Page 73 of You Make Me Feel
On top of the pile is a note, written in that same sharp, precise handwriting:
In case you need them.
I blink at it, because of course he thought of this too. God, I hate that I like it.
Get yourself together, woman. He’s just being nice. Don’t take it for more than it is.
By the time I’m dressed, I look almost normal again. My hair is twisted into a messy but acceptable bun, my face scrubbed clean. I zip up the hoodie and slide my feet into the sneakers which feel suspiciously expensive in their softness.
When I walk back into the main room, the tray from earlier has been cleared away. The housekeeper must have snuck in again.
Even the ripped, muddy dress is gone. I feel a little sad about that. But I push it away, take my things, and head out of the door onto the patio and head for my car, which is neatly parked where he left it. And of course the keys are still in there.
The drive back toward town is quiet, so I put on the radio and sing along to the rock anthems that blast through the speakers. The morning sun has burned off the last of the mist, and Liberty looks harmless again, small and perfect and full of gossip.
And me? I’m fine.
My body aches in the best way, my pulse still humming with aftershocks, but my head’s steady. I wanted him tochase me, and he did. No promises. No strings. Exactly what I asked for.
He doesn’t owe me anything. No sweet words or checking in on me. If anything, I owe him. I’ll go home, get changed, and start my day. No biggie.
Which would be great, except for the fact that when I park and climb out of my car, Romy’s already at the shop, sliding her key into the lock to open up.
“Well, hello, stranger,” she says, looking stupidly pleased at catching my walk of shame. “You’re late. I think you have some explaining to do.”
twenty
SADIE
As soon as we walk inside, Romy locks the door behind us and keeps the sign flipped to ‘closed’. And then she looks me up and down, taking in the oversized sweatpants and soft t-shirt, not to mention my scrubbed clean face and damp hair.
“And if that isn’t the walk of shame, then I don’t know what is,” she says, her lips twitching. “I need details. And fast.”
My phone vibrates right at that moment. She doesn’t look away as I pull it from my pocket.
Are you okay? Sorry I had to leave early. Had some things to do on the mainland. Did you eat the breakfast I ordered? Any pain anywhere? –Zach.
“Um,” I say, playing for time as I decide how to explain this. “Would you believe me if I say I was up super early this morning?”
“Nope.” She smiles triumphantly. “So who is he?” She blinks. “Or her.” Blinks again. “Or they?”
I open my mouth to deny all of the options, then close it again. The truth is, maybe I need to talk about this. I feel like I’m losing my mind a little bit. Even the message from Zach is a mess, because he disappears then sends me sweet messages?
Is it part of the game, or is it game over?
I don’t know. But he made it clear we would be friends. And I guess friends check on friends, wouldn’t they?
“I don’t even know where to start,” I admit, collapsing onto the stool behind the till. My voice sounds like a half-laugh, half-groan. “You know when something feels too big to talk about out loud? Like if you say it, it’ll sound even crazier than it already does?”
Romy leans on the counter with way too much grace for this time in the morning. “Oh, this sounds juicy. Let’s start with where you spent last night.” She tilts her head, eyes narrowing in on something at my neck. “And that hickey is definitely mouth-shaped. Who does it belong to?”
I touch the skin with gentle fingers. Yep, that’s definitely where he bit me. “Zach Fitzgerald,” I squeak.
For a second she’s dumbstruck. I could relish it, but it doesn’t last long enough.
“No way. Mr. Moody and you?” She shakes her head, like she’s trying to picture it.
“He’s not really moody,” I say, feeling the need to protect him somehow. “More… intense than anything.”
