Page 21 of Diving In

about you, especially when you’re flying.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I made it.”

I hesitated as I debated how much I wanted to share. Mom and Jack’s relationship after the divorce was odd, to say the least. I wanted to tread lightly because I didn’t want her to feel like Jack had been happy and successful without her, so I stuck to small talk.

“How’s the island?” she asked.

“Exactly how we left it.”

“Figures,” she said.

“But honestly, I’m exhausted. I think I’m going to find something to eat and then go to bed.”

She took the hint. “Okay. I love you, G, way past heaven. Thanks for doing this.”

“I love you too, Mom. Way past heaven.”

While I probably did need something to eat, the thought of food made me nauseous, so instead I gulped down my glass of wine and headed upstairs to regroup.

As I walked into the bedroom, it felt different than before. Gone was the feeling of warmth and optimism, and here again was the feeling of anger and betrayal as I spotted the letter.

I sank back onto the bed, replaying the last twenty-four hours in my head. In less than one day, my life had begun to collapse all around me, suffocating me from every angle. I’d not only ended my relationship with Ian, but everything I had once tried so desperately to forget from my past had resurfaced, rearing its dreadful head.

My brain seemed to be desperately searching for a way out, because before I could find the will with all to get up from the bed, I’d faded to sleep within seconds of my head hitting the pillow.

I woke up to the sound of birds chirping just as the sun peeked over the horizon and into the windows, apparently having forgotten to latch the large double doors that led from the bedroom to the balcony before passing out last night. Enjoying the sounds of the waves and the light ocean breeze, I’d almost forgotten where I was, but it only took me a few seconds after opening my eyes to come to. Wiping the sleep away, I stumbled across the room and fumbled through my suitcase, desperately needing my comfies because jeans were most definitely not respectable sleeping attire.

I’d been struggling to fall asleep ever since Fletcher died, dreading going to bed because that was the only time when the world around me was silent. It gave my brain complete control, leaving me to drown in all the thoughts I’d ignored throughout the day.

Except for last night.

That was one positive thing about having your world completely rattled… You were so mentally exhausted that you’d rather be sleeping than deal with what was going on around you.

Finding my way to the bathroom, I made quick work of changing out of my jeans and into my comfies. Mornings and I had never gotten along unless copious amounts of caffeine were involved, so I set out on a mission to find a coffee machine. My head had been spinning since yesterday, and I was holding out hope that it was nothing a good cup of joe couldn’t fix.

I bounded down the stairs and dragged myself into the kitchen, the familiar scent of grapefruit and cedarwood taking over my senses. Jack loved the smell of those two mixed together, always chirping about how it reminded him of those first couple days of summer when everyone was so eager to see what the summer would bring them—new opportunities, new memories, perhaps even a new love.

Clattering through the kitchen and the pantry, I managed to find the fanciest coffee machine that I’d ever seen tucked into a little crevice on the counter. The machine was large but perfectly well kept, and appeared as though it should be in a coffee shop instead of someone’s house.

Although, in fairness to industrial coffee machines, this wasn’t your typical pantry either. No, this was larger than my entire apartment back in New York City. There were two massive, light-stained, wooden pocket doors that led into the pantry on either side—one from the kitchen and the other from what seemed to be a mudroom.

It took me approximately twenty minutes to figure out what the hell I was actually supposed to do with this coffeemaker. Nonetheless, it was worth it, because my coffee was delicious. Strong and to the point, just how I liked it. My mind kept straying as I sipped, uncovering that I needed to at least try to muddle through this situation.

Baking used to be our thing, Jack’s and mine. We were the bakers in the family. Every morning, like clockwork, the two of us made breakfast together. We always chatted about my dream of opening a bakery one day and selling my famous lemon poppy seed scones, and every morning he’d say, “Never stop dreaming.” So, to no surprise, he had every ingredient in his pantry that was needed for homemade chocolate chip cookies.

Ignoring the fact that it was nine in the morning, I pressed play on my phone and opened the balcony doors, allowing the music to fill the kitchen as the salty sea air blew in from the outside. With the ingredients laid out on the island, I danced around the kitchen to find the supplies I needed and measured the flour, brown sugar, and butter. As for the chocolate chips, I always measured those withlove,pouring in an ungodly amount until the entire bowl was covered.

Placing the cookie sheet in the oven, I staggered out onto the wraparound balcony that towered over the beach, gazing directly at the waves as they came roaring ashore. I leaned against the railing and did my best to relax and take it all in, to just appreciate the view in front of me like Jack had suggested. It was only a few minutes into my so-called relaxing that I heard the doorbell ring. I ignored it, wanting to take this time for myself.

But then I heard it again.

“Ugh. No more surprises,please,” I huffed.

“Georgia James, you decent?” a male bellowed from inside, and somehow, I had a feeling I’d recognize that voice anywhere now.

My stomach sank with equal parts excitement and embarrassment. I looked down to see my scraggly sweatpants and oversized ripped T-shirt staring back at me.

We’d both made our way into the kitchen, him from the front door and me from the back. I grabbed my phone, putting the music on pause.

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