Page 34 of Indigo

I nod, his presence already calming my nerves from the messages I received.

“Cool with me coming over tonight?” he asks, the corner of his mouth twitching into a grin.

“It’s Monday,” I say. “And tomorrow is my first day off.”

He looks confused for a moment, but then realisation flashes in his eyes. “Ah, yes. Margarita Mondays, how could I forget?”

Thankfully, like most businesses in Scarlett Bay, the shop is closed on Tuesdays, which means Mum and I get to spend our Monday nights together as usual from now on. The past couple of weeks Pax and Jagger have had me come in while the garage has been empty to get on top of everything, but we’re finally done and I’m good to go.

With a smile, Pax adds, “No worries. Tomorrow then?”

I lose track of the conversation for a moment as I lean into his touch and get lost in his hazel eyes.

“Blue?”

“Hmmm?”

He laughs and releases my chin. “I’ll come by tomorrow night, yeah?”

I nod enthusiastically. “Yeah. Of course.”

Like always, he leans forward, kisses my forehead and lingers there for long enough to make my heart race. I take in a deep breath, inhaling his cologne and feel my entire body relax.

“Be good,” he whispers against my skin. “No more flirting. I don’t like it. You. Are. Mine.”

And with that said, he turns around without giving me a chance to reply, and disappears back into his office, leaving me stunned by the possessiveness in his voice when relaying those last three words.

What’s ridiculous is that I’ve never heard truer words spoken. The real question now, though, is whether he’s as much mine as I am his.

???

“Cheers to you, Indie-girl,” Mum says, raising her margarita between herself, Paisley and I. “Two weeks of training, along with working your butt off to get this place in tip-top shape, and you're finally able to enjoy a booze-filled Monday night with your Mumma.”

The house is finally done, complete with bits and pieces I’ve collected from the farmer’s market and one too many online shopping sprees. It’s vibrant and full of life. Vases of freshly picked flowers sit in every room, even the bathroom, and my new tea towels are even funky colours and patterns. Candles of all different shapes, sizes and scents line the majority of the flat surfaces, and though they’re pretty, they’ve failed at replacing the lingering smell of sage from when Mum decided the place needed to be cleansed. Again.

Paisley and I laugh at her ridiculous toast, knowing the slight slur in her words is from the three drinks she had prior to this one.

“I can’t believe no one ever invited me to one of these nights. I totally would have driven down to the city with you Lana,” Paisley teases, clinking her glass with mine before taking a large gulp of her salt rimmed margarita.

I know she means it as a joke, and Mum laughs along with her, but that familiar pang of guilt hits my chest. Shaking off the negative emotion, I plaster a smile on my face and decide to leave the past in the past for tonight.

“Uh-uh,” Mum scolds, pointing her finger at me. “I know what you need.”

She scurries off to the living room and within a minute, “The Winner Takes It All” by Meryl Streep fills the room.

Just like that, all the worries swirling around in my head leave my mind, and Paisley and I grin at each other before running, drinks in hand, to the living room to join Mum, who is already holding her arms wide and singing along to the music.

We dance, drink, laugh and sing for an hour, and then as the song ends and the room turns quiet for a moment, Paisley turns to me, tears in her eyes and a joyful smile on her face. “I’m so glad you’re home,” she blurts out.

I nod, grateful that we’ve fallen back into the friendship we formed as kids. Hell, I feel like we’re even closer than we were back then, which is crazy.

“Me, too, girl. Me too.” My bottom lip trembles as I speak, and as soon as she spots it, hers mimics the act. Throwing her arms around me, she pulls me tightly to her chest.

Music fills the room again, and Mum scolds both of us for crying before dragging us back into the centre of the room.

The singing and dancing begins again, and our tears are forgotten.

Three hours, and a hell of a mess later, I grin down at my mum and Paisley as they both lay sprawled out on my couch, fast asleep under the spare blanket I pulled from my linen cupboard.

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