Prolog

“I think you need to find out where all those flower arrangements you've been getting actually came from,” said the man, who’d been acting all mysterious from the start.

“No need for you to tell me what to do,” Staylie snapped, turning toward the source of the voice with a face that was visibly contorted in annoyance. “Why don’t you mind your own business instead? Always meddling, telling people they have to find out. Who do you think you are, huh?!”

Her piercing glare made the man beside her flinch slightly in fear.

“Well, if you don’t want to know who’s been sending them, then that’s fine by me,” he replied, disappointment creeping into his voice.

With a slightly wounded look, he turned his back on her, hoping time would eventually wash away the sting of his feelings.

“Wait a second.”

Staylie stopped him from leaving.

“Yes?”

She turned as well, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

“Don’t tell me… you’re the one behind all this?!”