CHASE THE BUTTERFLIES

Two

Fire.

As I complacently stand, watching one of my most prized pieces of furniture go up in flames, I can appreciate why so many tribes around the world look at fire as a miracle. I only just refrain from doing a traditional Aboriginal fire dance around the flaming fireball, as I don’t want to move, just in case I miss anything.

Fire takes and gives, and at the moment, it’s giving me great pleasure by taking away my pain.

I’m too transfixed on the flames and what they represent to notice a hooded figure jogging toward me and blending into the shadows until I see movement from the corner of my eye. Squinting, I focus on where I’m almost certain someone is shrouded behind an enormous pine tree. Before I have a chance to question my sanity, the shape emerges, confirming that some stranger is currently in my yard.

From their tall, towering frame and bulky, muscular build, it’s safe to assume my assailant is a man, which makes me shriek and thrust the Jameson bottle out, wielding it like a weapon.

I should run inside, lock my doors, and call the police, but the fact I have a blazing chair in my backyard, which is crackling loudly and burning brighter by the minute, has me standing my ground and endeavoring to sound confident as I yell, “Who’s there? You’ve got three seconds to get off my property before I call the police!”…on my cell, which is uselessly sitting upstairs, I silently add.

My empty threats fall on deaf ears, however, as my intruder suddenly stalks toward me. His dark gray hood is pulled over his head, concealing his downturned face. I don’t know why―because Lord knows I should be―but I’m not scared. I have an inexplicable sense of excitement and anticipation coursing through my veins, and all I can think is I want―no need―to see his face. He’s across my yard in five huge strides and standing before me in seconds.

I tilt my head to the side and hold my breath when a large hand reaches out and cautiously lowers the bottle, which I’m still waving around. For some unexplained reason, my arm falls willingly by my side. The firestorm has taken a back seat because all I can concentrate on is the way the fair skin of his long-fingered hands contrasts the shadows of the night as he raises them and slowly removes the hood from his head. A silver chain with a small pendant hanging off the end comes free with the movement, catching the shine of the moon.

With a measured, calculated speed, he lifts his chiseled chin, and I’m suddenly pinned with the deepest blue stare of a handsome man, who exudes nothing but confidence and allure. His angular jawline is coated in a dark five o’clock shadow, setting off his sexy, rebellious look. The moon is full, and the flames provide the light I need to see he is just as transfixed by me as I am by him.

His dark brown hair is longer on top, messily styled as though he’s passed those long fingers through it. He looks rugged and dangerous, someone who looks like trouble, so I pull myself together because I’ve just been openly ogling the handsome stranger who quite possibly could be a serial killer.

But serial killer or not, I’ve never seen someone this…mesmerizing before. I know that word is a little vague, but it’s the only one fit to describe the stranger standing in my backyard. The stranger who has stoked a tiny fire in me, a fire I didn’t even know existed.

“Hi.”

His deep, gruff voice makes me instantly remember where I am, so I stop admiring his broad chest to focus on his attractive grin.

His cockiness titillates me. “Hi,” I reply a moment later after licking my suddenly dry lips. However, realizing I should probably address the issue at hand, I ask, “Who are you, and why are you standing in my yard?”

The corner of his mouth tips up into a hint of a smile, and the simple gesture makes me wonder how he’d look with both corners lifted—handsome, no doubt.

“I’m Jude.” I nod, waiting for him to continue. “I live across the pond,” he goes on to explain, gesturing with his head to a humble but arresting looking white house across the lake.

His comment has my cheeks bursting into flames. Have the neighbors sent him over to investigate who the new weirdo is? What a way to announce my arrival to the neighborhood.

I look over his shoulder at the smoldering mess I’ve made. “I’m really sorry about the pyromania. Please let everyone know their houses are safe. I’m not usually this crazy. Well, only on Fridays. And maybe every second full moon,” I add, cringing at how ridiculous I sound.

But Jude surprises me when he smiles. I was right—complete heartbreaker.

“No one sent me over,” he clarifies, shaking his head.

“Oh?” Looking down at his black Nikes, black sweats, and gray sweater, I realize he’s dressed to blend into the shadows, not stand out, leading the neighborhood watch patrol. “Well, that’s a relief.” Not thinking, I draw the joint up to my lips and take a much-needed hit.

“But that might change once Henry gets a whiff of you breaking all the rules.”

I c**k an eyebrow, not following. “Who’s Henry?”

Jude looks toward an enormous, double story house, blowing out an exaggerated breath. “Henry is one of those do-gooders. You know the type—goes to church every Sunday, drives a hybrid, separates his colors from his whites.”

“Henry needs to lighten up,” I quip, blowing out a plume of smoke.

A dimple presses into his right, whiskered cheek. “He certainly does. But I guess he has to be an uptight asshole…seeing as he’s the sheriff.”

I almost inhale my joint the moment I hear the word sheriff. Thumping on my chest, I wheeze, “Is he home right now?”

He nods coolly while taunting, “Yeah. That’s kind of why I’m standing in your backyard.”

I toss the joint to the ground, stomping on it and hissing when it burns the pad of my foot. But my pain can wait as I currently have an inferno to deal with. “Bloody hell,” I curse under my breath, my Australian accent breaking through when I panic.

Looking around my barren yard, I wonder if the garden shed has a hose, or some kind of watering device to douse these flames fast enough so that my neighbor, who just happens to be the sheriff, won’t awake to the flames of hell licking at his bedroom window.

