Page 8 of DFF: Delicate Freakin’ Flower (Family Ties #5)

That sinking feeling deepened when we got out of the truck, and I followed him on a trail that led tothe cabin, where I caught a glimpse of it through the moonlight .

And I say “cabin” generously. It was more like aglorified shack with wood paneling and emotional damage.

The porch tilted, and the roof sagged slightly in the middle like it was tired of existing.

The windows were the small, warped kind that let you look out but definitely didn’t let light in.

I could see a stovepipe on one side and whatmight have been an outdoor shower stall hidden behind a clump of trees.

“This is it?” I whispered, hoping he was just pointing out a cabin with an interesting story before we got to the real one.

“This is it,” Webb confirmed, dropping what he was carrying on the ground. “No one will find you here.”

“No one wants to find me here,” I muttered.

He climbed onto the porch without saying anything, leaving me standing there a moment longer, just staring at it.

No cell towers. No neighbors. No sign of civilization. I wouldn't be surprised if Banjos started playing right then and there, but I'd do my best to run to the nearest big city for help for Webb.

“Jacuzzi, my ass,” I said under my breath, then followed him inside to meet my fate.

Webb walked past me, grabbed a bag from the pile, and handed it to me like a warning. I looked around again, squinting at the trees, the shadows, the general sense of,oh no, you’re going to be living with spiders now.

I sighed. “Okay, I can do this, I’m totally adaptable. I’ve watched Survivor. I can eat moss or whatever.”

Webb opened the door and glanced over his shoulder. “There’s food in the pantry. You don’t need to eat any moss. In fact, it's best that you don't.”

Noted.

By the time my vision adjusted enough to see the inside of the cabin, my confidence had officially left the building—along with any remaining illusion that this was going to be some kind of charming off-grid hideaway.

I had questions. Webb had answers. None of them were good.

“So,” I began cautiously, “what’s the, uh... plumbing situation?”

He continued walking through the dark rooms, not hitting anything, whereas I was bouncing off furniture with every step. “There isn’t one.”

I stopped walking. “What?”

“No plumbing, we use a well. The water’s clean, cold, and comes out of a hand pump by the shed.”

“Oh my God,” I whispered, my worries coming true.

“There are also buckets in the corner that you can take to your room,” he added helpfully. “You’ll figure it out.”

I blinked at the back of his head, unsure whether to scream or laugh or just run into the woods and let nature take me.

“And the actual toilet?” I asked, mostly just to torture myself at this point.

Webb turned, deadpan. “Oh, that’s out back. Don't worry, there's a wooden stall, but don’t go out there barefoot.”

“Why—Wait, why not?”

He gave me a look that said, 'You don’t want the answer to that,' and disappeared into the darkness.

I took one hesitant step forward and said to the air, “This is how horror movies start. All that’s missing is the Banjos and a suspicious number of animal skulls.”

The cabin was... rustic. Functional even.

And somehow, it was both better andso much worse than I expected.

Light suddenly filled the place, making me squint and blink, and I realized I was in a small kitchen.

There was a two-burner stove, a table, and two mismatched chairs that I'd have hit if I'd taken the next step, and the cupboards were rustic but quaint.

The single lightbulb flickered overhead like it was considering retirement, and I couldn't blame it.

I rubbed my arms. “Okay, there's electricity. That’s something.”

Webb pointed to the corner where a tiny control box with a blinking light sat mounted to the wall.

“Technically, yes. We’ve got a generator, but it's solar-charged and has low output. So, no blow dryers, no curling irons, no phone chargers, and for the love of God, don’t try to microwave anything.”

Noticing there wasn't a microwave anywhere to be seen, I ignored that part as I slowly turned to him. “I’m sorry. Did you just say I can’t charge my phone?”

“You want to toast the whole place and trip the system, be my guest. There's also the matter of your signal being tracked.”

I opened my mouth but quickly closed it again before taking a deep breath.

“Okay,” I ground out. “Let me just make sure I’ve got this straight. No plumbing, no inside bathroom, no phone charging. And the jacuzzi—” I air quoted dramatically, “—is actually just apond, right?”

Webb leaned against the counter and nodded. “Nah, it's actually a small bayou down the trail. Wouldn’t recommend swimming unless you want to share it with a cottonmouth or five.”

My head jerked. “Snakes?”

“Probably.”

“Is there anythingnot trying to kill me out here?”

