Page 98 of David's Love

David: Dress comfortably and pack a few things for the weekend. I’ll send my driver to pick you up.

I stare at his message, frozen.

Another one arrives shortly.

David: I’ve got good food and wine and pies.

I start to type.

Me: Okay.

I don’t send the message, though.

It sounds like I’m not excited about it, and it truly gives me away.

I might have mixed feelings, but there’s no need to telegraph it to him.

I need to clear my head first.

I erase the message and type another one.

Me: How much time do I have?

A few seconds pass, and the headlights of a car sweep my street outside.

David: I think you know the answer.

A shred of optimism tears into my numbness.

Me: Is that you?

He answers right away.

David: No. I have to light a fire at my cabin.

My eyebrows shoot up.

Me: So it’s not your hotel suite.

I pull out of my seat when his message arrives.

David: Absolutely not. Besides, I don’t sleep with my employees.

My smile broadens as I go to the bedroom and head into the closet, typing all the way there.

Me: Allegedly.

He sends me a laughing emoji and a text.

David: Hurry, baby.

I toss my phone on the bed, shower, and change my clothes in record time before picking up a few things, shoving it into my pocket, and leaving my place.

The driver is waiting for me outside.

He greets me, holds the door for me, and reclaims his seat before steering the car away.

Music plays on the radio while I slump back, press my head against the window, and look outside.

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