15. Violet
VIOLET
I watch Drew’s car disappear down the road, already missing him. He’s heading into the city to troubleshoot an issue with some budget numbers not lining up, then stopping at the grocery store afterward.
From my position behind the shrubs, Ivy and Sebastian exit the house. I hear her tell him she has writer’s block and that a change of scenery might help.
He opens the car door for her. “I’m sure it will, baby. I’ll pick you up around noon. Maybe we can get some lunch?”
“Sounds great.”
Sebastian rounds the car and gets in.
I wait long enough to make sure they don't come back for a forgotten phone or wallet.
Then I pull out my phone and open the app.
Getting around security systems isn't as difficult as people think. Technology isn't the weak point.
People are.
They use birthdays, pet names, and important dates, then wonder how someone guessed the password.
A few seconds later, I’ve bypassed the system.
That was easy enough. Sebastian should really rethink his password.
I slip my phone into my pocket and make my way to the back patio door. The one Sebastian and Ivy only lock at night.
It’s unlocked.
Of course it is. They’re creatures of habit.
I slide it open and slip inside. It smells like coffee, pancakes, bacon, and Ivy’s perfume.
I take a step toward the hallway and freeze.
Mr. Pickles sits there, staring at me.
I grab the small pack of cat treats I bought and squat down. His eyes flick to them, then back to mine.
“Hi, Mr. Pickles. Want a treat?”
His ears twitch, and his tail thumps twice against the floor.
I open the bag and pull one out. “Here you go.”
He sniffs, then stands. With his weary eyes on me, he slowly moves forward.
“That’s it. Come on, pretty boy.”
Then he starts purring and takes the treat from me.
“Good boy.” I gingerly stroke his ears, and his lawnmower purring grows louder.
A smile lights up my face. Mr. Pickles has good taste.
I give him two more treats and some love before standing. “I’m heading to Drew’s room.”
He turns and heads back down the hallway, like he’s leading the way.
Wow. Easier than I thought.
Drew’s bedroom door is open, welcoming me inside. Mr. Pickles looks at me over his shoulder, then jumps on the bed and lies on the comforter.
My skin hums from being in his private space. Cedarwood and the clean scent of the body wash he uses infiltrate my senses. I close my eyes, inhaling deeply.
When I open them, Mr. Pickles looks at me as he washes his paw, completely unbothered by my presence.
Everything is neat, clean, and organized. His bed is perfectly made, a dark blue flannel comforter on top.
My fingers lightly graze over the contents on the desk near the one window.
I sit in his desk chair for a moment, imagining him there.
He rarely uses it.
Only when he needs absolute quiet.
I get up and move to his dresser.
The socks are organized by color. Naturally.
The next drawer holds his boxers.
I go through the next drawer, my eyes lighting up when I spot my personal lady porn—gray sweatpants. Yum.
A happy sigh slips out as I move to his closet. My fingers tingle as I run them over his clothing, knowing the fabric was nestled against his body.
I spot a faded blue t-shirt in his laundry hamper. Like a ghost, I drift to it, drawn by something I can’t see but feel. The material is soft and worn, with tiny holes in the fabric.
I put it to my nose and inhale deeply. It smells like him.
Sorry, Drew. This is coming home with me.
I carefully place it in my backpack, then set it on the floor.
“Mr. Pickles,” I say as I lie down on the bed beside him. “This is a comfortable bed. Smells just like him.”
The cat’s ears twitch, and he begins purring as I reach out and stroke his fur.
I close my eyes, rolling in Drew's scent.
It's the best high. One I never want to recover from.
Reality finally intrudes on my private moment when the alarm on my phone beeps.
“That’s my cue, Mr. Pickles.” I roll over and scratch his ears again. “I need to go.”
Reluctantly, I stand, smoothing the wrinkles from the comforter. I hitch my backpack over my shoulders and give Mr. Pickles two more treats for being so good.
Then I gaze around the room, my blood humming from being in Drew’s room.
“Drew and I are meant to be together, Mr. Pickles.”
The cat just stares at me with soft eyes.
“I’ll see you soon.”
Then I force myself to head back the way I came, ensuring nothing is disturbed.
After I exit, I carefully close the door behind me, leaving everything exactly the way I found it.
No one will ever know I was there.
Well, maybe Drew if he notices his shirt is missing.
I exit and reset the alarm, making sure I change the footage so it appears there is no lapse in time.
My lips curl as I move along the shrubs, making my way back toward the woods.
Drew will figure out I was here. Eventually.
He’s smart. Observant. More aware than he gives himself credit for. It’s one of my favorite things about him. I just need to give him time to catch up.
Right as I reach the tree line, I turn and look back at Drew’s bedroom window.
A shadowy black figure sits on his nightstand.
I lift my hand and wave at Mr. Pickles.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Pickles. I’ll be seeing you again very soon.”
