Page 80 of The Situation
My fingers fly across the keys.
Me: No clue. Let me check on it.
Jason: Do it ASAP, please. I have to send one to pick up Mom in France on the same day. It’s a fine balance over here until all the aircraft are up and running.
Me: I’ll get back to you. The rest of you—go be stingy with your babies.
I click out of the chat before I can read their responses … and because I have a great excuse to call Aurora.
My body buzzes as I imagine hearing her voice. I wonder if she has anything to say about our conversation yesterday.Does she replay our chats like I do? Does she pick them apart to see what she might’ve missed?
“Tate, this is one pretty pie,” Mimi says, admiring my handiwork.
“It smells amazing.”
“It’s going to taste amazing, too. But we aren’t cutting it until it cools, you little monkey.”
“I cut one pie hot, and it’s all you remember.” I make a face at her. “I need to make a very important call.”
She shoos me away with her hand as she heads to the recliner again. “Go outside because I’m about to turn this movie up.”
I step outside onto her small concrete patio. The air is warm and still, and the sky is bursting with purples and pinks around the setting sun. But I don’t have time to appreciate it.
I scroll through my contacts list to see whose number I have from the Raptors. I haven’t bothered to save many contacts yet. The only one I can find is Tally’s because I had to call her yesterday about some of Charlie’s paperwork that went missing. Luckily, she knew where to find it.
The line rings once, twice, and then, on the third time, she picks up.
“Tally Thatcher,” she says.
“Hey, Tally. It’s Tate.”
She clears her throat. “Oh. Good evening, Mr. Brewer.”
“I’m trying to reach Aurora. Is she in the office?”
“Sir, it’s five thirty. Everyone's gone but me and the cleaning crew.”
I pace in a wide circle. “Why are you still there?”
“Because there’s work that must be done.”
I really like this girl.
“I told Aurora that I would take care of a few things so she could enjoy her night,” she says.
She ends the sentence with a little dry laugh, almost as if she’s sharing information she shouldn’t be.What’s that about?
“Do you have a number where I can reach her?” I ask, slowing my paces.
“Of course. But I wouldn’t plan on reaching her tonight.”
I stop moving. “And why is that?”
“Because she’s on a date.”
She’s on a what?
My jaw pulses as my brain accepts this information.
