Page 13 of Wicked Lies Grow Wildflowers

CHAPTER ELEVEN

MAEREN

When Sage left, my peace of mind followed her right out the door.

She and the booze were a great distraction.

They allowed me some time to pretend like the note wasn’t that big of a deal.

Now in the harsh light of day, I’m not so sure.

The two sides of my brain are at war; one half of me is trying to brush everything off as a weird coincidence and the other is freaking out and afraid something more sinister is going on.

Thank you anxiety and my constant habit of questioning my own judgment.

Really, I should be thanking my mother for both of those traits.

I wouldn’t be this way were it not for her making me constantly question absolutely everything through her narcissism and gaslighting.

I don’t have anyone else I can go to about this; aside from Sage, I’m virtually alone.

It’s all harmless right now, I tell myself.

I’m fine. I’ll be fine, this is all no big deal.

Plus it’s broad daylight now. Everything is totally fine, right?

I briefly consider reaching out to my mother but shut that idea down as soon as it crosses my mind.

I don’t want to open that can of worms—even if she might offer some extremely temporary reprieve.

However, there’s nothing like distracting yourself from an issue with an even bigger one.

Lesser of the evils, right? Plus, at least I know my mother isn’t the one dropping flowers and notes at my door.

Maybe reaching out won’t hurt after all.

If anything, I can get another wonderfully awful dinner out of it.

My fingers hover over my keyboard but I can’t bring myself to type anything.

My stomach turns as I stare at the last messages she sent me.

My heart rate picks up and my blood runs hot.

I can’t think of anything to say that won’t be met with more anger, so I throw my phone onto the couch before letting out a loud groan of frustration.

I feel claustrophobic and restless; I don’t want to be in my apartment anymore. The walls that used to comfort me now feel as though they are made of glass, and I’m an animal being watched from inside their cage.

Space is what I need, and I decide to head out for some errands. Yes, getting out for a bit is a much better distraction than setting myself up for unavoidable trauma. It’s not like I don’t already have enough of that to last a lifetime.

When I’m leaving the grocery store and unloading the bags into my car, I notice something caught under my windshield wiper.

I see it’s one of my business cards and on the backside there’s a heart drawn on it.

Nothing else. I don’t remember drawing it but I must’ve.

Someone obviously saw it fall from my bag and returned it in case I needed it.

My mother’s voice whispers at me to not overreact or make issues out of nothing.

I heed the echoes of her words and don’t give much thought to any other alternatives.

I always carry extra cards in my purse so that was probably it.

It just fluttered out when I grabbed my phone from my bag.

Heading home I make a much-needed stop for an oat milk espresso.

I need a little pick me up for my cleaning marathon tonight and if one thing gets me relaxed that isn’t running—it’s stress cleaning.

When I’m home and have the groceries put away, I change into loungewear and throw my hair up.

I play a true crime podcast on my Bluetooth speaker and get to work as I listen to a decades old murder mystery.

The frustration leaves my body with every speck of dirt I find, and I scrub until my hands are red and sore.

An hour and a half later I feel much more relaxed and everything is shiny, clean, and perfect .

Keeping my personal space in order makes me feel less appalled with my personal life.

If my surroundings are pristine then my life isn’t deteriorating. That’s what I tell myself, at least.

My phone pings, my heart thumping heavily at the idea that it could be my mother.

It would be just my luck to manifest her.

Flipping it over I see it’s an unsaved number, and when I click the message I realize it’s a client.

Okay, not unusual at all and much better than my bitching mother.

Thank God I didn't falter and actually text her. Small blessings. I read the message and the signature at the end shows that it’s—no. no. no. It’s Xander.

Never mind—not a blessing. My heart is racing so fast that I can hear the frantic thudding in my ears.

Clients texting me is normal. Xander texting me is not.

He hasn’t so much as emailed me in over a week, why is he reaching out now?

Oh right , selling houses is quite literally my job, even if clients are slightly psychotic assholes.

And he isn’t a threat to me, at least, I don’t think he is.

I certainly don’t feel unsafe around him.

Composing my thoughts, my fingers fly across my keyboard as I type out a response.

I don’t actually have to reply right now since it’s after hours, but I choose to because the hope I have for this sale has just rekindled.

A two million dollar home? Sold by me? Please, please, pleaseeeee universe let this happen, Xander aside.

Me: Good evening, Xander. I would be happy to move forward with the home buying process. Would you like to schedule a call tomorrow? I can email the appropriate forms beforehand. Thanks for reaching out. -Maeren.

Easy and to the point. Typical business, it’s nothing weird and nothing more than surface level communication. Totally one hundred percent professional, unlike our previous encounters.

I’ve got this.

My phone pings again just seconds later with his reply.

Xander: Actually, I would like to meet in person. The Ivy it shouldn’t take more than an hour.

I can do this. It’s not like it’s a date or anything, so I have no reason to be this nervous.

Before I can talk myself out of what I’m sure will end up being a terrible idea, I let him know that it works for me and that I’ll see him in the morning. I just know I’m going to sleep restlessly tonight.

As I head over to The Ivy & Bean I try to hype myself up and not second guess my decision to meet him or my outfit.

I take a quick glance at my reflection in the window of my car.

My knit sweater covers me up to my neck and my skinny jeans are tucked into my brown boots.

I look nice enough but not too dressed up.

Xander has seen me in less, but I wanted to make sure I didn’t leave anything on display for his leering gaze.

I don’t need to be caught off guard and one heated look from him would do just that.

My hair is down and catches in the wind as I open the driver’s side door.

Let’s get this over with.

I park and head inside to the counter, ordering an iced dirty chai.

When my drink is done Xander still isn’t here but he has a few minutes to spare, so I head to the back and situate myself at a two seat table.

I watch the door as it chimes and a gaggle of girls rush in.

I check my phone to see if he has texted, hearing the door chime again.

Looking up, I find Xander staring me down from a few feet away.

I stand up to cordially greet him and am instantly hit with the scent of sage and woodsy leather.

I try to ignore the way my mouth waters.

As usual, his face is striking, and I take in his straight nose, sharp jaw, and gray eyes.

He’s dressed casually in jeans and a brown leather jacket that stretches across his broad shoulders.

He is completely, devastatingly handsome, and I try my best to ignore that fact. I can’t let it throw me off course.

“Hello, Xander. Thank you for getting back to me about the property.” I hold out my hand for him to shake and he takes it in his, a familiar spark of energy rushing through me as we touch. Does he notice it too? If so, he doesn’t let on.

His voice skates across my skin. “Of course, thank you for agreeing to meet with me.” And then he slips his hand from mine, our contact severed as I clear my throat and look away.

Keep it together.

We sit down and I dig through my bag before bringing out the paperwork he needs to sign.

We go over the details of the home sale, smoothing over all the fine print, and as I’m ready to wrap things up, he asks, “Why did you really agree to meet me today? It wasn’t only for the paperwork, was it?

You and I both know this all could have been handled online. Yet you came anyway. Why is that?”

His voice lets on that he already knows the real answer, but I feign ignorance.

“I’m here to sell a house. That is my job as your realtor, is it not?

I often meet clients in person for paperwork.

” I pause as my eyes flick down Xander as if he’s an unimpressive inconvenience.

“You’re not anything special.” My biting words startle me, but I’m proud of standing my ground.

He thinks I’m so easy to throw but I’m not, and I refuse to make this into a game for him.

He doesn’t need to be more self assured than he already is.