Page 120 of True Blue

“He sounds like a real fucking asshole,” I say quietly. Her gaze snaps to mine. “It sounds like you deserve better.”

She stares at me for a long moment, and something in her expression shifts. Not warmth, nothing close to happiness, but the ice wall she’s placed between us.

“Goodbye,” Indie says, turning on her heel and walking back into the pub. I stay standing there, watching as she walks over to Petra, who pulls her in for a long hug.

I know that I need to keep my space. I need to let her enjoy her vacation. And if I can’t be part of it, then I’ll spend every step making sure I don’t take another damn thing from her.

Instead, I’ll give her everything she deserves.

23

INDIE

AUGUST

“Dr. Miller!”

Stopping in my tracks before I can rush out into the overcast London morning, I turn toward the voice.

William, the receptionist who checked me in days ago, is waving to get my attention from behind the front desk.

A flash of worry rushes through me, the kind of irrational panic that makes me wonder if something is wrong with my card, or they’re going to kick me out of the hotel for some reason, or I’ve somehow done something without knowing it.

Logically, I know this is all residual anxiety from childhood, from years of feeling like the other in the room, like I don’t belong wherever I’m standing, and someone is moments away from noticing.

Old habits die hard.

But there’s a smile on William’s face.

“This was left for you,” he says, placing a small pink-and-white striped box on the counter. Then he sets a white envelope on top of it. “And this.”

My brow furrows in confusion, and I reach out a hesitant hand to touch the box. “By who?”

“Oh, er—he’s a tall fellow,” William says, gesturing several inches above his own head before holding his hands out wide. The realization strikes me instantly. “Very broad, too.”

Sighing, I smile tightly and take the box from him.

“You do know him?” he asks.

My voice is not working all of a sudden, so I nod.

William sighs in relief.

“Good, I just wanted to be sure. I usually wouldn’t let someone just leave food for a guest, but he seemed alright. He seemed to know you. He was very insistent that I get this to you, but that if you refused it, he said to let it be.”

My throat closes even more at that, for some reason.

The smell that hits me when I lift the lid makes me hum without my permission. My mouth waters at the sight of the still-warm pastries, each one marked with little edible wafer papers indicating they are gluten-free. The one that almost makes me smile is the delicious-looking glazed pastry at the top.

A bear claw.

“Teddy,” I mutter, before glancing back up at William. “Thank you, William.”

“Of course, Dr. Miller. Please let me know if there’s anything else you need during your stay.”

I walk outside, still smiling tightly because the emotions coursing through me are dizzying, confusing, and, to my aggravation, warm.

Pulling my hood up on the rain jacket I bought yesterday during my first trip to Harrods with Petra and the girls, I step into the gray morning and try to focus on the sights instead of the warm box in my hands and the envelope on top of it.