Page 30 of Red Flag, Green Light

I play several games of Solitaire with one of the decks I keep on my person at all times and soak in the peace.

This could be my life.

I could live in this fantasy garden with my beloved Ceres, next door to my dear Jovey and his darling Ly-Ly. My sweet wife and I could work together until a timer reminds us that foodis mildly important for survival, then we could go next door to have family carrot cake time. It could be just this peaceful and wonderful, always.

Or at least until boredom swallows me whole, and sandpaper scrapes against my brain, whittling it down into a pile of sawdust that urges me to get up, get going, anddo something nuts.

Thankfully—since arson is a lovely cure for boredom—Ceres is pro world burning. I’m sure she’d support my efforts to keep wildfires in check with controlled burns.

I might be insane, but at least I’m not stupid.

“Ceres,” I say, and her back goes straight, because she absolutely forgot I was here.

Turning, she finds me, recalls my existence, and ponders again why it’s persisting so close to her. All the pondering results in a guarded, “Yes?”

“I brought carrot cake.”

Her gaze skates from my cards on the couch cushion in front of me toward the plate before she says, “And…?”

Violently, my heart twists in my chest because it occurs to me I do not know whether or not Cereslikescarrot cake, and if she doesn’t? If she doesn’t…what am I going to do with myself?

“I don’t like—” she begins.

My heart stops.

“—cream cheese frosting.”

I’m sure my pupils dilate. “N-neither do I. I use buttercream.” Made for each other.We are made for each other.

Her head tilts until the balance tips and it falls toward her shoulder. “Really?”

I might flush. A little. “Yes. I make it fresh, too, as of yesterday.”

“Huh.” She rubs one shoulder while her head remains off-kilter and stretched away from it. “You’re very good at piping.”

“I’m well-practiced.”

She stares at me for so long I’m sure I’m flushing by the time I manage avery manly, and not at all squeaky, “What?”

“Nothing…just… Picturing you in the kitchen, practicing making tiny carrots out of frosting is…something.”

Good something?

Bad something?

On a scale ofattractive male lead materialtopathetic slob, please define this “something.” I’ll be in the corner attempting to calm my rejection sensitive dysphoria while you do, thanks.

Helping my anxiety by about negative twelve percent, Ceres’s phone rings, interrupting her ability to answer my unspoken questions as she decides instead to answer it. “Hel—”

A long, high-pitched squeal erupts, forcing Ceres to pull her phone away from her ear. None other than Amelia Christmas screams, “Did you see! DID YOU SEE?”

Ceres’s eyes narrow on the offensive device. “Thankfully, I can still see. Hearing, however, is now lost to me.” Rubbing her temple, Ceres sighs, sets her phone down on her desk, and says, “You’re on speaker.”

“Oops. Sorry. I’m just so excited! Brian has blessed us again! I have a new wallpaper!” Excitement bubbles from the phone. “No, I can’t look at it for longer than three seconds at a time, but that’s not important. Not importantat all. Brian is helping me lower my screen time! What an angel.”

“Do I want to know what scandalous images Brian has posted online this time?”

Maniacal giggling rises.

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