“Oh, for God’s sake.”
I turned toward the window.
The sill was empty.
No preserved dandelion puff.
No little note.
Nothing except moonlight spilling across painted wood.
I stood there for several long seconds before letting out a slow breath.
“Good.”
That was good. It was supposed to be good.
Normal people didn’t receive mysterious gifts from strangers.
Normal people certainly didn’t miss them.
I climbed into bed anyway.
The preserved dandelion puff from two nights ago caught the light on my nightstand, its tiny white seeds suspended forever inside clear resin.
My gaze drifted from it…
…to the empty windowsill.
Maybe he’d gotten bored.
That happened.
Maybe he’d realized this whole thing had been a terrible idea.
Maybe he’d left town.
Maybe Stitch had somehow scared him o
