Page 65 of That Time I Kissed My Beachfront Boss

So why does being on my own suddenly feel so … lonely?

Hmph.

When nighttime rolls around, I toss and turn for hours, struggling to fall asleep. And when I finally do drift off, my dreaming is fitful. Just past midnight, I awaken in a cold sweat after a recurring dream that often crops up for me during times of stress. In it, I always have some place I desperately need to be—a heart-pounding, gut-wrenching goal—but no matter how hard I try, my efforts are continually blocked.

Like … I’m in a big parking garage, and I can’t remember which car I’m driving. But when I do find my vehicle, the tire is flat. Then, after I change the tire (don’t ask me how this happens—it’s a dream) there’s no exit to the garage. And when I do finally locate a way out on a different level, the ramp is blocked by a mudslide.

The endless search for a solution makes me frustrated and hopeless. And what I keep thinking is that I wish someone were there to help me. This is why I never want to need anyone. Not in real life, at least. Needing someone else is bad enough in my dreams, and the constant buzzing in this night’s recurring episode only heightens my irritation.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Only it’s not a dream.

What wakes me this time—with my body full of cold prickles—is a series of incoming texts.

I grab my phone and blink at the screen, while the dress dummies loom over me. Sutton’s waitress shifts usually end late, and my sweet-but-forgetful former roommate never remembers the time change between Colorado and New York.

SUTTON

Hey, Liv. Just wanted you to know, the whole Chad thing isn’t gonna happen.

He moved out already.

Turns out cohabitation wasn’t working for him and Naomi.

Even in my foggy, half-dream state, I can’t help chuckling at the three separate texts, sent quickly and back-to-back. This is vintage Sutton. She started doing this after we realized Naomi would only respond to one part of our messages.

If you asked Naomi when she’d be home for dinner, if she could pick up milk on the way, and how her day was, she’d answer GOOD!

Not helpful.

SUTTON

My point is you’re welcome back here anytime.

Well, not anytime. Naomi and I would need your share of the rent by August.

And we’ll have to find someone new if you’re not coming back.

So let me know ASAP.

Like … you don’t have to tell us tonight.

But maybe by next week.

PS: Your old boss ate at the restaurant tonight.

She was with a big group whining about some upcoming event that’s not panning out the way she’d hoped. She probably misses you.

But her tip was crap.

I set the phone down and flop back on the futon staring up at the ceiling. My old room is available again, and Francine Tomlin is apparently struggling without me? Hmm. This opens the door to the possibility of slipping back into my former life. I wouldn’t have to worry about where to live going forward, and maybe someday I’d even get that promotion at Luxe. In that case, the return would be seamless.

This could be great news, Liv.

So why is there a giant pit inside me where my stomach used to be?

Chapter Twenty-Three

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