Page 94 of A Flighty Fake Boyfriend
I texted Epic at bedtime.
Me: How’d it go with your parents? Did you buy more time?”
But my text went unanswered.
Lying in bed with the spins later that night, I tried texting Epic again.
Me: What’s the verdict? Are you going to stay in St. Nacho’s?
That text went unanswered too.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The following day my breakfast basket arrived at seven. I placed it on the kitchen table next to my laptop and drank most of the coffee by eleven. Between the caffeine and the sugar from picking at pastries all morning, I decided I’d better get a salad for lunch.
Bistro was busy when I got there, but there was no sign of Epic. He often worked the dinner shift, so I didn’t bother asking after him and no one said anything about him to me.
I walked back to the rental and spent the rest of the day going over some missing person cases in Eastern Canada. I made calls, requesting relevant information. It wasn’t my first time calling the hotlines. Usually, the reception I got was positive.
More and more my thoughts drifted to Epic. He still hadn’t answered my texts, and the longer the silence went on, the larger the possibility grew that he wasn’t going to respond at all.
I tried again.
Me: Are you not answering because you don’t want to talk to me?
Fifteen minutes ticked by before anything happened.
Epic: I need time.
Me: Can you at least tell me what happened? Because I’m concerned.
An hour without a reply was a reply in itself, wasn’t it? I’d pissed Epic off and now he was ghosting me. There was nothing I could, or should, do about it.
Nevertheless, I went to Bistro again at dinnertime when I thought Epic would be on shift. Except I didn’t see him anywhere.
I waited until someone came to seat me and asked, “Is Epic working tonight?”
She searched under the hostess desk and brought out a clipboard. Her brows drew together. “He’s not scheduled to work for the rest of this week or next.”
“Oh, really? Wow. That’s odd.” I ordered a meatloaf sandwich and a mango lassi to go. When it came, she offered it to me in a paper shopping bag with twine handles. “Thank you.”
On the way home, I stopped by Epic’s place.
Last thing I’ll try.
I won’t be stupid about this, but I have to try.
Bea answered my knock.
“Oh, hey. Hi.” She opened the door with the chain in place. “Epic’s not here.”
“I looked for him at Bistro. They said he’s not scheduled to work. Do you know where he went?”
“Didn’t he tell you?” She flushed beneath a layer of worn-off makeup.
“I’m afraid not.” I met her gaze. “Full disclosure, he’s not answering my texts either.”
“Well, he’s not here.” She pressed her lips together.
