Page 42 of Always Salty

He slid his fingers up my back and asked, “How did you know it was me?”

I worried my lips for a few long seconds before I said, “Your brother. He came over after Pettigrew was assassinated and asked me if I knew you. When I said that I had never met you, and didn’t know anything about you, he let it go. But he did say that you were in the area on another errand for him. That day before I went to bed, I went to the email you sent with your health report and found your name in small print at the top.”

“I wasn’t trying to hide my identity from you…not really,” he admitted.

I stayed silent for so long that he must’ve thought I was asleep, because he stood up with me in his arms and walked on silent feet into his bedroom.

He laid me down on the bed, and went to move away, but I caught his hand, quickly clutching onto his wrist before saying, “Stay.”

He crawled into the bed with me, fully clothed, and curled himself around my body.

The next thing I remembered, I was waking up still wrapped up in the warm blanket, in a completely empty house.

I got up and used the restroom, then cursed when I saw the time.

It was well past noon, and I only had a few hours until my shift.

But the thought of going to work…it sounded awful.

Like the worst idea ever.

Which was why I called in sick.

The thought of working with Dorie right now…no.

I couldn’t do it today.

I was so freakin’ mad at her.

Her and her inability to see anything outside of her little bubble of delusion had wrecked me last night.

Maybe my brother had the right idea.

To cut her off.

But she was really one of my only friends.

To say that I wasn’t the most open of people would be an understatement.

But Dorie had proven, time and time again, that she wasn’t a very good friend. Last night had only cemented that fact.

I called my immediate boss and requested the night off. Then, I sent an email to the man that did scheduling and asked to be taken off all shifts with Dorie. If they couldn’t accommodate me, I’d be putting in my two weeks’ notice.

I received an email before I’d even finished in the bathroom that the request was granted, and from then on, no shifts would be given with Dorie. Nor would any of our shifts align in a way that we would have to see each other at all.

Once I was finished with my phone calls and snooping through Dima’s medicine cabinet in the bathroom—the man was a minimalist. He had deodorant, a toothbrush, toothpaste and soap in his medicine cabinet—I went in search of him in the rest of the house.

But, like I’d expected, I was completely alone.

There was, however, a note on the kitchen cabinet that said, “Had to watch my sister’s brats for a bit. I’m at Nastya’s if you want to come over.”

I contemplated heading over there, but felt like that would raise too many questions I didn’t have answers to at the moment.

So instead, I stole his truck and headed home.

Though, I wasn’t sure if you could call it stealing if the keys were on the hook.

If he didn’t want me to drive it, he wouldn’t have left the keys, right?

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