Page 18 of Red Flags Only

I loosen my hold on my butterfly, lifting her over my head and taking her to the bathroom, where I clean the blood off of her wings. “Sorry, little flutter,” I murmur. “I have been a fool.”

I’ll give my Lyra-love one more week, I think. That will be a month.

“One month,” I tell my newly cleaned charm, hooking her back over my neck. “One month, then this foolishness ends.”

Chapter Eleven

You’re a hard girl to get a hold of.

Jove

Lyra’s time is up.

It’s been exactly four weeks and one day since I sent her my apology, and no reply has been forthcoming. Which is why I’m here, in a place I’ve only ever seen through the window of my truck as I drove past – Lyra’s doorstep. More specifically, the sidewalk in front of Lyra’s doorstep, because at 3:15 on a Monday afternoon, she should be in her nursery working, according to the hours of business listed on her website.

Taking a fortifying breath, I follow the directions on an adorable wooden sign sticking out of her lawn instructing me to follow a stepping stone path through what can only be described as a fantasy forest portal into another realm. Lyra’s descriptions didnotdo this place justice. Her backyard is straight out of a storybook. There are benches and flowers and greenery and, best of all,butterflies.

They surround the greenhouse, flitting around and even coming close enough to brush my face with their wings as they pass. Serenity spreads as I breathe in sweet air, relaxing my shoulders and letting go of the tenseness in my jaw. It sticks, almost overpowering the niggle of frustration when I don’t see Lyra through the greenhouse windows oranywhere else in the yard.

Where is she? I have a situation to remedy.

Turning, I follow the path back to the front of her house, frowning as I leave the peace of her otherworldly back yard. Porch steps creak under my weight as I climb them, approaching her front door as casually as I can.

I knock.

“One second!” Lyra’s voice calls out from inside.

It takes her eight.

“Sorry! How can I–” Her words end as she catches sight of me, giving way to a horrific gurgling noise, which I ignore.

“Lyra,” I greet. “I think we need to talk.”

ChapterTwelve

Communication King

Lyra

Oh, no, we don’t.

“I disagree,” I respond, wincing at the way my voice squeaks.

Jove’s ferocious frown gets even more ferocious, and I squeak again when his hands reach out, grabbing me gently by the shoulders as he pushes in, all the way until we’re inside my house. One long, jeans-clad leg reaches behind him to shut the door.

“I disagree with your disagree,” he replies, taking quick stock of the room, eyes narrowing on his letter which may or may not still be on my coffee table, where it’s lain for the past several weeks, untouched and ignored. “You did get my letter, then.” It’s a statement, not a question, so I say nothing. His hands are still on my shoulders.

He sighs, tearing his eyes off of the letter to look at me. And look. Andlook. They travel over my face and hair before moving down, running over the loose fabric of my dress and snagging on my necklace – a comma butterfly that perfectly matches one that he has for himself – but not catching anywhere they shouldn’t despite the deep cut of my collar. I give him points for that.

“You look okay,” he mutters. “Not ill.” His eyes shootup to mine, intense. “Not crying.” Then, his green eyes squint, dark brows furrowing above them. “So… what the flag, Ly? I know I messed up with the hardware store thing, but I apologized. You read my apology. I should have done it in person, and I’m here now to do that, but…” he trails off, flicking a glance at his letter before coming back to me. “You read it. You know I’m sorry.Sosorry, my song.” He gulps. “Do you… you won’t forgive me? That doesn’t seem like you, but then, neither does leaving me to worry fora month.” His head shakes, and he squeezes my shoulders, almost involuntarily. “Communication, Ly. Please. We have to have communication.”

Um…

What?

“You think this is because of you talking to me in the hardware store?” I ask, baffled.

He blinks. “What else would it be about?”

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