Page 37 of Glitter Rose
We eat in silence, the clink of spoons against bowls the only sound.
I finish first, eager to escape. “I’m going to check the plants. The tomatoes need attention.”
He nods, not meeting my eyes, and something in me deflates further.
The greenhouse welcomes me with humid warmth, the familiar scent of soil and growing things wrapping around me like a hug. I move between the containers, checking moisturelevels and pinching off dead leaves, my hands finding comfort in the routine.
“Oh, Freddie.” I address my faithful strawberry plant. “I really fucked up.”
His leaves rustle sympathetically in the breeze.
“I mean, who tries to seduce a guy who told you about his dead fiancée?” I trim a yellowing leaf. “Paris, that’s who. Social skills of a zombie.”
I check the strawberries, finding a handful ripe enough to pick. Their sweet scent fills my nose as I drop them into my harvest basket.
“And now he’s going to leave, because why would he stay? I’ll be alone again, which is fine. Totally fine. I was fine before.”
The back of my neck prickles. I turn, catching movement through the glass. Knox stands in the living room, watching me, and our eyes meet before he looks away, pretending to be interested in something on the bookshelf.
Feels like deja vu.
He… can’t hear the conversation inside, right? I mean, I never tried.
“Great,” I mutter to the tomato plant. I don’t know why I never gave her a name. She feels like a she, but Tomtom would be the first name that comes to mind. “How do you feel, tomato?”
No answer. Rude.
I grab my binoculars from their hook by the door and get back out to the open side of the balcony, needing distraction. And what better distraction than the theater of the apocalypse?
The city spreads below me, silent and dead in the midday light. I scan the streets, checking for changes, for threats, for those stupid Wolf-zombies who made me cuddle up to him yesterday.
If it weren’t for them, I’d?—
Movement. Two figures walk along Main Street, three blocks over. I adjust the focus, zeroing in.
A man and a woman, both armed. The man is compact and wiry with reddish-brown hair, checking corners and covering the woman as she advances. The woman in question has platinum blonde hair gathered in a tight braid, a rifle held at the ready.
They’re not random. They’re trained. Organized. Searching.
Are they… looking for Knox?
The thought slams into me with unexpected force.
I stalk them, checking buildings, moving in perfect sync, as if they’ve done this a thousand times.
I should tell him.
Right?
Even if it means he’ll go.
If these are his people… he needs to know. I won’t be the reason he’s separated from them, no matter how much I want him to stay.
I lower the binoculars, steeling myself.
Be normal. The best normal you can. Tell him and don’t make it weird.
I slide the balcony door open and step inside. Knox sits on the couch, leafing through one of the Batman comics, which he must have read a hundred times by now.
