Page 42 of Dream Girl Drama

A heavy weight settled on her chest. She hadn’t heard from him since yesterday, when she’d half kicked him out of her apartment, which washighlyunusual. He usually sent her a good morning text, a filthy meme, or simply showed up with breakfast.Something.Yes, she was standing firm on what she’d said. The romantic nonromance that complicated their relationship was becoming too painful to bear. But that truth didn’t stop her from missing him in epic fashion, as she did now. Worrying she’d acted too impulsively and hurt their bond.

Please don’t let me have done that.

“I think Mr. Sigdoesneed to know,” said her landlord. “He is the responsible one.”

“You wouldn’t really squeal on me, would you, Raymond?” Chloe didn’t even have to force a hitch into her voice. “I just used a teeny tiny bit of my rent money to buy eye creams—”

He threw up his hands. “Eye creams?More than one?”

“Yes! You must test them out to know which one is right for you! But wait until you hear how I’m going to solve this.” She came down a step and attempted to engage her landlord with a conspiratorial smile, thanking God when he blushed at least a little. “I’m giving online harp lessons. I gave one just this morning, actually.”

Not that she’d run it past the university.

Had Chloe committed a crime by setting up her laptop in the practice room before anyone had arrived and gave a quick little one-hour lesson to Brandy in Duluth? No.

Although... probably.

“I’m giving another one tomorrow and then I’ll have enough in my account to cover the rent.” She wiggled her calloused fingers at him. “I’m working on it—I promise.”

Raymond hedged. And he harrumphed.

Almost there. I’m going to buy myself one more day.

The last thing she wanted was to bother Sig about her late rent. After all, he was already depositing enough money into her account every month to cover the payment. Expecting him to shell out even more cash wouldn’t be cute.

“You have until tomorrow. Then I’m calling Mr. Sig.”

“It won’t come to that, I promise! Have I ever broken a promise?”

“When you sign a lease, you promise to pay the renton time, so technically—”

“Oh, Raymond!” Laughing, she reached down from her perch on the stairs to tickle his chin, watching a red flush spread up to the bald patch on the crown of his head. “You’re such a stickler for the rules. I love that about you.”

“You do?”

“Yes.” She pressed both hands to her heart. “We need more people like you in this world. There would be less chaos.”

“Meanwhile,” he mumbled, still blushing, “the chaos is coming from people like you.”

Considering his tone had lost a considerable amount of its bite, Chloe chose to laugh at that. “Well, somebody has to do it, right?”

A grudging smile from the landlord. “I guess so, Ms. Chloe.”

Crisis averted. “I have to run now, Raymond,” she called downto the landlord while jogging up the stairs. “I have an appointment with my new mentor in half an hour and I’m going to be late.”

“I’m sure you’ll manage to talk your way out of it!” he shouted up at her.

Chloe unlocked the door to her apartment and hip bumped it open, throwing her purse onto the kitchen table and running for the bedroom. She probably could have just remained downtown and killed time between conservatory and the first meeting with her mentor, but she wanted to come home, freshen up, and change, so she could put her best foot forward. Unfortunately, she was about as good with time management as she was with money management. In other words: stone-cold rotten.

“You can still make it on time. Just change and go,” she murmured to herself, already undressing on her way into the bedroom. Her line of sight was compromised by the shirt she pulled off over her head, but as soon as she lowered it, her footsteps came to an abrupt halt.

Laying on the bed was a blouse.

Not just any blouse, though. Her lucky blouse.

Slowly, her hands raised to cover her mouth, the air in the room turning heavy, the pulse in her temples beating faster. Louder. The muscles of her throat drew in on themselves and she couldn’t manage a swallow. There was only one explanation for the blouse being here, in her bedroom in Boston, but she took a giant sniff of the air to compound her theory, letting Sig’s pepper-and-clove scent coast down the walls of her lungs, electricity spreading to her fingertips.

Blindfold her and set her loose in a room with ten thousand people and she would find him every single time. Those were the signature aromas he’d left to signal he’d been there.

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