Page 35 of Coco and the Misfits (The Candyverse #4)

COCO

I glance out of the window and flinch when I see a shadow standing across the street again, watching me.

Then I lean closer to the glass, frowning. Wait, is that… Atticus?

I study the tall, broad-shouldered, bearded figure and yeah, it’s him.

Drawing back, I chew on this new development. I won’t say my heart warms up at the thought that he’s still checking I’m okay, because I’ll never admit it.

But it looks like the man I’d seen the other day wasn’t a stalker. It was him. Has to be.

Then anger rears its head. How dare he, anyway? After the way he behaved? How dare he stand under my window like an older Romeo, checking up on me?

I’m full of feminine rage right now. Watch me roar.

Roar softly, of course, while watching my favorite TV shows and working on my comic. In my comic, the heroine has some men trouble, too. Funny how the story evolves to mirror mine.

Okay, joking. I am the one writing the story. It’s no surprise at all. After all, my comic is my therapy as well as my artistic release.

Next, I expect the fictional men courting her to grovel and then… will she take them back? One has to have a happy ending, right?

Is getting back with the men who hurt her confidence the best ending?

It depends on how she feels for them, I think and pause with my drawing pen over the paper as the TV show drones on. It depends on what she sees in her future.

As for me, I keep seeing three handsome faces, even though my head tells me to forget about them.

My phone pings and I check to find a message from June.

‘Miss you.’

I frown and reply. ‘Miss you, too. Where are you?’

‘I’ll tell you all about it. I’m fine.’

Well, that’s a relief, at least. I consider whether I should ask more questions, but if she says she’ll tell me, I shouldn’t push.

I’m about to put my phone down and return to my comic when it pings again.

But this time it’s Zach. Frowning harder, I open the text. I’d given up on him ever replying when he ignored my last message.

‘Hi,’ it reads. ‘Look out of your window.’

What the hell? Atticus had been there, but when I pad over to the window seat and climb on it to look out, it’s not Atticus I see.

It’s Zach.

Half-hidden behind a gigantic bouquet of red roses.

Oh my God.

I’d lie if I said my little omega heart didn’t go pitter-patter at the sight. What omega doesn’t dream of such a thing happening to her or him?

A romantic gesture. Formal courting. Flowers, dances, gifts, walking under starlit skies. I ate all that stuff up as I was growing up. Daydreamed about it.

Lately, I’d started to think I’d never get it. I’d started telling myself I should put my feet back on the ground. Expect less, even though my rules stand. But who wants roses when the important thing is a good man?

Me. I want roses. All the roses. Can’t help it. Is it so bad to want to be romanced and not only fucked against tables and walls, only to be shown the door right after?

Yeah, the past few weeks have been soul-shredding, I admit. I’ve been fighting depression, and now Zach shows up with those roses and...

I’m crying.

He lifts a hand, waves. Points at my window. He wants to come up.

Should I let him?

No. I shouldn’t. Not even with roses can he buy me back. That’s too easy, even if I’m dying to take that bouquet into my arms.

So I lift my finger and shake it. Can he see it?

With a sigh, I turn away and trudge back to my sofa. It’s the right thing to do even if my heart breaks.

Then of course my phone pings and it’s Zach again. He has left me a string of texts.

‘May I come up?’

‘Please?’

‘Coco?’

I stare at the words, my vision blurry. My fingers twitch but I don’t reply. No, I can’t let myself be used and broken again. You can’t buy forgiveness.

After a while, I settle down with my comic, sniffling, and I think I hear a knock on my door. Getting up, I pad over and hesitate. Is it safe to look?

Leaving the chain on, I carefully open the door a crack.

Holy crap. The bouquet is right there, on my doormat. I grab it and close the door, then pad back inside, burying my face in the flowers. I’m crying openly now.

Of the three of them, Zach is the easiest to forgive. But just like with the trauma of almost being kidnapped, which has prevented me from going out ever since, the trauma of these guys means I can’t open my heart as easily as before.

He wants me? Let him work harder for it.

Goddammit, why do I have to be such a hard-ass cutie?

* * *

If I thought this would be the end of it—and I admit I did—I was wrong.

The flowers keep arriving. Sometimes bouquets, sometimes a single rose. Zach pings me, waves, and asks if he can come up.

Once refused, he leaves the flowers and goes.

Now they also bear small messages on cute pieces of paper, such as, ‘Miss you’ and ‘How is my pretty girl today?’ and other such sugary morsels.

I lap it all up.

“So he just… started formally courting you?” Sawyer asks, placing my caramel-and-peanut-butter latte on the table and sitting down beside me. The café is quiet, half-empty. “Seriously?”

“You sound so surprised.”

“You deserve the best, girl, and both of us know it,” he says, “but Zach has always been a flighty bird.”

“You’re not helping.”

Sawyer sighs. “Reformed rakes are my favorites. In books . It’s so sweet reading about them.”

“Are you implying it can never happen in real life?”

“Well, Zach isn’t a rake,” he argues. “Not really. And he’s a good kid.”

“Do you think it’s infatuation on his part? And it will pass?”

“I wouldn’t know. Truth is, if it’s an infatuation,” he says, “it’s lasted a long time.”

“Now everyone says he’s been in love with me forever and I was the only one who didn’t know?”

“Coco…” Sawyer wags a finger at me. “We are always the last ones to know.”

I giggle. We high-five. I take a sip of my sweet latte. And sober up again.

“What do I do now?” I whisper.

“Why not take a chance on him?”

“Because he kissed me and ran?” I wave a hand about. “Then ran again?”

“Good point. He never said why?”

I shake my head.

“Strange. He doesn’t look the type to run,” Sawyer muses.

“I know, right?”

“Maybe next time, take the flowers and let him inside so you can talk?”

“Maybe. I just… How did you know how to trust them?” I whisper. “How could you tell they really cared for you?”

“They courted me,” he says. “In more than just the formal way.”

“Meaning?”

“They took care of me when I needed it. Stood by me. Healed my heart.” He shakes his head. “Proved themselves over and over without my asking. That’s when I knew.”

I nod. “I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“Then don’t let him in,” Sawyer says. “You don’t have to. Just because he’s buying you flowers doesn’t mean you have an obligation to go out with him.”

He’s right. Absolutely right. I should take his advice and not feel pressured.

The only problem is that my heart is saying yes, yes, yes, let Zach in. And it’s broken because Atticus and Ryder haven’t joined him in courting me.

At my age, you’d think I’d know better, than I would let logic rule, but here you have it.

I want to be a hard-ass but in fact, I’m a softie, soft as the plushie cushion I sleep with. Squishy and needy.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll let Zach in.