Page 140 of Tell Me It’s Right

Voices carry through the halls as people filter in from their break. Sloane smiles and steps back to let a group pass her. She points at me before waving and heading toward her desk. “I’ll come find you later!”

I smile and wave. When I return my gaze to my computer, I find myself fighting the sudden urge to cry. Not about Liam or this job or any of that. Maybe it’s small, and maybe I’m being ridiculous, but I can’t help but feel like this was the universe trying to give me a sign that everything’s going to be okay after all.

Chapter Fifty

GRACIE—THREE MONTHS LATER

Well, it’s finally time.

I pushed it off for as long as I could, but there is no way I’m hitting the running trail out there today with snow flurries, wind, and twenty-degree weather.

It’s a little before 5:00 AM when I step into the apartment gym. I stifle a yawn as I grab a treadmill in the corner. One other person is on the opposite side of the small space doing dynamic warmup moves. I’ve seen her in here a few times when I’ve come at night for the weight section.

She smiles when I meet her eyes in the mirror, and I offer a smile back before increasing the treadmill speed to my warmup pace. It’s taken me a few months, but I’ve managed to get my miles under eight minutes for my longer runs.

Can’t wait to see Leo’s face when I beat him for the first time ever at the family turkey trot this year. I’ll never be able to do the distances he can, but he’s never been particularly fast.

By the time I’m showered and ready for the day, it’s nearly seven. I pack up my work bags, throw on a few extra layers to fight the cold, then brace myself for my walk to the coffee shop halfway between my apartment and Bezzels.

“Hey, Gracie,” says Kayla, the barista, as I step through the door and shake off the snow clinging to my jacket. “Usual?”

I blow on my hands as I approach the counter, trying to thaw them out. “Make it hot today, please.”

It’s a lot quieter in here today—maybe people heading out of the city early for the holidays. Or maybe their companies were a little more generous giving them the entire week off. No such luck for me.

I smile and drop some change into the tip jar as Kayla hands me my coffee, then slide into my usual table in the back corner, which is, thankfully, as far from the cold draft of the door as possible.

One by one, I pull my things out of my bag and set them on the table in my well-practiced routine—laptop, planner, notebook, pens. I set the timer on my phone so I don’t spend too much time in one area. I only have about an hour and a half before the day job—no time to get distracted.

I start with checking emails and DMs as usual, replying to current and prospective clients. Considering I just wrapped my largest project I’ve had to date last week, this doesn’t take long. Then I switch over to monitoring my ads, double-checking my calendar, due dates, invoices, and spreadsheets, before using the rest of my time for content creation.

Most of it is for my website and socials, trying to market the business and draw in new clients, but I do have a few lingering client pieces—mostly full-time influencers Marti introduced me to who don’t want to edit their own photos or make thumbnails for their videos. Those projects don’t pay much, but they don’t take much time either, and I’m not in the position to turn anything down right now.

My goal is to transition to mostly working with small businesses. I’ve only worked with a few so far. Liam’s shop, Consign Couture—the thrift shop Sloane introduced me to—and Body by Brittany—a personal trainer in my apartment who wanted to expand to offering online video memberships. But in the meantime, I’ll take all the additions to my portfolio and testimonials I can get.

And the extra income. I can’t say no to that. It’s the only way I can justify these daily overpriced coffees. Nearly every other penny goes toward my student loans and savings until I build a big enough safety net to feel comfortable quitting Bezzels. If I was still making what I was at Liam’s, I’d be a lot further along.

My fingers freeze over the keyboard.

It’s gotten to the point where I can go hours without thinking about him. Not quite days, but nearly. But sometimes a thought will creep in there and hit me like a punch to the stomach.

My gaze drifts to the date in the corner of the screen. My heart rate kicks up, and it isn’t from the caffeine.

“Gracie,” calls Kayla.

I blink, the rest of the shop coming into focus, then glance at the timer on my phone.

Shit.

“Thank you!” I wave at her, shove everything into my bag, and hurry down the street for work.

I end up driving to Jersey the morning of Thanksgiving instead of the day before to avoid the snow. Usually we do the turkey trot the morning of, but everyone agreed in the family group chat to push it to Friday since it looked like the storm would pass by then. When I pull into the driveway, I hesitate a moment before getting out, wondering if I somehow managed to end up at the wrong house.

An eerily identical, but clearly not my family’s, house.

Festiveis not a strong enough word.Decorateddoesn’t begin to cover it.

The house has beenambushed.

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