Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 109608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
“I’m the lucky one.”
She smiles as if I’m making small talk. I’m not. She gets the hint and stands quietly on the other side of the case.
“Nothing stands out to me. Thank you.” I head for the door with my phone buzzing in my pocket. As soon as I’m outside, I answer, “I’m heading back to the office now, Leisa.”
“Are you okay? I wasn’t sure if I should cancel your afternoon meetings when you left for lunch earlier.”
Leaving for lunch is cause for concern since I never do it. I need a fucking life . . . I have one, actually, but it’s about to be taken away from me.
I trudge back toward the office building, holding the lapels of my coat tighter at my neck to block the frigid air from slipping under the wool. “I have a lot going on. I shouldn’t have left.”
“We all have bad days, Loch. Sometimes fresh air does you good.”
She’s right. Also, clearing one’s conscience can alleviate the guilt. “Hey, go ahead and clear my schedule. I need to take care of some things.”
“Done. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“You know it.”
I call Brady and wait for him under the awning of a candy shop. As soon as he pulls up to the curb, I dash for the back door and climb in. He says, “Sweet tooth?”
“Huh?” He points at the shop. “Ah. No. Just waiting for you.”
“You say such sweet nothings to me.”
I laugh, though I shouldn’t encourage the jokes. He’ll continue to make me suffer through them if he thinks I enjoy them. “Did I ever tell you that you’re not funny?”
He chuckles. “All the time. Where are we headed?”
“Home.”
“You got it, boss.”
Normally, I’d love to surprise her and spend the rest of the day in bed with her or take her out to wherever her heart desired. Not today.
Today, I walk in, hoping Tuesday is out.
“Hello?” I call as soon as I open the door. I’m glad silence greets me, but how long will I be alone?
I hurry to my office and into the closet, moving the box out of the way. My stomach churns when I think about what I’ll find in the envelope as I lift the lid to the container. Not knowing has been torture, but the truth, which could lead to her leaving me, will do me in.
Taking the envelope, I sit at my desk and unclasp the brads holding it closed. Breathing in through my nose, I pull the file out and release a long exhale. This is it.
It sits before me. All I need to do is open it.
I flip over the cover and am instantly hit with a photo of her from another life, the life when I first met her at the coffee shop—hair pulled back and polished in every detail from makeup to her outfit.
She’s so opposite of that now. With me, she’s carefree, as carefree as she can be under the circumstances. Her hair hangs down most of the time in waves that look like the sea air shaped them, and though she’s put together, there’s such a breeziness about her style, like she doesn’t take herself too seriously, preferring jeans to a well . . . what she used to wear.
It’s the name below the photo that I can’t stop staring at, though—Céline Schroder.
Céline is Tuesday.
But Tuesday is the name she gave for her coffee order. This makes no sense.
Now, I’m more confused than ever and have to live with this information. I can’t hide it from her. No matter how much I don’t want her to return to Rhode Island . . . fucking hell, she’s from Rhode Island? That’s not Manhattan, which means if she goes home . . . if she goes to wherever she’s from, she won’t be with me. Fear officially unlocks.
“What are you doing?”
“Shit.” I scramble to my feet, hitting the folder closed in my hurry. The envelope flies off the front of the desk just out of my reach from stopping it.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Tuesday says, striding into the office to help with the mess.
“I got it!” I don’t mean to yell as I practically hurdle the desk to grab the envelope.
Startled, she stops, holding her hand over her heart. “My God, Loch. What has gotten into you?”
“I, uh—”
“Does that say Tuesday on the front?” she asks, pointing at the label I’m trying to hide.
Fuck.
“It, um, huh . . .” I look at the front again like I don’t already know what it says.
“What is that?” Her curiosity will do more damage than good.
I’ve not always been forthcoming, but I’ve always been honest with her. I can’t lie to her. The truth would come out eventually. Better from me than the police or some stranger on the street who happens to recognize her.