I take off in a dead sprint, almost winding myself because I can’t remember the last time I actually ran after I got sick. When I get to the garden shed, I cuss because the double doors are locked with a rusted padlock. “s**t. You son of a b***h!” I groan, pulling on the sealed doors in vain.

A husky laugh behind me reminds me I have company, and I turn, not at all impressed to see Jude smiling. “What are you doing?” he questions, folding his arms over his impressive chest.

“Just in case you hadn’t noticed, a huge fireball is currently lighting up my backyard.”

“I noticed,” he smugly replies and continues to stand there, grinning.

I take a deep breath. “Well, how about you stop standing around like a stunned mullet, and help me figure out how I’m going to put it out without having to call the fire department?”

His voice is smooth, honeyed as he laughs. “A stunned mullet? What the hell is that?”

“It’s an Australian thing,” I grumble. “And right now, you’re the epitome of one.”

“How long have you been in the States?” he asks calmly, ignoring my panic.

This is the worst time to make conversation, but I suppose he’s trying to be neighborly. “I moved from Darwin, Australia when I was fourteen,” I reply absentmindedly.

“I’ve always wanted to visit Australia. Surf those awesome waves.” I can’t believe he’s talking about my home country in my time of crisis. I grunt in response.

There is no way I can push this thing into the lake. I expelled all my energy dragging this abomination out here in the first place. I really should have thought this through before I lit up my backyard like a damned Christmas tree on steroids. I’m actually surprised Henry hasn’t woken up to the fact a huge bonfire is burning in the vicinity of his home.

As I’m strategizing ways I can get rid of this problem without having to call the fire department, I fail to notice the fireball traveling farther and farther down the dock. It’s not until I hear a splash and a sizzling hiss do I see my problem sinking like a dead weight to a watery grave.

“I’m pretty sure a stunned mullet couldn’t do that,” Jude proudly states, standing by the dock’s edge, calmly watching the water boil and sputter. I, on the other hand, feel like I’m losing my mind.

Unanticipated hysterical laughter bubbles from my throat, and I end up cackling manically like a crazy person. Tears slide down my cheeks, but I don’t bother wiping them away. My actions tonight have no doubt cemented my insanity, and I’m pretty sure Jude is seconds away from paddling across that pond and getting the hell outta Dodge.

When will this roller coaster of emotions end? One minute, I think I’ve got a handle on everything, then the next…well, the next, I’m almost setting my house on fire. I’m losing my mind.

“Thank you, Jude,” I say when I can finally catch my breath. I walk over to where he stands. “I owe you.”

He doesn’t turn to face me, though, as his eyes are still riveted to the spot where my sad, burned-out chair has sunk to the bottom of the lake. “Why did you burn it?” he asks, his voice unexpectedly poignant.

I rub my bare arms. I’ve suddenly caught a chill. “Some things are better off as ashes.”

We stand side by side, our gazes fixed to the spot that seems to captivate us both. I’ve only just met this man, but I feel an inexplicable comfort around him. It’s a feeling I haven’t felt in a very long time, which frightens me.

But I don’t need any more hitches as my life is complicated enough. So with that thought in mind, I clear my throat. The sound seems to jar Jude from whatever pensive thoughts he’s lost in. “Thanks again. I really appreciate it.”

“My pleasure…” He pauses. “I don’t know your name.”

Telling him my name is harmless, I reprimand myself. What’s in a name? I squash down the significance of that quote. “I’m Victoria.”

He nods in approval. “Victoria. I like it.”

“Thanks.” I have no idea why I’m thanking him for liking my name. I guess I’m just filling the tangible static because that’s a far better option than questioning why I’m suddenly nervous around a complete stranger.

Thankfully, he’s the one to fill the silence. “Sorry for messing up your serenity.”

Looking at what’s left of the smoldering chair, I wave him off. “Don’t even worry about it. It’ll take some time before I reach the complete serenity stage.” As if on cue, the back porch light fizzles out, leaving us at the mercy of the full moon.

“Well, if you ever need me, you know where I live.” The invitation isn’t sleazy, it’s genuine.

That weighty feeling that the night is drawing to a close lingers in the air, but still, neither of us appear to want to say good night. Remembering my promise to start afresh, I ignore the mysterious pull, and say, “It was nice meeting you.”

I shuffle my feet nervously and bite the inside of my cheek as he watches me closely. I desperately want to find out what he’s thinking, but why does it matter? I’m not interested in getting to know anyone. I moved away from civilization for a reason—I’m here to focus on me and me alone.

With that attitude, that’s exactly what my future holds—me alone.

“Good night.” It appears he wants to say something else. Just when I’m about to ask if everything is okay, his face turns nostalgic. His heavy footsteps sound on the dock before he disappears down my driveway just as quietly as he appeared.

I stand rooted to the spot, unable to tear my eyes away from the place he once stood. Call me crazy, but from the brief minutes spent with Jude, I have a hunch that he’s someone with a past just as blackened as mine. The old me would have asked him if he needed a friendly ear, but that old me is dead and gone. The new me has no interest in making friends or even making conversation. I just want to be left alone.

Walking up the creaky backstairs, I slam the back door shut behind me and lean against it, closing my eyes. I hate this constant feeling of apathy weighing me down, but better this than leaving myself open for new heartache.

Pushing off the door, I hunt through my small fridge and snatch a bottle of white wine. Switching off the lights, I climb the stairs to my room, too tired to even process that across the lake, just past a tree, lies the bedroom window of someone who I’m almost certain is going to be trouble.