He’s been the mayor of Holly Woods for as long as I can remember. I think he even sat in the front row at my baptism way back when. He’s like the political Simon Cowell. He changes his mind so often that the whole town has whiplash from his indecision. Like those flowers he approved for the local park? Yeah. Well, we can safely say he forgot to plant the damn bulbs.

So listening to him spout his total crap at a campaign speech? Excuse me if I don’t sing his biblical praises at the top of my lungs. Hell, y’all would be lucky if I don’t sing his hellish ignorance from my own level of hell.

Six a.m. is far too early to deal with the mayor and his stupid claims. I tug on workout clothes and make my way to the spare room, where my elliptical is sitting alongside my treadmill. I hesitate in front of the treadmill for a second before plugging my phone into the jack, hitting the workout playlist on Spotify, and jumping on the bitch treadmill.

We’ve never gotten along, but you know. Desperate love handles call for desperate early runs and all that.

My feet pound against the moving belt, and I breathe with each step. My head is bursting with pain, but that’s simply the result of one more glass of wine than was called for last night. Actually, given the way my date ended, it wasn’t nearly enough.

My phone rings, slicing through the music, and I tap the answer button. “Hello?”

“Noelle,” Brody, my younger brother, says. “Are you going to the debate today?”

“I don’t want to, but I’m assumin’ this call is because Dad is gonna make us all.”

“Yep. And he said your ass better be on the side of the mayor’s.”

“My ass might be, but my vote is on the other side.”

“Obviously, it is. Do you need a ride? I can get you if you want.”

Clearly, someone heard about my date.

“Brodes, I can drive.”

“Are you sure?”

The protective tone of his voice makes me fumble. Damn my brother—actually, damn them all. They’re pretty much the only guys I can’t say no to when they go all sibling on me.

“All right,” I acquiesce. “I’ll take the ride.”

“Of course you are. I was going to stop by anyway.”

“Obviously.” I smile.

“You sound out of breath. Did I interrupt some woman time?”

“Some woman time? You’re gross. No. I’m running.”

He pauses. “You’re running? As in, actual running?”

“Yes.” I grab my water bottle. “Is that all? You’re killing my buzz here.”

“Fine. I’ll see you later.”

“Bye.” I hang up and hit the play button. The music starts back up, and I continue my run to a much better sound than my brother being equal parts prying and protective.

My family’s finding out about the end to that date is the last thing I wanted. Hell, I still don’t want it. I can imagine the private chat before Brody called this morning. Ugh—I don’t even want to do this today. I want to take my moment to be my inner teenage girl and mope.

Wait. I did that into a bottle of wine last night.

Fact is, my date with Drake did the one thing I knew it would. It confirmed to me that there’s more to him than the arrogant, argumentative, sexy son of a bitch I know. There’s a fun side and that side is intriguing. I want to delve deeper into it, tear apart the layers that are Drake, and hang there a while. That’s it. That simple.

Or it was until he got all bitter. Clearly, the good has himself some relationship hang-ups—and clear commitment issues—and that’s bullshit to me. If he’s been cheated on, well, newsflash, so have I, and you don’t see me running toward the hills to avoid discussing it.

My ex was an unfaithful fuckhead who liked to dip his cock into many different pools. I could be a rare creature, because after the shock wore off, I didn’t become an insecure wall-flower.

I reasoned that he wasn’t good enough for my special brand of awesome in the first place.

And hey, true or not, it worked.

I block Drake from my mind and focus fully on the run. Except, now, my motivation has gone—and I’ve apparently been running for the last thirty minutes.

Whatever. That’s some two hundred calories. That’s a cupcake. In my dreams, at least.

With a heavy sigh, I set the treadmill to stop and hop off when it’s slowed enough. The belt moves for another few seconds while I take my phone and water bottle and head into my bedroom. The elliptical stares at me through the wall with its imaginary eyes, so I give it the finger.

The last time I got on that thing I couldn’t walk for an hour afterward. Leg-killing bitch.

After a quick shower, I tie the towel around me and squeeze every last drop of water out of my hair. I run a brush through it and grab my hairdryer. I’m approximately halfway through my long-ass necessary blow-dry when the machine sparks and I drop it. It stops blowing as soon as it hits the floor.

“Shit.” I pick it up and flick the switch. Nothing. “Double shit.” I pull the plug from the wall and put it back in, moving the switch again. Still nothing. “Triple shit with sprinkles.” I drop it back on the floor carelessly, because, hey, it doesn’t care that I now have to wrangle my half-damp hair into submission in the form of a bun or some crap.

At least my bangs are dry.

My phone rings on the bed, and in my naked state—screw it. I’m ignoring it. If it’s important, there’s a thing called voicemail.

I rifle in my drawers for underwear, then throw them on the bed before pulling out a royal blue pencil skirt and white blouse. I guess, if I’m going to this dumbass debate, I should try the professional look again this week.

I’m going to put shorts and a tank in my purse.

My phone rings again, and I clasp my bra, humming to myself. Panties next. Then my blouse. I’m doing up the final button when my phone rings for a third time.

I guess that’s important.

I lean over, and the most recent number added is on the screen beneath the caller’s name: Natalie.

Why is she calling me this early?

“Noelle,” I answer the phone. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh my God, finally,” she says quickly. “I got another letter. This time through the mail. I’m scared, Noelle. They’re threatening to hurt me, and my shed was broken into. There are chips on my back porch window and a couple of bricks beneath it. I think they left the note after!”

“Windows aren’t as easy to break as everyone thinks.” I tuck my phone between my shoulder and my ear and grab my skirt. “Are you still at home?”

“Yes.”

“With the letter?”

“Yes.”

“Called the police?”

“No.”

“I’m calling Devin on my way over. Don’t leave your house.”

“But I have an important appointment!”

“If it’s more important than your life, keep it. If not, reschedule.” I tuck my blouse in and buckle the small belt as silence hovers for a moment.

“I’ll be here,” she finally says. “Please make sure he isn’t in uniform.”

“I don’t think the Holly Woods police department owns a uniform past rookie rank, hon. You’re good.” I run downstairs, slip my feet into some black Jimmy Choo heels, grab my purse, and open my door. “I’m getting in my car now. I’ll only be a few minutes. Make sure your doors are locked and you have something that can be used as a weapon if they’re still there, okay?”

“I have a pan,” she whispers.

“As good as anything,” I reason. “I’ll see you in a minute.” I hang up and double back quickly to set my alarm. Once it’s done, I lock the front door and get into my car, already dialing my brother’s number.

“What?” Devin groans.

I pull out of the driveway. “Mornin’ to you, too, grumpy-ass.”

“Noelle, what the fuck? It’s not even eight.”

“I know, but someone broke into Natalie Owens’s shed, tried to break into her house, and left a note.”

“Why can’t these assholes operate during normal hours? And why the fuck can’t you call someone on duty?”