Page 141 of Ewan

Sometimes, I’m doing both sessions, if possible. Weekends are for chores. Evenings are for reading.

Damn… I’ve been living like my mom.

She wasn’t so much into working out. And she did her chores throughout the week. She’d go to the store every other day because she loved getting out and spending her time shopping for groceries. Me, not so much. I always stock up, so I don’t have to go to the store that often.

The screen lights up with a silent alert, and my eyebrows flick up as I pick up the phone and read Sammy’s message.

Sammy: How was your gig last night?

Weird.

Why is she up at this hour? Sending me messages?

A kernel of concern swells in my chest.

Why is she asking me about my gig? I hope nothing happened after we left.

I imagine the worst possible scenarios. My boss called her and complained. Oh, shit.

Cold sweat trickles down my neck. If he did that, he surely told her he was bossed around by Ewan.

I type a brief message.

Me: How come are you up?

Her reply arrives instantaneously.

Sammy: Doing the walk of shame. I didn’t think you’d be up. What’s your excuse?

A few laughing emojis follow, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

Me: Can you talk?

Sammy: Sure.

Her video call arrives immediately.

“Hello, there,” I say, my elbows propped on the table, the mug in my hands.

My phone is propped against the vase.

Her hair is in disarray, a big smile on her face, the camera jolting up and down.

“Sorry. I’m just getting in. Give me a moment.”

“Sure. No problem.”

She sets her phone down, and I hear her walk into her place before kicking off her boots and moving around the room.

“I didn’t think I’d get home so late,” she says, picking up her phone, and I can see her face. “Oh, look at you. Drinking your morning coffee. Did you just wake up?” she asks.

“No.”

Shit.

That's not the best answer.

A knowing smile pulls at her lips.

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