Death by Coffee by Alex Erickson

presented itself. Give me someone who wanted to dress up and play pretend and I very well might end up running around town in a deerstalker hat, calling everyone “Watson.” If I kept going the way I was going, someone was bound to notice and stop me—the murderer, perhaps.
    I bit my lip and looked at the phone. All it would take was one call. What could it hurt? I could tell him his mom tried to set us up and leave it at that. If nothing came of it, it wasn’t like I’d been all that interested, to begin with. Rejection here hurts no one.
    “I’m going to do it,” I told Misfit as I reached for my cell phone. Just as I touched it, it started ringing.
    I blinked at it. Another cosmic sign? I answered it without bothering to check the screen.
    I really wish I would have.
    “Hello?”
    “Krissy? Where in the hell are you?”
    A mental door slammed closed. I went utterly still, barely daring to breathe. If I spoke, then he would know I was there.
    Too late, a little voice in the back of my head said. He already knows.
    “What do you want, Robert?” I asked, speaking as calmly as I could manage. Deep breaths. I just needed to take deep breaths and not let my anger show through.
    “What do you think I want? I want you to come back home. You need me.”
    I ground my teeth together. Deep breaths weren’t working. “I need you to leave me alone. I changed my number for a reason.” I was going to kill whoever gave him my new cell phone number.
    “Come on, Krissy. You know you can’t handle living without me.”
    “Ugh!” I just about threw the phone across the room. If I wasn’t afraid of breaking it and having to buy a new one, I might have. “I’m doing just fine without you, thank you very much. Now, can I please forget you ever existed?”
    “Aw, come on,” he said. “Just tell me where you are. I’ll come out and we can talk things through.”
    “We’ve tried that before.” I knew I should just hang up, but there was still a faint part of me that cared. I actively hated that part. “I’m done, okay? Go back to your college girls and leave me alone.”
    “Damn it, Krissy. Quit being such a b—”
    I didn’t let him finish. I pressed the END button and then quickly blocked his number before he could call back. I should have done that long before now. I so didn’t need his drama in my life anymore. Been there, done that. It was time to move on.
    Misfit was lying on the floor, breathing heavily. The cardboard and the plastic package were torn into bits and were soaking wet. There were a few sprinkles of catnip on the floor. Most of it was in his fur. I was going to have to give him a bath or he’d be gnawing on it for days.
    Right then, I didn’t have the energy for it. “Tomorrow,” I told him, “you are getting a good solid bath.” His head moved a fraction of an inch before he continued his catnip-induced coma.
    I started to shove the card back into my purse, but hesitated. After Robert’s call, I wanted nothing to do with men of any sort; yet I couldn’t let this go. Robert was certain I’d find no one else. Maybe his call was a sign to remind me that if I didn’t do this, he very well might end up being right.
    “I’ll show him.”
    Before I could change my mind, I dialed the number on the card. My heart was pounding and my ears were actually ringing. It felt like I was calling a boy for the very first time.
    Has it really been so long since I’ve done this?
    Before things had gone south, I’d been with Robert for two years. I’d been single for a few years before that and single since. I’d barely gone on a half-dozen dates before Robert and definitely hadn’t gone on any after.
    Man, was I pathetic or what?
    The phone rang twice before a familiar voice answered. “Hello?”
    I couldn’t speak. I knew that voice. I’d just heard it the other day.
    “Is anyone there?”
    “Uh, hi,” I said, licking my suddenly dry lips. “It’s Krissy Hancock. From the shop. Death by