I don’t usually grocery shop at this time of day, but some things require a little flexibility.
With my eyes locked on Drew’s back, I push my cart, keeping a safe distance. For now.
When he moves toward the produce aisle, I smile.
It’s time to make my move.
Once I’m in place, I guide my cart slowly down the aisle, pausing near the apples as I pretend to inspect them. I pick up an apple, turning it over in my hand as I wait.
Drew stands across the aisle from me.
Timing matters. Too soon, and it feels intentional. Too late, and I miss the moment.
He moves.
And... action.
I set the apple back down and continue forward, rounding the corner just as he steps into the aisle.
We nearly collide.
“Oh—” I stop short, blinking up at him like I didn’t see him coming. “Hi, Drew.”
“Violet.” His surprise is immediate, but it softens just as quickly into something warmer. “Hey.”
His eyes flick over me briefly, taking me in, a smile curling his lips. Something in my chest tightens from his response.
He’s happy to see me.
“I didn’t know you shopped here,” I say lightly.
“It’s the only grocery store in town,” he says, glancing down at the list on his phone like it personally offends him. “I’m out of Doritos. And Ivy asked me to pick up a few things for dinner.”
I huff out a small laugh. “Doritos are important.”
“You got that right.” His mouth lifts at the corner, like he’s pleased I understood the assignment.
There’s a brief pause—comfortable, not awkward.
I let it stretch for a beat before asking, “How’s Mr. Pickles?”
Drew’s entire expression shifts. His shoulders relax. His smile comes easier.
“He’s still a menace,” he says, shaking his head slightly. “He knocked over an entire glass of water this morning just to prove a point.”
“He sounds misunderstood.”
Drew huffs out a quiet laugh. “I think he needs a psychiatrist.”
I laugh. “I don’t think Mr. Pickles would like that.”
“He definitely wouldn’t. Consider his hatred of people…” he gives me a pointed look. “I’m sure it would only end in destruction.”
I laugh. “I have faith in Mr. Pickles. He has discerning taste.”
His eyes linger on me a second longer than necessary, as if he’s trying to figure something out. Or maybe just enjoying the moment.
Either way, I don’t look away.
“What are you making?” I ask, nodding toward his cart.
He glances down at the list in his hand and the ingredients in the cart.
“That’s a great question,” he mutters. “I was told to get specific ingredients. Not what they’re for.”
“That’s a dangerous level of trust.”
“Tell me about it.” He shrugs. “But Ivy hasn’t poisoned me yet.”
“Thank goodness.”
We both laugh.
Then it fades and we stand there, staring at one another.
He shifts like he wants to say something.
I wait.
“Hey… uh... what are you doing tomorrow night?”
My pulse spikes, but my expression doesn’t change.
“Nothing planned,” I say, easily.
He nods once, like he’s committing to the idea. “You should come over,” he says. “For dinner. With me, Sebastian, and Ivy.”
My heart doesn’t just skip a beat. It slams against my chest.
Dinner.
With his family.
This is huge.
He’s letting me in.
I keep my expression soft and measured, as if this were a normal invitation.
But it’s not. This is significant.
“I’d like that,” I say softly.
“Great.” There’s something in his tone. Relief, maybe. “I’ll text you the time.”
“How are you going to do that?” I arch a brow, holding up my phone.
“Oh, um, yeah. Right.” He fumbles with his phone. “I never got your number.”
He’s so awkward. It’s adorable.
“No, you didn’t.”
His fingers move over the screen. “Okay. I’m ready.”
I give him my number, watching as he types it in. He reads it back, and I nod in confirmation.
“Okay, let me text you…” His fingers move over the screen.
Mine beeps, and I smile at his message.
“Hi. This is Drew.”
Pretty hilarious, given he’s standing beside me.
“Great.” I give him a big smile. “I’ll be there.”
Oh, shit. I almost forgot.
“You’ll have to send me the address.”
His smile returns.
“Oh, yeah. Right. I’ll give it to you now so you have it.” His head bends over the screen, the fluorescent lights showing a hint of gold in the brown strands.
No need. I already know where my future husband lives.
But I can’t tell him that.
Not unless I want him to run screaming into the night and flee the country.
My phone beeps. “Got it.”
“Cool,” he says, glancing back at his cart. “I should probably finish shopping and get home before I get yelled at.”
I huff out a quiet laugh. “Probably a good idea.”
There’s a beat where neither of us moves.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says.
“Yes. Tomorrow.”
But I’ll see you before then. You just won’t see me.
He nods and heads down the aisle.
I watch him go, waiting until he disappears around the corner before I move again, my fingers tightening slightly around the handle of the cart.
By the time I'm loading the groceries into my trunk, I'm already planning tomorrow night's outfit.
The second I slide behind the wheel, I squeal.
Drew and I are on our way to a long, happy future together.
He just hasn’t realized it yet.