Page 198 of The Vacation Mix-Up
I’m not.
You are.
Riles!
Riley!
Okay, okay.
Just look after yourself. And call me whenever you want, no matter the time or day.
I’ll be fine. I’m a big girl.
Rubbing my beard, I lean against the wall, suspecting she’s not being honest.
I just don’t want you to feel lonely.
My screen stays frozen for what feels like minutes on end until the message bubble once again bounces.
I don’t. Not anymore.
chapter twenty-nine
RILES
Setting my cell down on the wide window ledge I’m sitting on, I bend my knee, hug it to me, and rest my head against the glass as I look at the street below. Truth is, I’ve never felt more alone in my life.
When I arrived home and opened the apartment door to cold, stale air, what felt like a steel blade pierced my heart. There was no soft light. No brewing coffee. No Mom puttering about, fussing over me, keen to hear every detail of my trip. But then… I wouldn’t have taken the trip if she were still here.
Drawing in a deep breath, I turn my head and stare at our lifeless apartment, wondering how I’m going to stay here without her and if I can continue to afford the rent on my own. Before she passed, Mom transferred her savings to me to cover funeral costs and to tide me over for a few months. She also mentioned a life insurance policy, and I’m sure she went through the details, but I can’t recall any of them. I wasn’t interested in listening because, at the time, none of it had been real.
But it is real.
Patting my tear-streaked cheeks dry, I stand, walk to the kitchen, and switch on the oven, preparing to bake Georgia’s cookies. All I want to do is unpack and then sleep, but I know my “welcome back” won’t be a pleasant occasion, especially because Iwas unable to complete the final manuscript. She won’t be thrilled, but I’m hoping my return to the office will appease her enough, and the cookiesshouldhelp my cause.
I push aside my mail to make room on the countertop for the baking dish when a letter from my mother’s solicitor slides off the top of the pile and lands on the floor.
Bending down, I pick it up, knowing I should open it, but I place it back with the others instead. It can wait another day or two; roofie cookies are far more imperative.
The memory of Riley accusing me of drugging my boss quirks my lips. God, I miss him already, which is an unfamiliar but also reassuring feeling, joyous and equally worrisome. It’s been less than twenty-four hours, and I’m desperate to see him again, to gaze into his crinkling eyes, run my hands through his hair, and feel his lips pressed to mine. When we’re together, nothing else seems to matter, even though I know it does. He just… makes it all worth enduring.
Huh.I pause, turn around, and rest my backside against the cupboards, my hands gripping the edge of the counter behind me.He does make it all worth enduring: Georgia, my grief, my fears.
Riley blossoms happiness where there is no sun. To be fair, he also blossoms frustration, but that never lasts for long. We laugh. We bicker. We smooth things over, and then we laugh again. It’s all quite… lovely, really.
Sighing, I push off the counter and get to work, soon dead on my feet and covered in flour.
Shuffling into Georgia’s office,her golden latte in one hand and a plate with two cookies in the other, I quickly set them on her desk and then straighten her keyboard, files, and pens. She’ll arrive at any moment, and when she does, her office must be impeccable and just the way she likes it.
I check the thermostat—a perfect seventy—make sure hertrashcan is empty, and I pull out her desk chair, angling it at forty-five degrees.
“What else?” I murmur to myself, straining my brain almost to the point of pain.
Me! Shit!
Scurrying to the mirrored paneling of her storage cabinets, I assess my hair, making sure it’s still presentable after my dash from the coffee shop, and then I reapply my lip gloss and step back just in time for her to march into the room.
“Good morning, Georgia,” I say, practically standing to attention.
