See Me .(37)
Sean’s knee bounced up and down. Shit, if he could just walk away, all would be okay. He could go back to the gym, the kids at the center. Life wasn’t easy financially before Abigail, but it sure as hell seemed less complicated. “Shit!”
The white walls staring back at him were a reminder of what he didn’t have. The small apartment afforded him a place to sleep. It was warm and cheap. Abigail’s apartment was warm too, but in a different way. The vibrant colors made him feel calm. Right now, it felt like he was a patient in a mental ward, all sterile.
Maybe he could just make her dinner, work on the business stuff she’d asked him to, and leave with an amicable handshake. He could have a moment of peace in a real home and see her dog. Maybe she’d even let him take the little mutt for a walk sometime. He looked over at the dinette table where the bags of groceries sat. He’d even tossed a dog toy into the cart while he was shopping. The rubber squirrel would squeak when she chewed on it. He’d thought his new furry friend would like it.
Without letting his ass take another fucking trip down memory lane, he slipped into a pair of flip-flops and grabbed the bag of groceries. Worst thing she could do was throw his ass out. Not like he hadn’t had that happen before.
* * * *
Abigail opened the hatch and grabbed the two brown sacks of groceries. She’d stopped at the market on the way home. Twenty minutes had gone by in the store, and she’d made it. After a sweep of the parking lot, three attempts to get out of the car, and two phone calls to Ron, she’d done it! She even took the time to shop the ice-cream aisle. Sure, she should’ve opted for a Lean Cuisine meal, but she’d filled the cart with ice cream and stuff to make lasagna instead. It was time for some serious comfort food. Hips be damned!
The purse strap slipped off her shoulder as she tried to slide the key into the lock. “Damn it.” The key finally found its home, and the click sounded out. “Thank God.”
She hefted the bags on each hip and almost tripped as she opened the door. “What the…?” A small cardboard box lay on its side just outside the door. The warehouse’s parking lot was empty, and the box hadn’t been addressed to anyone. Today was Saturday, and she hadn’t ordered any supplies this week.
She stuffed the box on top of the bag next to the garlic bread. With one foot, she kicked the door closed and made her way up the flight of stairs leading to her apartment. The faint sound of scratches and snuffs came from behind the door as she set the bags down. “Hold on, girl. It’s Mama. I got us a treat. Chocolate caramel crunch for me and a new chew bone for you!” The clawing got louder before she unlocked the door and leaned down to grab the bags.
The little dog jumped up and down, as best she could on her short legs, to welcome her mistress home. “Hello, hello. Yes, I’m home. Come on.”
Barely missing another trip over the panting dog, Abigail set the bags on the breakfast bar and lifted the box from the bag. “Maybe Ron ordered something. What do you think?” After turning the box over several times, she didn’t see an address label.
The box had been taped shut with clear packaging tape. After several tries, the tape broke, and the flaps opened. The box dropped to the floor with a clomp. “No, girl! Get back!” With shaking hands, she lifted the box, scattering the wilted rose petals. “No no no.”
The urge to search through the dead petals overshadowed the need to burn the damn thing. Her fingers grazed a cool piece of metal. From the silver ring dangled a red heart. The glittery side sparkled in the overhead light. The back side was engraved.
Together forever.
Abigail dropped the key ring. Penelope yelped at the clatter and ran behind the couch. Hiding sounded pretty damn good to her right now too. The thunder in her chest resounded inside her head. With each thud, she made her feet move. Quickly, she had to get rid of the stuff. There was no way Justin could’ve found her. She’d been very careful with cell phones and addresses. The package must have been from a crazy fan, someone who’d gotten all caught up in the Web site and found out where the Fantasy Emporium headquarters were located.
Maybe it wasn’t even for her. Maybe it was meant for one of the performers. She wanted to smack her own hands for wishing it. No one deserved to find such a demented gift on their doorstep. Maybe the petals had wilted in the heat? Maybe they’d been fresh at one time with the quirky key chain hidden like a treasure. A gift meant out of admiration. Right? Please be right. Someone had obviously taken the time to mail the small box.
“The door downstairs was unlocked.”