Page 14 of Red Flags Only

P.S. How did your Valentine launch go?

Baddie sign off…

I reread the letter. Then, I reread it again. On my fourth read, I can’t get past the second line, mentioning our run-in at the hardware store.Harrowing, she called it.Harrowingenough that she went home after running away from me at Brotherhood Hardware, clearly had some sort of a breakdown, then decided to overhaul her entire personality.

I broke her.

I disrespected her boundaries, and I broke her.

Can I not do onesinglething right?

I clear space on my desk, then grab the nearest bit of stationery I can find – a purple and green sheet of thick letter paper. Snatching a pen out of the cup on my desk, I start writing my apology.

I explain that I didn’t mean to freak her out. I write the wordsorryseven times. I tell her about the last three days, how I clearly have no clue how to even talk to women, as evidenced by my struggle with writing romantic scenes and by our hardware store run in. I tell her she’s perfect how she is, and she shouldn’t change herself, but that if she does I’ll be here, loving her through it. I tell her the same thing I do at every book release – I have no idea how it went, but Mars handled the launch and wrote all the good stuff in the book, so it’s probably thriving.

I tell her that I love her.

Then, I fold the paper in half, shove it in an envelope, address it, stamp it, and head to the post office to drop it off. It’s the least adorned letter I’ve sent to her since my first, but I can’t find it in me to care. I barely resist the urgeto hand-deliver it. The only thing that stops me is the knowledge that I’ve already upturned her week enough after theharrowing experienceat the hardware store. I can’t begin to imagine what might happen if I actually show up at her house. She’d probably move on from baddie to worstie, landing herself in jail. My Lyra does not know how to avoid the law like I do.

So. Best not to spook her any more than I already have. For the sake of her freedom.

Instead, I spook Brianna when I storm into the post office, demanding she gets my letter deliveredimmediately, and cutting her off when she starts to spout nonsense aboutThe proper procedures!andYou can’t just barge in here, making demands!

“Immediately, Brianna. She gets this letterimmediately. You understand?”

We glare at each other, then she huffs. “Fine,” she says. “But just this onc– hey!”

But I’m already out the door, stomping to my truck and going home to wait on a reply that does. Not. Flagging. Come.

Chapter Eight

I’m sorry,wut?

Lyra

Being a baddie is harder than you’d think. Shopping to be a baddie? Proven impossible.

I had the best of intentions, really. Er… the baddest of intentions? I even pulled out my rarely used car – a silver 2001 Honda Accord V6 named Rhonda. She lived a wonderful life in Washington state before making her way to me, mostly to sit in my garage collecting dust next to my not-so-dust-covered garage fridge, as I prefer to ride my bike around town whenever I can. I sat my baddie butt down in the driver’s seat, took her through a car wash at the gas station to get rid of the aforementioned dust, then drove myself all the way to the mall in the Big City an hour away from Bandera. I bypassed all my favorite stores and entered the darkest, grungiest place I could find. There was just the littlest, teeniest, tiniest hiccup when the darkest, grungiest place I could find had an entire woodland-themed cottagecore section.

I mean. Really. How was I to resist? They had a peach milkmaid dress withbutterfliesfluttering all over it. Among other things. I may or may not have spent $500 buying pretty, flowy, hippie forest-girl garb instead of the baddie wardrobe I went in for. My baddie dreams, as wellas my wallet, are sobbing.

Dropping my way-too-many bags inside after parking Rhonda back in her crypt, I walk to the mailbox to see if Jupiter’s written me back. It’s going to be embarrassing telling her about my failed baddie shopping trip, and I find myself, for the first time ever, hoping I won’t find a response when I flip open the mailbox door.

A hope that is fulfilled, I see, when I open the door to a thin, sad looking white envelope. Nothing like the chonky, wondrous things Jupiter sends me. I snag it, curious. I’ve never gotten a letter from someone else before. Maybe it’s a bill?

The letter is smooth in my hand, save for a bump where the sender got hasty securing the envelope’s flap down. I flip it to find no return address, then quickly realize I don’t need one. I recognize that handwriting. I know the return address by heart.

Jupiter has sent me… this?

It’s sad. The stamp is crooked, and the numbers on my zip code have been scrawled so quickly it’s a wonder it even made it to me. Brianna, our postal system queen, must have recognized it was meant for me. Bless her.

Frowning down at the reason Brianna had to work extra hard today, I pivot and make my way to my porch. Halfway up the walkway, I carefully rip open the envelope and pull out the singular piece of paper. My stomach falls.

Something’s happened.

Worry for Jupiter, for her brother, and for her family courses through me as I stop, unfolding the paper quickly to get to the bad news. My worry skyrockets when the top line is empty. She’s gone straight into the body of the letter, wasting no time addressing it to me.

I’m so sorry, Ly. So unbelievably sorry. I knew youwouldn’t want me to approach you, but I was so worried about what happened with Chrissy and you were right there and nobody else was around except for Oliver, but he couldn’t see us and I just… I thought it would be okay, you know? I promise, I only wanted to check on you. I didn’t mean to freak you out.

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