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Let’s see, I sat down at the wrong man's table and kissed him. So…check.
Second: he’d make a wild accusation that the person of interest is innocent.
Check.
Third: he’d pay attention to every detail the cops missed and wrap up the case in a very dramatic fashion.
Easier said than done. Caleb told me so little, no wonder he can’t get a concrete case against the man. I need to know more. How did Shawn Spencer sneak onto so many crime scenes? It’s easier in the movies, I’m sure.
The only thing Caleb let slip was Chad’s real name. But when I searched for a 'Liam Hawthorne', I found only one article mentioning him having a relationship with the late Scarlett Winthrop. Did Liam kill her? How many dates constitute a relationship? We’ve been on two already and I’m still standing.
There’s a knock at my door and I jump.
It’s Liam. He’s here to kill me.
Both dogs go crazy barking and chasing their own tails in anticipation of who might be coming to play with them. Much like their namesakes, they make a terrible protective detail. If Liam is here to kill me all he has to do is pet both of their heads, give them a treat and they will roll over and offer up their hairy bellies. I’m screwed.
I grab my phone off the coffee table and peel myself out from under the pile of laundry I’ve been trying to fold for the last twenty minutes. Shawn runs out of patience and leaps onto the couch, destroying every neatly made pile.
And this is why we can’t have nice things.
I tiptoe to the door, but it’s silent now. Whoever it was is gone.
Oh no, what if it was Gary trying to find his way home and now he’s going to wander down to the liquor store again?
I look through the peephole but all I see is a package.
Slowly opening the door, I tilt my head, taking in the box. It’s bigger than a toaster but smaller than a car. Obviously much smaller.
I scoop up the box. Then freeze. What if it’s a bomb?
I need to stop obsessing over this case. I’m going to lose my mind.
Carrying it back inside, I drop it by the pan of my partially burnt chocolate chip cookies. I grab a knife and cut through the layers of tape. There’s another box inside and I manage to slide it out. A note falls to the ground and I pick it up, reading it while balancing the box against my hip.
Dear Amelia,
I’m sorry I left our date so soon. I had some things to take care of. I hope you will allow me to spend more time getting to know you. Please accept this gift and my apologies.
Chad
The letter slips from my fingers. How did he know where I lived?
Shawn Spencer would not do this. Which is how I know I should.
I call Caleb.
“Amelia?” He answers on the first ring.
“I’ve got something.”
Caleb told me ten minutes, but it’s only been eight minutes and forty-five seconds by the time I hear the knock on my door, and for a moment I assume the worst.
“Amelia, it’s me.”
I rush to the door and fling it open. And then I about drop like a pound of cement. Caleb is shirtless and sweaty. And breathing hard. And tan. And very ripped.
This is my new favorite fantasy.