Page 64 of How Dare You

Devon’s doing a shockingly good job of ignoring her phone, choosing not to connect it to the Wi-Fi and instead to visit the reception rock a couple times a day. She’s over there now, while I finish up dinner and bring everything outside.

We spent the afternoon working at the house together, her in her usual “office” in my bedroom and me working on the kitchen. I’m running out of days with her here, and I wish I could slow down time and bottle up these moments.

We have a comfortable routine. It’s simple, but it’s ours. Most days she goes for a run, and I walk over to the house without her. But sometimes, like today, I wait for her to come back so we can drive over together. We work at the house simultaneously on our own projects, sometimes longer than I’d like. Her work ethic is unmatched, and I have to pull her away and remind her how important things like food and looking up from her desk occasionally are. And at night, we have dinner outside by the campfire, and I get to hold her in my arms all night.

Nothing could beat that. I never want her to leave.

Gathering a few logs for the fire, I look up, never wasting an opportunity to drink in the sight of her. But when my eyes land on her it’s all wrong. Her face is drawn, shoulders sagged, staring listlessly down at her phone. I drop the logs and run over to her.

“Devon, are you okay?” I ask, cupping my hands around her shoulders and rubbing comforting circles there.

Her lips pull into a small smile when she looks up at me, but she doesn’t answer.

“Is someone hurt?” I ask.

“No,” her response is quick, and she looks down at herself then back to me. “No, no I’m sorry. It’s nothing like that. I mean everyone’s breathing, and nobody’s bleeding.”

I sigh a breath of relief, but the pain on her face remains.

“I’m not. This is. Um.” Devon said um. She’s stuttering. What the hell is going on? “I need to go home right now.”

Chapter 26

Devon

*Primary Bath Selections – McCoy Ranch

*Call Nathalie back

- From Devon’s to-do list, September 2nd

A Designer to Avoid—The headline of Nathalie’s blog post reads. I haven’t been able to bring myself to read it all the way through yet, getting hung up after the first two lines.

Devon Blake of Friday West Interiors is ruining the good name of interior design in Palm Springs. Trina Boatswain, her former employer and an icon in the national design community, has been cleaning up Devon’s messes since the day she left Trina in a lurch to start her own company.

Rhett does not pry, just helps me pack and gets me in his truck as quickly as possible.

Once we’re on the road, I try to explain, “There was this, um, this blogger.” I am shaken, and the words come out weak.

“You don’t have to explain unless you want to talk about it,” he reassures me, telling me Luke texted him while we were loading up the truck to fill him in. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I do not even want to think about it. This is a literal nightmare. I am pretty sure I’ve woken up in a cold sweat after dreaming this exact scenario. This cannot be happening. He takes my non-response as an answer, turning music on and giving me leave to process on my own. His eyes are focused on the road, but his solid, silent presence is a comfort.

How did this happen? I liked Nathalie. I thought she liked me. We had a lovely conversation, and she asked very thorough questions about how I started Friday West. Shit. Is that why she interviewed me? For information about how I left Trina? Isn’t there supposed to be some kind of journalistic integrity in blogging?

My phone buzzes with yet another text.

Allie: Luke says Rhett says he’s bringing you home. We’re all at the house.

Me: Thanks for being there.

Bea: We’ll handle this together. Everything’s gonna be okay.

Sadie: Love you.

I have to finish reading this blog to know what I am truly up against. But if I read it, it’s real. In about twenty minutes, Rhett and I will be pulling into my driveway. I give myself that time to sit in denial and pretend this isn’t as bad as it seems. Rhett keeps up his habit of giving me the space I need while I stare out the window.

When we pull into my neighborhood, my stomach sinks for a number of reasons. As soon as I walk in that door, I have to face this disaster. But it also means my vacation with Rhett is over. I ended it so abruptly, cut it short, and I wanted more time. We didn’t talk about how things between us are going to be now that our two weeks are over, and I cannot afford to focus on it now. He senses me watching him and gives me a comforting smile, reaching across to squeeze my hand.

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