Page 80 of Lovingly Restored

“Do you want to tell me why you’re in here?”

Before I can answer he’s lifting up the comforter and sliding in next to me. He maneuvers us so I have the great privilege of using his firm bicep as a pillow. My body relaxes automatically, but my mind still vibrates with unanswered questions.

“Turn on the light, please.”

He stretches to twist the lamp switch, his familiar spicy scent drifting over me.

I reach for my notebook on my end table. It’s already opened to the page with the name and phone number of the lady who called earlier. The pages rustle when I toss it on his chest harder than intended.

“What the–Ash, what’s this?” He scans the page. He scowls. “What the hell is Breezy Shores? Rita?”

Please let it be this easy. Just a misunderstanding. He can carry me to his room, and we’ll fall asleep and deal with whatever this Breezy Shores thing is in the morning together.

“You’ve honestly never heard of it?”

His gaze is direct. “I’ve never heard of it.”

My shoulders relax as I let out a deep sigh of relief. I snuggle closer to Isaac’s side.

“It’s an assisted living facility. I looked it up.”

Isaac’s arm goes rigid under my head.

“Shit. Did you call my dad? Give him the message?”

“No. Of course not. Why do you sound like this isn’t surprising?”

He groans. “Because it isn’t. Listen, babe, the day we got back from the cabin, my dad said he was trying to find a spot for her. I didn’t…I didn’t know how long that might take. Or if he was even serious about it.Fuck.“ He scrubs his hands over his face.

I’m sweating under the comforter. Isaac is radiating too much heat. I should be relieved to hear that Isaac wasn’t the one to contact this Rita woman, but I’m not. Something isn’t adding up, and it’s turning my stomach. Every cell in my body is alert. Struggling out from under the covers, I sit up.

“Are you okay?”

I shake my head. I don’t think I am.

“You knew that your father was looking to move her? That my job was in danger? For weeks?”

He tugs at the roots of his hair, sitting on the bed across from me. “I thought I could figure it out. Find some way to stop him?”

I’m shaking my head at him. In disbelief or disappointment? I don’t know which.

“Maybe the right place could be good for Mummo.”

I blink at him. “What?”

“And it would let you do what you’ve been planning. Switch to floriculture?”

My lungs deflate. “Not likethis!”

He’s minimizing the effect this is having on me.

My voice is weak when I say, “You promised.”

“What? What did I promise?”

He’s giving me puppy dog eyes, and, for the first time, they don’t have an effect on me.

“You promised me the night this all started that no matter what happened between us my job wouldn’t be in jeopardy.”

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