7. Drew
DREW
The whole way home, all I can think about is Violet.
Her eyes, deep and striking, almost violet in the right light. Her bright, mesmerizing smile. And her hair—bright, fiery, and impossible to ignore.
But it was the way she looked at me that really made me feel special. Like I was the only man in the room. The only one who existed.
It was flattering.
So why did it feel like something else, too?
Something I couldn’t name. Or maybe it’s that I don’t want to.
I pull into the driveway and cut the engine, sitting there for a second longer than necessary.
Her voice still lingers inside my head. Especially the way she said my name with an air of familiarity.
Then I frown.
Her expensive car. Her lavish house. She’s way out of my league.
What the hell would she want with an average-looking, divorced, thirty-year-old accountant?
Nothing. That’s what.
With a sigh, I get out of my car and head to the front door. The hair on the back of my neck stands up like someone’s watching me.
I look around, but don’t see anyone.
Weird. Must be residual paranoia from my brother’s wife stalking him.
I step through the front door, my keys still in hand.
Mr. Pickles trots over and sits down, staring at me. His tail flicks once, then twice.
“Oh, God. What did you do?”
The cat’s ears twitch and he gives me a look like, “Good luck figuring it out.”
I sigh as he walks away, shooting a devious look over his shoulder.
“Your cat is a menace,” I say to my brother as I enter the kitchen.
Sebastian leans against the counter like he’s been waiting for this moment. His eyes are sharp, like he already knows too much.
He smirks. “Oh, this should be good.”
“I don’t know what he’s done but—”
“Not the cat.”
I frown, playing dumb. “What?”
“That look on your face,” he says, pushing off the counter. “Fairly certain it’s courtesy of a fiery redhead named Violet.”
I scoff, heading for the fridge. “I don’t have a look on my face.”
“Yes, you do.”
I grab a bottle of water and twist the cap off. “Violet has nothing to do with my expression.”
Sebastian hums.
“That I don’t have.”
“She and Ivy got along well,” I add, taking a drink. The words fall from my lips without thought. “Better than I expected.”
“Of course they did.”
“Why do you say it like that?”
Sebastian’s smirk deepens. “They have a lot in common.”
I narrow my eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He tilts his head slightly, studying me like I’m missing something obvious. “She looks at you the same way Ivy looks at me.”
I choke on my water. “What? No, she doesn’t.”
That’s ridiculous. Ivy hid outside Sebastian’s house. Violet and I just bumped into each other.
He chuckles. “Yes, she does. She looked at you like she’s already decided something.”
“What?”
“Probably decided to kidnap you.”
The color drains from my face. “Why would you say that?”
Sebastian lifts his bottle of water to his lips and takes a drink while I stand there, nearly crashing out.
When he’s finished, he says, “No reason.”
The pitch of my voice rises. “You can’t just say something like that, then say ‘no reason.’ There has to be a reason.” I point my bottle at him. “What is it?”
My brother just raises a brow.
“Tell me.”
He laughs. “You’re so easy to get worked up.”
I blow out a breath, trying to calm down. I set my water down and undo the top button of my shirt. Who turned the heat up?
“You’re just trying to get me worked up.”
He shrugs. “Sure.”
“No,” I repeat, shaking my head frantically. “She’s nothing like Ivy.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
“She isn’t,” I insist. “Stop acting like you know something I don’t.”
Sebastian’s mouth twitches. “I do know something you don’t.”
I freeze. “What?”
“What you look like from this side.”
I frown. “What does that mean?”
“It means I remember a certain younger brother telling me I was crazy.”
I roll my eyes. “You were crazy.”
“Maybe.”
“There’s no maybe.”
“And yet, I’m happily married.”
I open my mouth, then close it.
Damn it. I hate when he’s right.
But my mind won’t stop spiraling now.
“Violet isn't stalking me.”
“Did I say she was?”
I pause, thinking about his words.
“You implied it.”
“Interesting that your mind went there.”
I glare at him. “I liked you better five minutes ago.”
He grins. “I know.”
I am way too old to be getting bullied by my brother.
A soft thump comes from behind me. I turn and see Mr. Pickles sitting on the kitchen chair, staring at me with those yellowish-green eyes. He looks… judgmental.
I point at him. “Don’t look at me like that.”
He doesn’t blink.
“I mean it,” I mutter. “I’m not dealing with your judgment. Not tonight.”
His tail flicks once. He doesn’t move. Just keeps staring at me.
I start pacing. “She’s nothing like Ivy,” I say, gesturing wildly with my other hand. “She’s... normal.”
Mr. Pickles’ tail flicks again.
“Stop it,” I snap at the cat. “You’re impossible.”
I am arguing with a cat.
Sebastian crosses his arms, clearly enjoying this. “Did she follow you home?”
I freeze for a moment, then gloat. “No, she didn’t. I followed her home.”
Sebastian stares at me.
Mr. Pickles blinks slowly.
