Page 67 of One Spicy Summer

No accidental run-ins. No awkward small talk about how much weight I’ve lost. No pitying looks.

I don't leave the house much anymore, but lately, the guys have been keeping me busy, too busy to notice the fridge at homeis empty. Not that they’d restock it even if they did. Not that I even eat much these days. It shows.

Just yesterday, I caught my reflection in the mirror and almost didn’t recognize myself.

Gaunt cheeks. Hollow eyes. The ghost of the woman I was supposed to be.

When I lost Reese, I lost myself. All these years later, I still have no clue how to get her back.

I make my way to the back, grabbing handfuls of random crap. Sushi triangles. Noodles. Cheese. A smoothie. Whatever. Whatever might pass as ‘food.’ Whatever might make the guys happy for five minutes.

Arms loaded, I head to the counter, hearing Roman’s voice chatting with someone I can't quite see from here. Good. Let them finish. I'm not in the mood to talk.

A few seconds pass, and I start dumping my haul onto the counter. “Ah, hello my friend. Long time no see,” Roman greets, his smile warm and real.

“Roman, buddy, you know I don’t get out much.”

“That I do,” he chuckles, ringing up my order. “Looks like you're on a sugar mission today.” He teases, and even though I don't mean to, a smile sneaks onto my face.

“You caught me red-handed,” I laugh, handing over Keifer’s card.

Roman swipes it and slides it back to me. "Got something new for you to try. Not now, but later. Let me know what you think, thinking about adding it to the shelves."

"You’re trustingmeto decide what you sell?" I raise an eyebrow.

“If you hate it, I’ll find something else.” He grins.

I can’t help it. His kindness is contagious. “Guess you just landed yourself a taste-tester, Roman. You’re gonna make me start coming around more,” I add as I gather my bags.

His grin widens. “See you in a couple days.” And with a wink, he disappears into the back.

Warlock.No one pulls me out of my cave like he does.

I slip on my jacket, tugging it tighter, shades perched on my nose. A quick scan left and right before I cross the lot, All clear.

But just as I step off the curb, something catches my eye: A big truck, idling across the way.

I can’t see inside. But the feeling, thatpricklingat the back of my neck, tells me someone’s watching.And it’s not a good feeling.

Panic kicks in.I bolt for my beat-up ’89 Camry, groceries rattling as I toss them onto the passenger seat. Starting the engine, I peel out of the lot. “Whew, that was close,” I mutter, just as my phone lights up.

Agatha. Great.

I groan, ignoring her call like I’ve learned to do. But the universe has other plans. Screeching tires scream behind me. A shiny, new, red sports car swerves into my lane.

I glance at the mirror, and there’s Agatha, flipping me off, shouting something that can only mean one thing: “Pull over, bitch!”

She doesn’t even need to roll her window down. I can hear her through my closed ones.

I flip her off right back, mouthing, ‘No.’ And I gun it.

She guns it faster. Swerves in front of me, slamming on the brakes.

Groceries fly. I slam the wheel, cursing.

Before I can blink, she’s yanking my door open and dragging me out. “Bitch, are you fucking nuts?!” she shrieks. “Iknowyou saw me call you! You ignored me!”

I wrench free, brushing myself off. “Yeah, so?”

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