Hazel looks up from her flowers to find Davis waving at her from the checkout counter. She lets out a groan. She can’t get away from him. She runs into him at every turn. In the grocery store. When she’s out for her morning walks. And he comes into the shop regularly—conveniently, when Laney is not around. Which is the case today. Laney has taken the first round of table arrangements to Love-Struck for a wedding later this afternoon.
Hazel jabs the poet's laurel into the arrangement, wipes her hands on her apron, and pushes through the swinging door into the showroom. “What’re you doing here? Didn’t you see the Closed sign on the door?”
He glances at the door and back at her. “I didn’t notice the sign. Why is the door unlocked if you’re closed?”
“I forgot to lock it after a customer left with her arrangement.” Hazel brushes past Davis and swings open the door. “You can leave now.”
He runs his fingers down her arm. “Come now, Hazel. Playing hard to get is only making me want you that much more.”
Hazel shrinks away from him. “I’m not playing hard to get, Davis. I’ve told you a thousand times, I don’t want to go out with you. Or anyone else. My marriage just ended, and I’m not currently dating. Why can’t you get that through your thick head?” she says, her voice nearing hysteria.
Neither Hazel nor Davis hear Laney come in, and they startle at the sound of her voice. “What’s going on here?”
Hazel cuts her eyes at Davis. “He keeps asking me out, and I keep telling him I’m not interested.”
Laney strides toward them. “What part of no don’t you understand?”
“Hazel, here, is sending me mixed signals. She hooked up with me one night a few weeks ago. Didn’t you, baby?” Davis runs his fingers down her arm. “You had no trouble telling me yes that night.”
Hazel’s cheeks burn as she smacks his hand away. “You’re stalking me. If you come near me again, I’m calling the police.”
Laney puffs out her chest. “And I’m a witness to this conversation. Consider yourself warned. You are not welcome here. Now please leave my property.” Grabbing his arm, she walks him to the front door and locks it behind him.
Hazel’s dam of emotion breaks, and she bursts into tears. In between gulps of air, she says, “I’m so embarrassed. It happened a few nights after I caught Charles with Stuart. On the Saturday night after Spring Fling. A few of us went to the Blue Saloon. You know I never drink much, but I had three glasses of wine. Next thing I know, I wake up on Davis’s couch. I couldn’t remember anything at the time, but I could tell we’d had sex. When the memories started coming back . . .” She sobs, her fist pressed against lips. “The things I let that man do to me . . . I’m so ashamed.”
“Oh, honey.” Laney grabs a box of tissues from under the counter and holds it out to Hazel. “None of this is your fault. You were vulnerable. He took advantage of you.”
Hazel snatches several tissues from the box and blots her cheeks. “He’s a snake, and I wasn’t in my right mind. I’m trying to forget what happened, but every encounter with him brings on a fresh onslaught of memories from that night.”
“If we could figure out a way to put him in his place . . .” Laney pinches her chin as she thinks. “Isn’t he dating Ruthie?”
Hazel bobs her head. “I see them together all the time.”
“You need to tell her he’s hitting on you. She’ll be furious at him. They’ll have a big fight, and she’ll insist Davis stay away from you.”
“I’ve thought about telling Ruthie, if for no other reason than she’s our friend. She should know what Davis is doing behind her back.” Hazel glances through the window at the diner next door where Ruthie is wiping down tables. “There are hardly any customers there. I should go now while I have the nerve.”
“No time like the present.” Laney walks Hazel to the door. “I’ll watch from here. If you get in over your head, signal for me and I’ll rescue you.”
Hazel takes in a deep breath. “Wish me luck. Here goes nothing.”
Ruthie is carrying a bin of dirty dishes to the back when Hazel enters the restaurant. “Hey, Ruthie! Do you have a minute? I need to discuss a personal matter.”
“Sure thing, hon.” Ruthie dips her chin at the dish bin. “Let me put these down, and I’ll be right back.”
Hazel sits down at a table by the window, and Ruthie joins her a minute later with a pot of coffee and two mugs. “What’s up?” she asks, pouring coffee into the mugs.
Hazel fidgets with the tissue in her hand. “I thought you should know Davis has been harassing me. I told him I don’t want to go out with him, but he won’t leave me alone.”
“Have you given him a reason to hit on you?” Ruthie asks in an irritated tone.
Hazel repeats the story about the night at the Blue Saloon. “I’m pretty sure you weren’t dating him at the time. Or were you?”
Ruthie softens. “No. Our first date was the following week. We aren’t exclusive now, Hazel. Davis is free to see whomever he likes.”
Hazel can tell Ruthie’s upset even though she’s trying to make light of it. “I hate making excuses for my behavior, but I was a mess that night, and I drank too much.”
“Don’t beat yourself up. These things happen.” Ruthie runs her thumb around the rim of her coffee mug. “Did anything unusual happen that night?”
The strange question gives Hazel gooseflesh. “Like what?”
“Like maybe he took advantage of you in your drunken state.”
Hazel looks away. “I’d rather not talk about it. I’m trying to forget what happened that night.”
“I understand,” Ruthie says, sipping her coffee.
The door bangs open and four boisterous young college girls, home for the summer, pile into the diner and sit down in a booth near them. The young women, seemingly oblivious to who’s listening to their conversation, babble loudly about their wild time at the Blue Saloon last night.
“Oh. My. God.” One girl lets out a squeal and drops her phone on the table. “Natalie just texted me. She thinks someone roofied her last night. She’s freaking out. She thinks the guy might have date-raped her.”
Hazel freezes. Is it possible Davis drugged Hazel the night they hooked up? Is that why Hazel was having trouble remembering? She risks a glance at Ruthie, whose face has gone white as a sheet. Is she worried Davis might have drugged Natalie? Was Ruthie with Davis last night?
Hazel, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe, stands abruptly. “I’m sorry, Ruthie, but I’ve gotta go. Laney and I are doing a wedding at Love-Struck this afternoon,” she says and hurries out of the diner and back to the safety of the flower shop.
Laney is waiting for her by the window. “What happened just now with those girls?”
Hazel explains what she overheard. “Do you think it’s possible Davis roofied me?”
With a slow shake of her head, Laney says, “I don’t know, Hazel. That seems farfetched. Are you sure you had only three glasses of wine?”
“Positive. And I didn’t order the third. Davis got it for me when I went to the restroom.”
“Well now, that’s an interesting twist. While three glasses are a lot for someone with low tolerance, I don’t think it’s enough to make you black out. Then again, I’m not an expert. You should talk to your doctor.”
Hazel turns away from the window. “What difference does it make? I can’t do anything about it now.”
“If it was Davis, you can stop him from drugging some other unsuspecting woman.” Laney’s arm shoots out, finger pointed at the girls in the diner next door. “Like their friend.”
“But I have no way to prove it. The drugs are long gone from my system. Let’s forget about this for now. We have wedding flowers to create.”
She feels Laney’s eyes boring a hole into her as she heads to the back room. Laney expects her to do the right thing, but Hazel doesn’t know what that is in this situation. Despite what she overheard from the girls at the diner, she feels unburdened, having confessed her sins to Laney and Ruthie. As awful as it sounds, the possibility Davis may have drugged her puts more of the blame on him, alleviating a bit of her guilt.