2. Chapter 2
My phone trills in my pocket, and I pull it out to see who’s calling. My best friend’s name appears on the screen. I can’t help but sigh. It’s hard being best friends with a trial attorney sometimes. As much as I love Cressida, I’m not always in the mood to be cross-examined about my life choices.
Ignoring her call, I return to the task at hand: packing. My ex-boyfriend, Marcus, is away for the week, so it’s the perfect time to get the rest of my belongings from his house. I glance around the interior of the home, sighing as I examine the high ceilings and exposed beams. The farmhouse has been completely refinished and modernized, so it’s now the perfect mixture of the old and the new. Sometimes, I wonder if I was with Marcus for so long just because I’m in love with his house.
Tears sting the backs of my eyelids, but I choke them back. After more than a decade of our on-again, off-again, relationship, I’ve cried too many tears over Marcus as it is. I’m not sad that it’s finally over for good this time. Good riddance. I’ll miss this house, though. And I have deep regrets about giving so much of my time and energy to a man who was so unworthy.
The rainfall intensifies, slamming into the windowpanes. I glance toward a window and am surprised to see that it’s grown so dark outside. A thick wall of clouds blocks out the sun and there’s a slow roll of thunder in the distance.
My phone rings, and I know without looking that it’s Cressida again. She’s the only person who ever calls me. Everyone else simply sends a text. There’s no point trying to avoid her. She’ll just keep calling until I answer.
Sighing, I tap the screen to accept the call. “Hello?”
“Where are you?” my friend demands.
“I’m at Marcus’s house. I—”
“Please tell me you didn’t get back together!”
“Of course not,” I say with indignation. It’s true that I’ve always gone back to Marcus in the past, but this time, I caught him cheating. The dimwit sent me a text that was intended for another woman, thanking me for a fantastic night. Since he was two hundred miles away on a business trip, there was no way he could talk himself out of trouble. Instead, he said it meant nothing, and that he was just so lonely without me. Asshole.
I’d had my suspicions of infidelity in the past, but I’d never had proof, and he always managed to convince me that I was being paranoid. The mistaken text was the final nail in the coffin. The relationship is dead and buried deep in my heart and nothing will convince me to exhume the remains ever again.
“Then why are you at his house?” Cressida asks. “Don’t let him try to talk his way out of—”
“He’s not even here, Cressida. He’s at some sort of business conference, so I decided to come get the last of my things. It’s the last time I’ll ever set foot in this house; I promise.”
“I hope so.”
A wave of anger flashes through me. “Do you really think I’d take him back after finding out he cheated on me?”
“There have been signs of cheating before,” she points out.
“There was never any firm evidence, Ms. Attorney at Law,” I snap.
“I’m sorry, Pet. I just don’t want to see him hurt you again.”
“He won’t,” I promise. “I’m finally rid of him—and I have the breakup hair to prove it.”
She laughs. “Yes, you do, you saucy minx.”
I run a hand through my new hair. It was cathartic seeing the long locks of hair fall to the floor. Now, I have a fierce, platinum-blonde, chin-length bob. It’s far more stylish than the curtain that had hung down my back for most of my life. I was long overdue for a new look, especially since I’m a hairstylist with my own shop. Now, I look the part.
A loud crack of thunder shakes the house. I flinch, nearly dropping the phone. A moment later, the lights flicker.
“Petra!” Cressida cries. “Are you okay?”
“Of course,” I say, though my heart is pounding in my chest. “It’s just a little storm.”
“No, it’s not. That’s why I called. You never pay attention to the news or the weather.”
She’s right about that. I’m seldom prepared for the weather. I frequently leave the house without a coat, and I never have an umbrella on hand. Another thunderclap rattles my bones. “How bad is it going to be,” I ask nervously.
“We’re in a hatched area,” Cressida says. “That means we’re likely to have large hail and even tornadoes. Jonah and his brothers have designated the firehouse a tornado shelter for people in Mercury Ridge who need a safe place to ride out the storms. And they’re working closely with local law enforcement and the search and rescue team just in case the worst happens.”
I swallow around the rising lump in my throat. “The worst?”
“If a tornado levels the town.” Her words send a shiver down my spine. “Does the farmhouse have a storm shelter?”
“No,” I answer, looking out the window. Should I try to leave to find shelter somewhere? I shake my head at the thought. I can’t drive in this torrential downpour.
“Jonah can come get you.”
“No,” I say again. My friend’s husband is a member of the Mercury Ridge Fire Department. In addition to being perfect for Cressida and treating her like gold, he’s a local hero to boot. Some girls have all the luck. “He needs to be there, in town, helping people. I’ll hunker down in the bathroom if I need to. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”
As I hang up the phone, I hear a new sound. It’s like little explosions in the distance. What is that? Within moments, I have my answer. Hail slams into the house. For a moment, I’m frozen in place. I stare out the window, watching as little pieces of ice blanket the ground. It looks like snow in the middle of May. Hail slams into the windows even harder than before, and I spring into action, running toward the bathroom. I make a quick detour by the kitchen to grab a bottle of wine and a corkscrew.
Once I’m in the bathroom, I turn on the faucet to fill the bathtub, tossing in a moisturizing bath bomb.While water slowly fills the bathtub, I sit on the toilet seat lid and get to work with the corkscrew. Pulling the cork from the bottle with a satisfying pop, I take a slow swig of the wine straight from the bottle. Another deafening crack of thunder echoes through the air, and once again, the lights flicker. This time, they don’t come back on.
Swearing under my breath, I use my phone’s flashlight to dig beneath the sink for some candles. I find a set of battery-operated ones and turn them on, setting them up around the bathroom. Battery-operated…
The candles give me an idea, and I run to the bedroom as quickly as I can to retrieve the waterproof vibrator in my nightstand. When I return to the bathroom, vibrator in hand, I laugh at the sight. The inviting tub, the flickering lights, the expensive bottle of wine—it’d be romantic if there weren’t a storm raging outside.
I open my Spotify app on my phone and turn on my favorite playlist. Bill Withers croons Ain’t No Sunshine as I strip off my clothes and step into the bathtub. In one hand, I hold the bottle of wine. In the other, I have my vibrator.
If I’m going to be stuck in the bathroom, I’m going to enjoy myself. Storm be damned.
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