Page 13 of The Lucky One

I ignore her and take a wide berth before heading back toward the house. “Hope you’re ready for an adventure, Maximus. We’re all stuck in a house together. Watch out for Bailey—he has a penchant for luggage.”

“I heard that! You better be joking!” Bridget shouts as she chases me.

Maybe being stuck in this house with her won’t be the worst thing. I’m pretty sure I found my new favorite hobby: getting under Bridget’s skin.

five

BRIDGET

Figuringout this double-booked mess isn’t happening tonight. Every time I try to call and figure out why we’re both here, my call drops.

No thanks to thishouse.

Maybe coming here was a mistake.

I eye the stairs, wishing this place would whip up an elevator but, of course, nothing happens. And there’s no way I’m admitting to Weston that I don’t have the energy to lug it upstairs right now.

He’d take too much joy in the fact that I packed way too much for a week.

The fire suddenly dies, swiveling my attention to the opposite side of the room.

That’s… great.

“That’s weird, right?” Weston asks.

“Probably just a gust of wind down the flue.” I really don’t want to get into the enchantment of this cabin right now. If ithasn’t already been acting up for Weston, then that’s a wholeotherissue for later.

I don’t have enough mental capacity to sort out what that means right now.

I can barely handle the fact that literallynothingis going according to plan. Or maybe I can handle itafterI brainstorm a new plan. And a backup plan in case that one fails.

With a sigh, I cross the room to the chair closest to the window because it looks cozy and overstuffed and I can retreat there with Wordscapes. Maybe after some word play I’ll be refreshed enough to get through the rest of tonight.

“So I’ve gotta ask something that’s been bothering me.” Weston has made himself back at home on the main couch, and Bailey is sprawled out beside him, paws in the air.

It’s almost cute, if I was into that sort of thing.

I drop to the chair and pull up the app. “And?”

“Do you usually travel like that?”

His question catches me so off guard I stare at him for a solid five seconds before responding. “What do you mean?”

“Like you’re heading into a business meeting.”

I glance down, confused. My flared faux jeans are adorable, and so is the butterfly sleeved top I’m wearing. Maybe I want to always look my best, but I don’t feel overdressed at all.

What does he expect, sweats?

“This is casual,” I reply, sweeping a hand in front of myself.

His expression is puzzled—like my answer isn’t what he expected—but I don’t have time to respond. My screen lights up with an incoming video call. I shove to my feet, anxiety bubbling up in my throat.

Andrew.

I probably don’t need to answer it. We’re not engaged anymore, so it doesn’t matter. Does it?

I’m so distracted I almost miss “Bad Blood” coming from somewhere nearby.

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