Page 2 of Accidentally in Bloom

The list. Keep going.

Number 3: Chemical Dependence.

There’s probably not a decent latte in the entire county.

Rose had a deep, committed relationship with her emotional support Nespresso, and she already missed it.

She’d only stayed in Fairwick Falls for forty-eight hours for the funeral a few months ago. The last time she’d really visited her hometown had been over ten years ago, and the only places open then were watered-down, drip-coffee-swill-from-yesterday diners.

A chilly wind whipped around her, causing her teeth to chatter.

Number 4: There is weather here.

How could it be this cold in March? Maybe I can get the estate settled in 2 weeks instead of 3.

The family lawyer had been extremely particular that Rose be there in person for her father’s will reading.

And so, here she was, on top of a car hood in the cold, sunny March morning.

Rose thought back to the last time she’d seen her dad alive. It had been almost ten years ago, and they’d barely spoken since their final fight. Her haunting, awful words to him still rattled in her head.

Rose pulled her thin khaki jacket around her as she peered up and down the back road that connected the highway to her small hometown. No sign of cars.

Maybe if I stand on top of the car, I’ll get a cell signal.

She scrambled up the windshield to the roof, giving herself a few extra inches. Maybe there was a signal bar coming.

If she didn’t get service, at least someone would stop to ask if she’d lost her goddamn mind.

There was a farm off in the distance, but it would take an hour to walk through muddy fields to get there, and who knew? Maybe it was a farm of murderers.

Or worse, cult members. Maybe they’d innocently ask her to drink their homemade buttermilk, and she’d wake up in chains...

A low roar interrupted her thoughts, and a lone motorcycle barreled down the empty back road toward her.

As the bike came closer, the rider’s broad shoulders and thick muscular arms became hard to ignore. An idiotic physical reaction of need rippled through her.

Fuck. She was still on top of this stupid car hood. Her feet slid underneath her.

Don’t fall in front of the hottie, don’t fall in front of the hottie.

Could she get down without falling to her death? No, just stay put and see if he stops.

She’d always had a thing for guys on motorcycles. There was something sexy about a guy who would make you feel reckless.

She tossed her long hair and struck a damsel-in-distress-but-I’ll-kick-your-ass-if-you-try-anything pose.

On top of her fucking rental car.

The bike slowed and pulled in behind her. The rider had a wide expanse of chest, covered in a leather jacket, and a dark helmet obscured his face. He cut the engine, and quiet rang out over the countryside.

His jeans and jacket were designer if a little beat up. What the hell? What were European-cut jeans doing outside of nowheresville, PA?

He stood up, and she took in his thick, muscular thighs and noticeable height. Rose was a healthy 5’10” and always wore heels (it was a power thing). She guessed she still wouldn’t quite meet his eyes if he stood next to her.

He flipped his helmet off and tossed back his dark hair.

Holy. Fuck.

---