Missy was a regular customer at the craft store, and since I had moved to full-time, I saw her even more than before, which proved to be a big distraction for me.

She was tall and curvy and had a penchant for snug sweaters and flared jeans. Her dark hair was always twisted up in some kind of messy topknot as if she were too damn busy with her creations to worry about things like hair. She wore very little makeup; she didn’t need it. And she always smelled like peaches.

As I gawked at her, she must’ve assumed I was checking out her basket of fake flowers because she grinned and said, “Can you believe these are on sale? Poinsettias. Just in time for the holidays. The girls are going to love them.”

“Girls?” I asked, swiping each cluster of fake blooms over the... Read More