Page 80 of Filthy Little Midlife Fling

Someone mowed my lawn.

I blink, staring. It’s ridiculous to feel this much gratitude for a twenty-minute yard work chore, but as I stand in my front yard, my eyes begin to fill with tears.

One item, finally, I can cross off the mental to-do list without having to do anything at all. The relief is nearly overwhelming, which is absurd.

“…and I took down the damn reviews, so he owes me the keys. So tell him to get his ass over here and return my car before I call the cops and press charges. I mean it, Audrey! Right now!”

Terry’s voice brings my attention back to the call. “Wait. Slow down. The reviews? That was you?”

“I… Listen, Audrey—don’t—I’m not—”

“You review spammed my business because I wouldn’t sleep with you, you cheating asshole?”

A bird squawks as it flaps out of Remy’s magnolia tree, and I realize my sentence came out as a shriek. I drag in a breath in a futile attempt to calm myself down.

“I-I didn’t say that,” Terry stammers. “I was joking.”

“Oh, go to hell.”

It feels good to smash the “end call” button, and it feels even better to navigate to Terry’s number and click the big red button that says, “Block Number.”

Then I look my business up online and nearly begin to cry when I see my star review back up to the four-point-seven rating it’s been since my business’s inception. All the one-star reviews are gone—every single one. I click through the reviews to make sure, reading through the words of genuine customers gushing about the great work I did in their homes.

The words blur, and I realize I’m crying.

Then the rest of Terry’s words sink in. Someone was holding his car hostage in exchange for taking down the reviews.

My head snaps toward my next-door neighbor’s house. I’m running before I know it, smashing my finger against the doorbell and then banging my fist against the door.

“Remy!”

The house stays dark and quiet. I knock again and again before I finally have to acknowledge that no one’s home. Phone in hand, I find Remy’s number. No answer.

My heart sinks and thumps at the same time, and I need to rub my chest to try to ease the discomfort. I glance across the yard to my own front lawn, and I know it was Remy who mowed it.

For the first time in weeks, hope blooms.

Maybe… Does this mean… Is he…

Staring at the silent phone in my hands, anxiety suddenly swamps me.

What if he’s just being nice? Remy is kind and big-hearted. What if he doesn’t want to be with me, and these are just favors he’s doing because he’s a good person?

A car screeches to a stop in front of Remy’s house. I spin around in time to see Terry launching himself out of the driver’s seat, his face like thunder.

“You,” he hisses.

I face him fully, widening my stance. “What are you doing here?”

“You boyfriend,” he spits the word, “stole my car.”

I glance at the car behind him and arch a brow. “The car you drove here?”

Terry vibrates, his face bright red. “You’ve always been a little bitch, Audrey.”

Something inside me snaps. It’s tiny, a single fine thread that had held all my beliefs together. I feel it disintegrate in the depths of my heart, and suddenly I can stand tall. “You need to leave,” I tell my ex-husband, “Or I’m calling the police.”

“Call them! I’ll tell them that scumbag mechanic held my car hostage!”

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