Page 25 of Lost and Found

A knock on my window scares a high-pitched yelp out of me. I turn and see one of the guys from the first time I showed up here, the second one with the facial scars. My thermos slips in my clammy hand, and I clumsily shove it into its cup holder.

“What are you doing?” the man asks through the glass.

“What! Ah—” I stammer. The man’s brow folds, and I realize I’m still staring. I have no idea why I start patting my pockets like I’m searching for my keys. I am well aware that they’re in the ignition.

“Meeting started five minutes ago,” the man says. “You coming in or what?”

Oh my god, I think.Why am I turning around and rifling around my back seat? What specific subset of wigging out is this? Jesus Christ.I finally get ahold of myself and, looking straight out of my windshield, say, “Forgot I had a meeting.”

“Bro, you’reatthe meeting.”

“No, uh.”Fuck.“I mean an appointment. I gotta go.”

I flip the truck into reverse and all but peel out of the parking lot.

I drive back to Spunes in silence, seesawing between acute embarrassment and disgust until I end up back at Savvy’s. I don’t deserve a treat, but I think I fucking need the comfort. Wren has enough hired help for the weekends these days, so I’ll be able to compose myself here without her watchful eyes.

My mood plummets lower when I walk in and see Ian Carver. Former best friend. Dated my sister for five years until he broke her heart and got engaged less than twelve months later.

I don’t begrudge him falling for Sage or for our friendship changing back then. I’m used to not being people’s first consideration, and I was happy for my sister’s happiness. It all worked out for the best, what with Sage finding Fisher and Indy and the happy family they’ve become. What I don’t forgive him for is how easily he discarded her in the first place.

Fine. Maybe I do grudge him for how easy it was to sideline our friendship, too. Just a little.

“Officer Carver?” a girl behind the counter calls out. I watch Ian get up and collect his pastry and try not to roll my eyes.

Screw it, I’m feeling agitated enough. “Really?” I drawl. “You couldn’t just give them your name,Officer?”

Ian and his spiffy uniform march over to my spot in line, an affable grin on his face. “Hey, Byrd, how you been?”

I hate when he does this. Acts like we can be chummy. I had no interest in pulling any overprotective-brother bullshit when he fell for Sage. I suppressed any mixed feelings and became supportive and encouraging, even. Now I don’t owe him shit. “Been great, Ian.”

A voice blares out of the speaker on his shoulder, and he twists down the volume.

“Duty calls?” I mock. “Time for you to go save the day?” We both know being a cop around here is a slow, warm breeze.

“Actually, there’s a kitten stuck in a tree,” Ian says, eyes like saucers. “They’re looking all over for you.”

I ignore the jab and order a plain croissant when I get up to the register.

“You’re not getting the last jelly-filled?” Ian asks, and I grind my jaw because I do love those and Wren only does doughnuts, like, twice a month.

But. I turn to Ian with my nastiest sneer. “I would rather not eat another doughnut for the rest of my life than risk being mistaken for a cop,Officer.”

That gets him. Ian’s expression goes slack, and he shakes his head. “Nice haircut, asshole,” he says, shoving past me for the door.

“Nice hairline, dickhead,” I reply. “I’ll miss it when it’s gone in a month.”

I wolf down my croissant in four bites and a smile.

When I pull back into my house a little while later, I’m surprised I don’t see Bea’s car in the driveway. In one of our abbreviated conversations this week, I thought she said she had to be moved out of her parents’ place by yesterday, but . . . maybe my days are mixed up. The last thing I want to do is text her to find out where she is, make her feel like I’m hovering. I wonder what changed since the haircut and the move that’s got her being more reticent again. Is it the house? Something about this place making her uncomfortable?

I need to work off some of this nervous, jittery feeling. My buzz from dragging Ian has shifted into something anxious again.

I get changed and head out to the gym I’ve got set up in the detached garage, select the first workout playlist I see in my music app, and get to work, trying to lose myself in the rhythmof my feet hitting the pavement while I jump rope in place. Every time an intrusive thought tries to assert itself, I push harder.

I installed what I think are nice shades on all the windows after I bought this place, but should I have curtains? Time for double-unders.

My sister made me plant a few low-maintenance things in the yard a few years back and I’ve managed to keep those alive, but I don’t have any indoor plants. Should a man pushing thirty-two have an indoor plant or two? I throw myself into some burpees.