Bad Cruz(78)

“I want to talk to Cruz.”

She tilted her chin up. I had to hand it to her, she handled the situation with (relative) grace. I knew better than anyone how desperate she was to bag Fairhope’s favorite bachelor.

“Sorry, he went to help the Duggars give birth.”

“And he let you stay at his house?” She craned her neck to look inside.

On principle, I narrowed the door a little, to keep the interior away from her prying eyes.

“Don’t sound so shocked. I couldn’t steal all the valuables even if I wanted to. I mean, how the heck am I supposed to remove that antique Astoria grand sofa? Unless you’re up to giving me a hand?”

That really set her off.

“Oh, this is nonsense!”

Gabriella pushed me into the house in one swift movement, joining me inside and closing the door behind her. For a moment, I suspected she was going to try to kill me, but then remembered I could take her.

Not to mention, she’d never be able to hide my body. She was the least creative person I’d ever met.

“Listen here.” She poked my chest, advancing toward me like a lethal tiger in a cage. “I know what you’re trying to do, and I’m not going to let you get away with it, homewrecker.”

“Dang, I finally graduated from a hussy to a homewrecker. Took me a decade, but here we are.”

“You’re trying to get knocked up again, thinkin’ Cruz is not the sort of guy to turn his back on you.”

Another step toward me.

I took a step back on instinct, mainly because I suspected she would tear me limb from limb if I pushed her back and didn’t want to engage in a cat fight in a house that wasn’t mine (as much as I wanted a fistfight, I did not want the accompanying headline).

I laughed, because I was trying to do the exact opposite of getting pregnant. So much so, I put it on my phone calendar to make an appointment with my OB-GYN, who hadn’t heard from me since Bear was born, to go on the pill.

“Get lost, Gabriella.”

“I’m telling you right now, Nessy.” She cornered me into an alcove, her body pressing against mine, her face so close her spit peppered my skin. “If you don’t back off, I will make sure your life is a living hell in this town. First, I’ll make you lose your job. I have no idea what you even have worth taking, but then, I’ll make you lose everything else you’ve ever cared for.”

“Is that a threat?” I smiled, but inside, I was screaming.

I didn’t need this. Didn’t need to go head-to-head with Gabriella Holland. With the entire hometown. Because they would choose her. They were always looking to trample me to stand a little taller. They really needed new hobbies.

“It’s a promise. Leave Cruz alone.”

“On your request?”

“On my order.”

“You should know.” I pushed Gabriella off me, tired of her attitude. “I don’t take very well to threats. You may think you have huge pull in this town, but I’ve been holding my own for a long time, and I plan to do so long after you’re gone. Now, if that’s all, I suggest you call Cruz and try to arrange for the two of you to meet. Unless, of course, he’s been ghosting you.”

I made a pouty face.

According to the look on Gabriella’s face, I hit the nail straight on the head.

“This is not done.” She wiggled her finger in my face.

“Shakin’ in my boots here, Holland.”

She slammed the door behind her.

I collapsed against the wall, letting out a ragged breath.

Note to self: get boots whenever I can afford a pair. Because the shaking part? That was real.





Two days later, I walked into my parents’ house to drop off the handmade straw baskets I’d made for Trinity’s flower girls.

Technically, Gabriella was supposed to get them from a boutique out of town. But, also technically, Gabriella was a beach of massive proportions and cited headaches which had prevented her from making the trip.

I was wearing one of my Cruz dresses (that’s how I called them in my mind, which had made me imagine him inside said dresses, which was equally hilarious and sexy). I’d also let my hair down, both literally and figuratively, and it now fell gently on my shoulders.

The appeal of looking like the designated washed-out diner waitress who needed a shower and a clue had dissipated ever since I realized I could cut thirty minutes of preparation each morning only to make myself look less attractive than I was.

Donna Turner, my mother, my childhood idol, and the woman who had compassion for anyone and everything, fruit flies included, flung the door open and smacked a wet kiss on my cheek.

“Hullo, Nessy. Come in. I’m making an afternoon snack.”

I stalked inside, a little stung she didn’t say anything about my attire.

The other day, when Gabriella showed up at Cruz’s house acting like a woman ready to boil a bunny (if you don’t get the reference—congratulations, you’re young), I’d decided it was time to stop giving this town a reason to hate me and packed all of the clothes he’d bought for me, vowing to wear them exclusively.

Later that evening, I’d stuffed all of my hooker clothes into black trash bags and re-donated them. I couldn’t run the risk of having them around. I didn’t want to revert back to looking like what this town wanted me to look like.