Rogue Devil (The Rourkes #11) - Kylie Gilmore Page 0,2

cookies on the bookcase under the window, but they won’t fit through this small opening.

I think for a moment about how to achieve my goal. I got it! I walk over to the front porch, set the cookies down, and grab a nearby terracotta planter with a miniature pine tree he put out for Christmas. I drag the planter over and set it under the window. There’s just enough room around the skinny tree for my feet. I go back for the cookies. Okay, I can do this. I hold the cookie container in one hand, use the other hand on the windowsill for balance, and step into the planter’s soil. Whoa. My feet just sank all the way to my ankles. My poor white Keds are now brown. He must’ve recently watered it.

Okay, I can still make this work. I’ve got a little height now. I push the window open more and carefully slide the container through the opening onto the top of the bookcase. Then I pull my planned speech from my front jeans pocket and place it under the container. I came up with my speech while the cookies were baking, and wrote it down to be sure I got the words just right. I’m so glad I did because now it’s the perfect friendly note.

I’m about to step out of the planter when a sudden bout of nerves has me frozen in place, staring at that note. I snatch it back, pull my phone from my back jeans pocket, and turn on the flashlight to read it, ignoring the damp leaching into my socks from the planter. My note is short and to the point: I never meant to hurt you. I hope we can be friends.

I debate if I need to find a pen to add my name to it. Maybe there’s a pen in the glove compartment of the car. I didn’t go back to my room for my purse since I didn’t figure I’d need it. I glance over at the car just in time to see it rolling down the hill. Shit! I shove the note and phone back in my pockets and step out of the planter. One of my feet gets caught on the damn plant and the whole thing tips, tossing me to the ground. Oof.

Okay, nothing broken. I jump up and race after the car.

“Wait! Stop!” What am I saying? There’s no one driving it.

I run, waving wildly for the car to stop. Like I have some magical power to reverse gravity. I must’ve forgot to put the emergency brake on. I’m not used to driving much, living in the city.

Please don’t hit another cottage.

The road curves to the left, but the car doesn’t. It keeps going, heading for a cliff. Oh no. No, no, no. I slap my hands over my mouth and watch in horror. Reverse! Reverse!

The car grinds to a stop, halfway over the cliff, tangled in the native shrubbery. I blow out a breath of relief and catch up to it. At least no people or cottages are in danger. It’s just beach down below.

I take in all the angles, considering if there’s any way for me to get the car safely back up or down. Nope. It needs a tow. I sigh, my shoulders slumping.

I turn and trudge back uphill to his cottage. At least I can deliver my note.

I right the planter, and then I have to use my hands to scoop the soil back into it and compact it enough for me to have a sturdy surface to climb back in. Okay, once more with feeling. I wipe my hands clean on my jeans, haul myself back to the window ledge, and slide the note under the cookie container.

I swallow over the lump in my throat, shut the window, carefully step out of the planter, and drag it back to the front porch.

I take one last look at the cottage—my warm and happy oasis once upon a time—and turn away. The palace is at the top of a long, winding road. I consider calling for a ride, but I don’t want this getting back to Sara. She’ll fuss and then she’ll scold. It’s tough when your big sister is also your mom.

I trudge up the road back to the palace, my feet squishing with every step.

And then an icy rain begins, pelting my face.

By the time I reach the palace courtyard by the front door, my feet are numb, my calves