“Don’t come near me again,” I said. I stood still and strong and furious. “I will protect myself if you ever try to touch me again.”

The chief took off, a disgusted look on his face for them and hatred in his eyes for me. That’s how narcissistic men look at women they can’t control or who don’t bow down to them: with hate.

And they want revenge.

You’ve popped their ego. You haven’t stroked it. And now you’re in trouble.

Or my mother and aunts were in trouble.

I headed home, took care of the animals, and went to bed early with three books: Romance. Nonfiction. Science fiction.

I brought up a slice of peach pie. I wondered if Marco liked peach pie.

* * *

Marco called me that night, Sundance lying beside me on his pillow with his pink blankie and Lizard, the other dogs and cats still running around the house and in and out of the dog/cat door. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, sure.” I ran a finger around the edges of one of the embroidered purple roses on my comforter. For some reason, doing that helps me to relax.

“I heard about what the chief did.”

“I’m fine. I told him not to touch me. He’ll back off.”

“What a dick. I’m sorry, Evie.”

“It’s okay. I’m fine. How are you?”

He wouldn’t let me change the subject, asking questions, swearing at the chief. I finally got him to take a breath.

“I’m fine, Evie, but I am ticked off at the chief. I’m working, taking care of animals, including one dog who ate a five-year-old’s birthday cake and got sick and another who leaped over the back fence to be with his girlfriend and in the process broke his leg.”

“Anything for love,” I said.

“Yes.” He laughed. “I think he was making a grand gesture.”

We chatted and laughed, and before I knew it we’d been talking for three hours.

“All right, Evie. I’ve kept you too long.”

“It was nice to talk to you.”

“Highlight of my day,” he said, soft and warm. “No, probably the highlight of my year.”

We laughed.

I missed him. I wanted him. I loved that guy.

When we hung up, I choked up.

* * *

The next day, Marco put his “sorry” into action.

He went to talk to the chief. They met up in front of the hardware store. I heard about it later. Marco told the chief to stay away from me. That I didn’t want to talk, or interact, with the chief, that he was not to touch me.

Chief Ass Burn laughed and said, “She’s not your girlfriend, Marco. As I understand, she’s turned you down. Small island. Once she gets to know me . . .”

“She has gotten to know you,” Marco said. “And she doesn’t like you. You’re harassing her.”