Page 89 of The Thought of You

It doesn’t seem like we only just crossed the line, starting last Saturday. With Owen, it’s as if we’ve been doing this all along, and the realization both excites and terrifies me.

My buzzing phone on the desk pulls me out of my stupor, and I cross the two feet to check it.

OWEN

Seriously, what spa are you going to this morning?

The Pampered Peach. Why?

I wait for the bubbles to show up to indicate he’s typing, but they don’t appear.

Once I’m dressed, I check again, but there’s still no new message from him. I see an unanswered text from DeDe asking me to cat-sit Birdie. It might be the first time in history that I haven’t immediately responded to a message, especially one asking for a favor.

But I still don’t answer. Instead, I tuck my phone into my tote, sling the bag over my shoulder, and grab my key card on the way out.

Five minutes later, I arrive at the spa, and the moment I step inside the lobby, my body falls slack. I’m overtaken by the heavenly smell of peaches and soft sounds of nature, like a breeze rustling leaves and birds chirping. The sweet smell and relaxing ambiance speak to my soul—and aching bones.

When was the last time I pampered myself? When have I ever dedicated a whole weekend to myself?

This might be the first time in my life when I’ve truly, selfishly, proudly indulged, in more ways than one.

I just wish I would’ve sprung for the whole package. At the very least, I should’ve added a massage with my facial, but baby steps. I’m new at this whole self-care thing.

“Good morning,” the receptionist chirps. “How can I help you?”

“I have an appointment,” I say as I slide toward the counter. “Addie Lockhart.”

While she types on her computer, her flawless nails tick against the keys, filling the silence between us. “Ah, yes. You upgraded your package, correct?”

“Just a facial.”

She taps some more, and her smile reaches her eyes as she says, “Your package now includes the works—facial, mani/pedi, and a hot stone massage. Already paid for.”

“Paid for? There must be some kind of mistake.” I fish my phone from my tote and pull up my banking app to confirm the purchase. With my lack of sleep this week, there is a solid chance I accidentally booked the wrong thing and paid in advance.

It sounds like something I’d do. Earlier this year, there was an incident where I found three boxes of wines and cheeses on my doorstep, only for me to realize I’d sleep-shopped. When more arrived the month afterward, I found out I’d even signed up for a membership.

“I don’t think—” I’m cut off when a new message comes through.

OWEN

Enjoy a FULL relaxing day at the spa ;)

“He didn’t,” I mutter to myself, then glance up to the expectant receptionist, who’s still smiling so wide her dimples nearly reach her ears. “I guess he did,” I muse.

“Your man sounds like a keeper.”

My heart flutters like the flapping wings of a thousand doves as I follow her through a door toward the lockers. I barely register her instructions for the waiting room, where I think I can I find cucumber water and snacks.

I float through the motions of undressing and tying a fluffy robe around my waist, my mind reeling with the idea of Owen Conrad being my man.

chapter

twenty-eight

OWEN

I drift into the Tap and welcome the mix of woodsy smells in this rustic bar. Immediately, I’m enveloped with clouds of perfume from the older woman seated at one table, and to my left, Scarlett squawks with her customers, tapping her pen to her server pad to the rhythm of her animated tale.

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