“Hell yes,” I say, because honestly? It was.
She slams the huge pot upside-down on the sideboard, precariously stacked next to all the other pots, and whips the yellow rubber gloves off.
“Wonderful to see you again, Eli,” she says, already walking for the back door. “I had a super nice time chatting. Bye!”
Violet disappears. Seconds pass. The door slams. I’m vibrating with unreleased tension and the force of acting casual about this.
Slowly, I unclench my fist full of duct tape. There are red lines criss-crossing my palm.
It takes about twenty seconds before I feel bad about riling her up. I’m nearly thirty. I’m grown. I know better.
But I never could help riling up Violet Tulane. I never could help holding it over her head when I was in a better position than her.
We tortured each other growing up. Sprucevale’s a tiny town with one elementary school, one middle school, and one high school, so for thirteen years she was omnipresent.
She always had to be the very best at anything, and woe to anyone who stood in her way — usually, me. She was mean. She was petty. She was a bossy know-it-all who treated everyone like they were morons, and she always seemed to get what she wanted.
I had no idea she was still in Sprucevale. I have no idea why she’s still here.
I had no idea that she turned into a gorgeous, sexy-as-fuck bombshell.
I’d assumed she was gone, probably doing some big important pain-in-the-ass job in a city somewhere — D.C., New York, Philadelphia. I didn’t care where she was, so long as I wasn’t there.
After a minute, I follow her out the door and toss the duct tape and defunct torch into the dumpster. I don’t see her. Good.
I head back into the kitchen, grab the propane canister, and leave it on the counter along with a note. There, now it’s someone else’s problem.
Then I exit through the side door, slipping out into the night and the quiet parking lot.
It’s Violet-free.
Perfect.Chapter ThreeVioletI don’t make it five feet outside before I tear my shoes off.
After standing in heels for five hours, lifting heavy pot after heavy pot, the cool asphalt feels like pure heaven on my toes. This parking lot could be a chewing gum, broken glass, and cigarette swamp and it still would be heaven.
I walk around the side of the building, pull out my phone, and hit the button.
Nothing.
I hit the button again.
You have to be kidding me.
Of course my phone is dead. Of course. That’s the day I’m having, obviously: bad date, Eli, repentant dishwashing, Eli, no ride, stupid Eli, dead phone.
Fine. That’s fine. I’m prepared, and I reach into my purse and fish for my backup battery, which I keep for exactly this scenario.
As I fish, Eli’s face appears like it’s etched on the insides of my eyelids. A tiny dark tornado erupts in the pit of my stomach.
Don’t let him get to you.
Don’t do it.
God, I didn’t even know he was back. The Sprucevale gossip machine hasn’t said a peep about Eli Loveless’s return, and the gossip machine normally has a lot to say about the Loveless boys.
I haven’t seen him since we graduated high school. I knew he went to college. There was a rumor he dropped out, but I never knew whether that was true, and by then, my mom was sick and I was too busy to find out.
Besides, I was happy enough to lose track of him because Eli Loveless is an infuriating, cocky, competitive asshole who would stop at literally nothing to one-up me my whole life and oh my God, where the hell is my phone battery?
My empty hand hits the bottom of my purse for the second time that night.
This can’t be happening.
In desperation, I rifle through everything in my purse one last time. My formerly-cute sundress is sticking to my back. There’s sweat trickling down my butt crack, and it’s grossing me out. I’m tired and angry with Todd and angry with myself and somehow, angriest of all at Eli Loveless for existing at the worst possible time.
“Fucking Eli,” I mutter to myself.
It does make me feel a little better.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I drop my stupid purse to the stupid ground, and lean my head back against the brick wall. It’s after midnight and I’ve got no money, no phone, and no ride.
I’ll just walk, I think.
It’s warm enough. The town’s safe enough and small enough. Home is close enough — Four, maybe four and a half miles.
Besides, I’d rather walk than hitchhike. Even if my phone was working, Adeline’s at work with her phone off. The cab company here has one driver and he’s probably drunk right now. This place is way too podunk for a ridesharing app.
I toss my shoes into my purse. I spent every childhood summer running barefoot on gravel. I’ll be fine. It’ll be an adventure.