Page 38 of Seven Summers Ago
“Oh my gahh…” I say around my bite. “I feel as if I’ve died and my soul is leaving my body.”
Stella laughs and nods in agreement. “Right.”
Daisy holds up her margarita like she’s about to give a big important speech. And she may be petite, but she knows how to command a room. Glossy blue eyes like ice and an affective presence. She’s got my attention. “Okay, now fess up, girl. Show us a pic of that Silver Fox of yours.”
A wave of humility washes over me, and I feel this strange protectiveness over West and our relationship. He’s a good-looking man, there’s no denying it. But that’s the problem. Thelast thing I want is them thinking I’m with him because he’s gorgeous. “Oh, c’mon, you’ve seen him on Instagram, haven’t you?”
“You’ve hardly posted anything except for Charlie in the last seven years. Now don’t get me wrong, Charlie is adorable. But I need to see this man because he must be doing something right to keep you in Seattle.”
“What’s wrong with Seattle?”
“Nothing. If you don’t mind rain and dark skies every day.”
“It’s not that bad. And despite what the rumors say, it doesn’t rain that much.” I shake my head and glance over my shoulder at the beach. A few kids play in the sand with colorful buckets and pails. There a handful of surfers straddling boards waiting for the perfect wave. It’s probably the same guys from the Jeep.
“Enough stalling,” Daisy presses. “Don’t make me beg.”
I whip my head in her direction and scan her expression. She’s not joking. She will beg. And one hundred percent cause a scene. “Fine,” I groan, picking up my phone and finding a good picture of West before reluctantly handing it over.
In this particular photo of him, he was sitting across from me while we were out to dinner at his preferred steakhouse restaurant to celebrate our engagement. If I’d been given the option to choose the restaurant, it would’ve been this cute little Mediterranean place called Seatown Bowls. So good. If I weren’t already devouring these delicious tacos, I would most definitely be craving Fattoush from there. I love it for two reasons: one, it’s not overrun by tourists. And two, they serve food that fits in with my anti-inflammatory diet, so my body isn’t freaking out more than usual.
West did look extra handsome that night though, dressed in my favorite blue suit and shiny blue tie. They both bring out the blue in his eyes. And while facial hair on men used to be my type, West prefers to be smoothly shaven. He says it makes himappear more professional. I’m not sure about that, but it does highlight his sharp jawline.
“Gahhhh,” Daisy moans and melts into her stool, facing the phone at Stella. Her eyes bug out and now she’s swooning. They look like two cartoon characters with gigantic hearts for eyes. “NowIfeel as if I’ve died and gone to heaven. Forget Silver Fox, this man is a god. It’s like he’s been chiseled from stone. I’m going to call him Apollo.”
I give Daisy a shove and swipe my phone out of her grip before we all burst into laughter.
13
BECK
The sound of my phone chiming and vibrating in unison wakes me from a dead sleep. Panic tightens across my shoulders, and an instant dread fills me all the way to my feet.
Milo.
Before my eyes have a chance to register and fly open, I fumble around on the nightstand for my phone. My hand bumps into my water bottle and then the lamp and it topples over. Shit.
I catapult in bed, blinking my eyes open, but it does little for clarity. Besides the faint light slicing through my blinds from the moon, it’s dark in my bedroom. Swinging my legs off the side of the bed I quickly retrieve the fallen lamp before I finally clutch my phone in my hand and squint at the screen. But it’s not a text from Milo.
My shoulders drop as a small sigh escapes my parted lips. Yet the name reflected on my screen has a similar reaction and my shoulders are right back up again.
Rosie.
Until three days ago, Milo had been my only concern. My only responsibility. But now there’s Charlie. I swipe to open her text.
Rosie
Please don’t hate me forever
It’s now that the time on the screen finally resonates. Two o’clock in the morning. What the hell? I scrub a palm over my face and release a muffled groan.
We can talk in the morning
I toss my phone back onto the nightstand, but it chimes almost instantly.
“Dammit, Rosie,” I growl aloud, my throat dry and scratchy. Running a hand through my hair, I clench my teeth while I reach for my phone again.
Rosie
