Page 118 of That Reunited Feeling

LA drivers, honest to God.

I do my best to squint through the narrow space down the side of the gates but am distracted by the slamming of a car door and a man’s voice.

“Sir?”

I turn to see two neighborhood security guards the size of sheds heading toward me, right hands on their hips.

Fucking hell, is Rachel home and she’s called armed security on me?

I look overhead, searching for cameras. None are immediately apparent.

“What are we up to here, sir?” the larger of the two sheds asks.

“Visiting a friend.”

“Not that good of a friend if they won’t let you in,” the slightly less large shed says.

There’s a new screeching of tires as the cab takes off. Guess twenty bucks wasn’t enough for him to risk being the getaway driver for what must look like some sort of stalker.

“Hello? Hello?” A female voice crackles out of the speaker.

I lunge for the intercom button.

“Easy now, sir,” Large Shed says, stepping toward me with such purpose I’m surprised the ground doesn’t shake.

“Rachel? Rachel?” I shout urgently at the box. “Is that you?”

“Yes? Who’s this?” Except her voice cuts in and out, so it sounds more like “Ye—? —oo —iss?”

“It’s Tom. Tom Dashwood. And I think I’m about to be handcuffed.” The sheds might not have the power to arrest me, but they can sure as hell call the cops.

“Oh, —uck. Hold o—. H— on.”

I turn to the sheds. “She said hold on.” I drop my bag to the ground and hold my hands up, just in case. “Could we please hold on a moment?”

“Where are you from, sir?” Less Large Shed asks.

“Boston. Well, actually London. Well…” If he only knew just what an existential question that is. “I live in London. If that’s what you’re asking.”

“Most people don’t find that question so tricky.” Large Shed’s voice is chock-full of suspicion.

“Yes, well?—”

Thank fuck I’m interrupted by the electronic click and whir of the gates sliding open behind me. Rachel emerges between them like my savior, dressed in blue yoga gear, matching headband and all.

At least, I hope she’s my savior.

It’s only right now that it dawns on me that she might be as furious with me as Jude was. Actually more so, because Rachel will undoubtedly have been given the whole story, every gory detail, blow by blow. And I’m guessing I don’t come out of it too well.

She could be about to tell these guys that I’m stalking her houseguest and they should carry me away to meet all the other sheds.

“It’s okay, guys,” Rachel says. “Totally fine.”

Muscles I didn’t even realize were as tight as a drumhead start to relax.

“You can go,” she tells them.

“Are you sure, ma’am?” Less Large Shed asks. “Because we can take care of this, if you need us to.”

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