Chapter 9
Morning hit like a slap.
Viola groaned as sunlight spilt through her half-closed blinds. Her phone was still clutched in her hand, last night’s messages glowing like embers on the screen. Her thumb hovered over Mack’s name again, but she stopped herself.
Don’t start the day like that, she warned herself. You’re already on the edge.
Dragging herself up, she padded to the kitchen. The kettle hissed, the toast popped too early, and she felt the weight of everything pressing down on her. Her lips were still tingling from the memory of his words.
“Don’t lock the door when I do.”
What the hell did that even mean?
By the time she dressed and pulled her hair into a quick low bun, her nerves were wired. She slipped into jeans, boots, and a soft brown sweater that hung loose off