Why is the cat on his side?
“Stop that.” I point at my brother, then the cat. “I’m not stalking her. I was just making sure she got home safely.”
They continue staring at me.
“You don’t know anything.”
“Of course I don’t.” Sarcasm drips from my brother’s tone. “It’s not like I married my stalker.”
I blink at him.
“That doesn’t mean I found a stalker, too,” I huff. “She didn’t even follow me.”
That sounded much more convincing in my head.
He arches a brow. “You sure?”
I stand there for a moment, then hurry to the living room and jerk the curtain back. I scan the street, but don’t see anything.
“Well?”
My shoulders relax. “See. Nothing.”
Sebastian’s footsteps stop behind me. “You’re in trouble.”
I turn and glare at him. “I’m not in trouble. She’s not stalking me.”
Mr. Pickles lets out a soft, unimpressed meow.
I look between them. “You’re both being ridiculous.”
“You’re the one arguing with me… and a cat.”
I huff, then cross the room to the patio door, hesitating only a moment before I flick on the light.
No redhead is standing on the deck.
I breathe out a sigh of relief. “See? She’s not here.”
Why do I sound disappointed?
Sebastian and Mr. Pickles exchange a look.
“Keep telling yourself that.”
I huff out an annoyed breath.
“I seem to remember someone telling me my situation wasn’t normal.”
I glare. “That’s because it wasn't.” I point at the deck outside. “Ivy literally climbed over it and made you coffee.”
He smiles. “I remember.”
“Stop smiling. That’s abnormal.”
“Interesting.”
“And stop saying interesting.”
“Fine.” His mouth twitches. “If the shoe fits...”
I scoff. “There are no shoes involved.”
He chuckles. “Keep telling yourself that.” He heads toward the stairs. “I’m going to bed.”
“She can’t be out there. I don’t see her anywhere.”
He doesn’t turn around. Just calls over his shoulder as he heads upstairs, “Stalkers are good at hiding.”
My eyes widen.
He reaches the landing, then turns and smirks at me. “And waiting.”
I rub my suddenly sweaty palms on my pants, then shove them in my pockets like I’m unbothered by his taunts. “Go to bed.”
Sebastian’s laugh trickles down the stairs.
As soon as his back is turned, I check that the patio door is locked.
“Goodnight,” I yell, hating that my voice quivers slightly.
“Goodnight, Drew.”
I hate the amusement in his tone. Mr. Know-It-All.
Mr. Pickles follows Sebastian.
Halfway up the stairs, he stops and looks at me like I’m stupid.
Then disappears upstairs.
“Good. Go to bed. I don’t need your attitude, either,” I say to the cat.
I check the front and back doors before heading down the hallway to my bedroom.
Stop being paranoid.
Once inside, I start unbuttoning my shirt, but freeze. That feeling is back. Like I’m being watched.
My gaze moves to the window.
I slowly creep to the window, my heart hammering in my chest.
It’s nothing.
You’re letting Sebastian—and that judgmental cat—get to you.
I stop in front of the window, staring out into the darkness. I slowly scan every inch of the property, but don’t see anything.
My gaze stops on the woods behind the house. There’s a trail that Sebastian uses when he runs. Ivy used to use it when she was watching Sebastian.
My heart nearly jackknifes in my chest.
I squint, but all I see is the outline of the trees.
What if she’s out there... watching me?
I suck in a breath, every muscle taut.
Did I just see... movement?
I stare for a few beats, unblinking.
No movement.
I take a slow step back from the window.
It’s only my imagination.
It has to be.
My palms are sweaty as I double-check the lock on my window. It’s secure.
You’re being ridiculous.
I turn around—and scream like the final girl in a horror movie.
My hand grips my chest like it can keep my heart from beating through it.
“Jesus. You scared the hell out of me.”
Mr. Pickles just sits there, staring at me with those judgmental eyes.
I swear he smirks before he stands. Then he struts away, tail in the air like he’s completed his mission for the night.
Little psychopath.
I walk over and slam my door.
Damn cat. He’s the reason why I’m paranoid.
I remove my shirt, then my pants.
Standing there in my boxers, I shake my head.
Then my eyes widen, remembering the way he looked when I arrived home.
“What did that little monster do?”
I check my bed, but I don’t see or smell any cat pee. I lift my comforter, making sure he didn’t put a dead mouse in there. Spoiler: he did that while Sebastian and Ivy were on their honeymoon. I thought I was going to have to call 9-1-1 for cardiac arrest.
I don’t see any surprises from Mr. Pickles.
My gaze catches on the window again.
Or a stalker’s face pressed against my window.
Although a stalker could be hiding in the bush. There’s one beneath the window. It’s big enough for someone to hide in.
My chest tightens. Nope. Not going there.
Still, I can’t shake the feeling someone’s watching me.
With a sigh, I turn off the light and practically dive under the covers.
It’s fine.
No one’s stalking me.
Right?