step, a puddle springs up?” Shar asked as she tried to avoid a lake-sized one unsuccessfully. “And deep, too! My poor boots are history!”
“We probably should invest in some wellies. I have these ones with—”
“Skulls on them?” Shar raised a brow.
“Yes,” I answered defensively.
“Adorable. I should get a pair too—but no skulls.”
“I’ve seen them with flamingos,” I said.
“Do they make them in a ten narrow?”
I grinned. “I’m sure they do.”
She flashed a smile as a taxi sped by.
We couldn’t move out of the way and were drenched. But as the car passed us, I caught a glimpse of a dark and blurry face gazing out from the back seat.
“That—” I sputtered, muddy water dripping off my entire body, including my face.
Shar looked horrified. “It wasn’t him in that taxi, was it?”
The cab pulled over a few feet from us. A man exited—tall, lean, and expensively dressed. Wavy dark hair. Chiseled cheekbones.
We held our breath.
“Can’t be!” croaked Shar.
The man turned and stared at us with disdain, then moved on.
It wasn’t Hades. Just a rude stranger with a resemblance.
“Hera said it was done.” Shar’s voice was shaky.
“Right,” I muttered. We stood there dripping. “Now I really need a hot drink.”
We ducked into the first coffee shop we came to, ordered our drinks, and snagged a cozy table in the window.
“Oh, this is nice.” Shar cupped her hands around her mug. I was about to take a sip from mine when a husky voice came from the coffee bar; it seemed to rise over the chatter around us.
“It’s hell out there! Give me something hot. And decadent.”
Shar froze in her seat, and I closed my eyes for a long moment. When I dared open them, all I saw was a stocky guy in sloppy combats leaning over the counter. I nearly died when he spoke again.
“A triple caramel vanilla mocha. Full fat. Extra whipped cream. And a double shot of espresso. Supremio-deluxo size. Is that the naughtiest thing that you have?”
The voice did not match the package. I started laughing.
“What’s so funny?” Shar demanded.
“We are! Look at us. Tensing up like scared cats at every overdressed or oily-voiced guy. And this is barely day one.” I leaned in. “Are we going to keep looking over our shoulders for the rest of our lives?”
Shar grimaced. “I’m still in shock. It’s gonna take me some time to get over this.”
I nodded, understanding. “So what’s the first step to sanity, then?”
She ran a finger along the rim of her mug, then looked at me and smiled widely. “I say we start with the power of positive thinking. It’s over. And he’s gone,” she said firmly. “We’ve come a long way, and the future looks bright!” She raised her mug in a toast.
Shar was right. There was a lot to look forward to, including Jeremy. And a new BFF.
“And it looks like you’ve learned something from me—” Shar began.
“What?”
“You’ve ditched the undertaker look. Somewhat.” She didn’t succeed in suppressing a cheerful smirk.
I started to raise my cup, but reflected in the glass behind her, I thought I saw … eyes.
Dark, smoldering, probing. As I stared, a face started to form.
“You okay?” Shar asked.
I looked at her; there was a twinge of concern in her expression.
I blinked and glanced back at the window. The eyes were still there, except this time I could see the face and the body they were connected to. Mr. Naughty, aka triple caramel vanilla mocha, was sitting at the table behind us. Our eyes locked and he winked at me.
I gave a him tight smile, then quickly turned to Shar and shook my head. Forcing myself to shrug off dark thoughts and wild fears, I lifted my cup in salute.
“I’m awesome,” I said, and meant it. Tapping my cup against hers, I added, “Or should I say, we are?”
Acknowledgments
Charlotte Bennardo
No one writes a book alone; there are always people along the way who listened to me cry when I got rejected, offered brutal criticism that was (mostly) good even if I didn’t like it, distracted me when I was on a rant, and promised to buy the book when it got published. And with a co-author you’re never alone. It’s time for me to pony up and say a humble “thank you, love you, don’t leave me ever!” to all those wonderful, brilliant, and loyal people.
To Nat: more than co-author, you are shopping buddy, personal psychic, dessert partner, straight man, fashion consultant, sympathetic therapist, and most important, my “twisted little sister.” It’s been