Page 73 of Winter Glam in Amsterdam

"At least you still have your snark," Luca teases, and I force myself to take a deep, shaky breath. "Sit tight, okay?"

"Okay," I say weakly, still trying to catch my breath.

This day just went from hopeful to shitstorm within the blink of an eye, and I just can't take any more fucking whiplash.

Tanner

“Summer?”

Her shoulders tense as I say her name before they start to tremble again, her whole body shaking with sobs.

I came here as quickly as I could after Luca’s call, where he all but begged me to pick her up.

“The job she was supposed to get canceled her plane ticket and rejected her after all. I think she’s having a breakdown. I don’t trust her in a taxi, I don’t trust her with anyone right now,” he’d said. “She’s a mess, Tanner. I know even with your history you won’t try sneaky shit so please, can you get her?”

Without another word, I’d gotten into my car and drove here like a madman, to find her crouched in a corner, absolutely miserable.

“Can you stand up, Darling?” I ask her softly. She takes a deep breath and rubs her sleeves over her face, before slowly coming to a stand.

“Oh, Sweetheart.” Her eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, her cheeks still glistening with tears.

"Thank you for picking me up," she whispers, her eyes not meeting mine. Her whole posture screams dejection—shoulders hanging, and each of her movements slow like the weight of the world is on her shoulders.

"Of course," I say, peeling the handle of her suitcase out of her fingers. "Let's go. My car is right out front."

I put my hand to the small of her back. And the fact that she lets me guide her without any objection, or any word, really, is almost enough to make me cry right along with her.

She's trying so hard to keep it together. But as soon as she sits down in my passenger seat and has buckled herself in, she pulls her knees to her chest, hiding her face in her jeans, her whole body starting to shake with sobs again.

Quickly, I throw her bag into the backseat and climb in.

"It's going to be okay," I say softly and reach for one of her hands, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "You'll find a better job."

"Will I?" Her voice is barely a whisper.

"You will," I assure her, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear before I start the car.

"What do I do now?" she asks, her face still buried against her knees as I pull out of the parking spot.

"You go one step at a time," I tell her softly, my heart breaking for her as I keep glancing at her from the corner of my eyes.

Sometimes love isn’t being the voice of reason, telling her to take her legs off the seat in case there’s an accident. It’s making sure to drive extra save and picking the slow and more secure route.

It’s late already, so I decide to take her to my place. It might take us twice as long with the slower route, but there’s nothing I’d rather do.

At one point, she stops crying. Still, she remains curled up in that little ball, protecting herself from the world outside. And all I can do is put my hand on her shoulder when I'm not shifting gears and try to coax a conversation out of her.

But she's distraught. No wonder.

The more I think about what Luca told me, and the snippets she reveals through tears, the angrier I get. Can a company really just do shit like that? What if she’d already quit another job in order to start there?

It makes my blood boil, honestly.

By the time we arrive at my house, she's not moving. When I glance at her, she’s got her eyes closed and her breath is feathering over her knees evenly. She fell asleep.

So I pull the car into the gentlest stop I can in front of my home and turn off the engine.

When she still doesn’t stir, I unbuckle her and get out, flinching at every sound, round the car and gather her in my arms to carry her inside.

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