asked for sugar, milk, eggs, and every condiment under the sun. Once, he asked for dryer sheets, which was…odd.

The point is he’s constantly asking for something, and the nausea-inducing perusals he gives me when I open the door is the exact reason he received his moniker.

“I’ll call you back later.”

“Don’t hang up! He could attack.” I roll my eyes, rising from the couch towards the door. “Hey! I saw that. I’m being serious. Get the pepper spray I bought you.”

“I don’t need any pepper spray.”

We’ve had this conversation a dozen times. Declan listened to one too many true crime podcasts during the offseason, and now he’s convinced I’m going to get attacked.

I hold my breath as I swing the door open.

A massive bouquet and a small bag sit on my welcome mat. I scan the hallway before quickly snatching the items before Creepy Terry exits his dungeon to interrogate me.

Flowers in varying shades of coral and orange burst from the vase, and curiosity eats at me as I dig for a card. Finding none, I gingerly open the small bag.

Inside sits an envelope and a box of macarons. I tear the envelope apart to find a thank you card with surprisingly messy handwriting.

Nathalie,

The orange and pink remind me of you. Thank you for everything.

Deon.

Declan’s voice cuts through the air.

“Nathalie, are you alive?!”

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