27
SCARLETT
A couple days later, I told myself I enjoyed solitude, the opportunity to focus on nothing but what I wanted to do.
God. Okay. I admitted it. Call me “Bitter Betty”. Aiden wanted to stay over, but I had sent him away. Why? Too stubborn to admit that our encounter meant more than a post-divorce foray into f*****g. My feelings for him went beyond horniness.
Who was I kidding?
I cared.
Dammit.
I needed to nip this thing in the bud before it got any further. I took my pruning shears and hack, hack, hacked at the thorny blackberry vines trying to invade my orchard.
Before it got out of hand. Just the thought of never seeing Aiden again caused my heart to shrink to the size of a walnut with inflexible ridges and a rock-hard shell.
Hack. Hack. Hack. I watched the satisfying s
