Page 23 of Return To You

Okay. Okay. Maybe this can work. Could I actually buy this place? It sounds crazy, but… I look up a realtor site on my phone, type in the spa’s address and bring up the listing. There it is. The photos are… from my website. Not cool at all. And the price…

The price is… it’s not cheap, but it’s not over the top either. It will sell, for sure. Just not to me. I barely have ten percent of that price set aside. No bank will lend me the balance, and even then, it would leave me with no cash reserves.

It’s okay.

It’s not the end of the world.

I just need to move.

Shit.

I let my friends' calls go to voicemail, and message them that my day went really well, but I’m beat and taking a rain check on the river swim. I drag myself home, running scenarios through my head.

I’m not greeted by the habitual rubbing of my cat on my legs. “Damian?” I call out, expecting him to run to me like the good little dog he’s not.

He doesn’t. I leave my shoes at the entrance and get to my bedroom. “Damian?”

Muffled meows sound from behind my closet door. “What are you doing in there?” I turn the handle, but the door stays stuck, and it takes several tugs and shoves to unstuck it.

Damian darts out and runs to the kitchen, then turns around to look at me with reproach in his gaze. “How’d you get in there?” I ask, following him to get his kibble ready.

The sound of his food being prepared improves his mood, and he loops around my legs, meowing with need until I feed him. I pet his head, the fur soft against my reddened skin. “Who’s a good boy? Who got stuck in the closet?”

He ignores me.

I return to my room, ready to put this day behind me. As I’m getting ready to jump in the shower, my phone rings with the tone set for Mom.

I’ll answer later.

I need a moment to myself.

The piping hot water barely warms my insides. Though it’s sweltering outside, I feel chilled to the bone. Literally exhausted—there’s nothing left inside me.

And although I know what’s drained my energy is the massages I gave all day, the image that keeps imposing itself on my closed eyes is Ethan—his gaze drilling into me. The way he whipped his shirt off as if he knew the effect it would have on me. How his muscles rolled on his back and his biceps bulged when he plopped himself on his forearms and told me to stop the massage.

Those arms that used to make me feel safe. That gaze that used to worship me.

Or so I thought.

The memories assault me. He’s the same and yet he’s different. His voice is deeper. His resolve, stronger. His presence, more impactful than ever.

I’ve always been helpless in the presence of Ethan King. But now is not the time for teenage angst. Now I’m a grown-ass woman with grown-ass problems and no time or energy for the Ethan Kings of this world.

I pat myself dry and call Mom back.

She picks up immediately. “We need to talk.”

“I’m toast.”

“I know. Don’t matter.”

“Is this about the lease?” I don’t want them worrying about my business.

“What lease?”

I sigh. She’s best friends with Lynn, Ethan’s mom. She has to know I saw him. She may even know the exact circumstances. That’s why she’s not taking no for an answer.

“The Hallmark channel is having their Christmas in July marathon. Been a while we haven’t watched those. C’mon." I can almost feel her bite her tongue, not adding ‘It’ll be like good old days.’

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