He tilted his head in thought. “The deer mostly keep to themselves.”

“Wow. This truly is a five-star experience.”

I dropped my bag to the floor, stared at the warped wood paneling, and let out a long, slow breath that sounded suspiciously like surrender.

“Okay,” I shrugged, doing my best to rally against the shock to my admittedly privileged system. “Okay, I’m fine. I’ve got aloe. I’ve got... snacks. And I’ve got one brain cell left. We’re gonna make it.”

Webb smirked, which I didn’t appreciate.

But deep down, beneath the misery, the crazy sunburn, and the fear of accidentally peeing on a possum, I knew one thing for sure—I’d survive this. Well, probably. Then again, that probably could be a maybe, unless the snakes got me first.

By the time I finally climbed into bed—and I use the termbed loosely because it was basically a wooden frame, a lumpy mattress, and a quilt that smelled like cedar and testosterone—it was dark outside in a way I’d never experienced. The kind of dark that felt personal and eerie.

There were no streetlights and no hum of traffic. Just black trees pressing in on all sides and the occasional crack of a branch that made me flinch so hard I nearly swallowed my tongue.

I lay there under the quilt, staring at the uneven ceiling, trying not to breathe too loud in case something out there was listening. It didn’t help that I was cold on the inside and burned on the outside.

Webb had gone to bed about twenty minutes before me, acting completely unbothered by everything that had happened and our surroundings.

One minute, he was showing me how the lock on the front door “mostly” worked.

Next, he was yawning and disappearing into the tiny side room that served as his bedroom.

Meanwhile, I was tucked under a blanket ofexistential dread .

The walls groaned around me, the kind of slow, ominous creak that sounded like they were auditioning for their next horror movie role.

Outside, something scuttled across the porch—probably a raccoon, though with my luck, it could just as easily have been a forest demon dragging a cursed toe.

The single dim bulb in the hallway gave one last flicker, a sad little stutter of light, before sputtering out entirely and plunging the space into shadows.

I told myself it wasn’t a sign from the universe.

Just old wiring. Definitely not an omen, I hope.

And just when I thought it couldn’t get worse... a skittering noise sounded from inside the room.

I froze.

Skitter skitter.

Somethinghit the floor near the bed with a dull, hairy thud. I didn’t scream or move, and I was quite proud of myself for that fact.

I simply whispered to the ceiling, “No.”

Then I grabbed my flashlight off the nightstand, flicked it on, and immediately regretted it. There, by the fireplace, was a spider.

Correction:it was a monstrosity.

It was the size of my hand, legs bent like it had knees, and it had the kind of confidence usually reserved for professional wrestlers and influencers.

“Oh no,” I muttered. “Absolutely not.”

I slipped out of bed as quietly as possible, padded across the rough wood floor, and knocked on Webb’s bedroom door. There was no response, so I knocked again a little louder.

“Webb?”

Still nothing. How hard did the guy sleep?

“Webb, there’s a spider the size of a dinner plate in here, and I don’t want to die looking like this.”

A long beat passed, andthen the door opened a crack, revealing Webb, hair a mess, eyes squinty, and his t-shirt rumpled.

“What,” he said, voice like gravel and death threats.

“There’s something in here. It fell. From the ceiling. It’s got knees, Webb.”

He blinked.

I pointed frantically. “It’s planning something.”

He sighed the deepest, most put-upon sigh I’d ever heard and grabbed a boot from the corner of the room.

He didn’t even ask where it was, he just followed the faint scuttling sound, wound up like a man who’d done this fifty times before.

The heavy bang, which I swear had a squishing noise due to the size of the rodent spider, signaled that my problems were over.

“God,” I breathed, hand to my chest. “Thank you. You have no idea how close I was to setting the whole cabin on fire just to be safe.”

He tossed the boot back in the corner. “Then I’m glad I got here first.”

I stood there awkwardly for a second, suddenly very aware that I was wearing a long t-shirt, aloe-slicked skin, and the aura of someone who’d just lost a war.

“Okay,” I waved toward my bedroom. “Back to pretending I’m brave.”

He started to close the door to his room, but I heard a muffled, “Goodnight, you little menace.”

I climbed back into bed, pulled the quilt up to my chin, and whispered into the dark, “Goodnight, Spider Slayer.”

And for the first time since this nightmare started, I actually fell asleep.