Page 91 of Some Like It Fox

I’m left with my arms empty, half raised in his direction.

“I’m sorry.” His breathing is heavy. His face, usually as readable as a book, is carefully blank. Closed off. Shutting me out. “I wish you every happiness.” Then he spins around and stalks away.

Blindly, I get inside my bus, sitting in the driver’s seat, trying to catch my breath and push down the tornado of emotion clawing through my chest.

I have somewhere to go. My dream job starts in a week. My life has never been better.

Then why is anguish searing through my veins, as if everything that truly mattered is over?

ChapterTwenty-Six

Atticus

Taylor’s been gone for three days, four hours, and fifteen minutes, but the hole in my chest hasn’t decreased in the slightest, despite Jake’s best efforts.

I frown down at the fabric in my hand. “Are you sure this is going to help?”

“Not at all. Will you pass me the purple thread?”

I reach over to the side table and hand him the spool, then turn back to the piece I’m working on. It’s supposed to be a heart but it looks more like a lumpy, jagged rock.

Appropriate.

We’re in the living room, working on cross-stitch. Finley and Archer are out to dinner at Veronica’s. Paul and Moira are off for parts unknown and I couldn’t handle another night staring at the couch where Taylor and I began, or the bed where it ended, so I stupidly agreed to this “super fun activity” with Jake.

Moira offered to postpone their travels, but I insisted they not change their plans for me, and this time I meant it. I work all day, and I can’t stand being home at night, so I’m not much fun to be around. They’ve called and texted every day to check in on me.

He reaches into the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table, popping a couple kernels in his mouth and chewing. “I’m just really glad there’s finally someone more messed up than I am. It’s nice to be the caretaker, instead of the caretake-ee.”

A small laugh huffs out of me.

“See.” He points at me. “The activities are working already. That almost sounded like a laugh. Let me see your cross-stitch.”

I turn it toward him.

He winces. “Man, you suck. I’m making this one for you. The words are done, I just need to add some flowers for the border.” He holds it up and reads it out loud at the same time. “‘Get your shit together.’”

I sigh.

“You can hang it in your bathroom,” he adds with a satisfied grin.

We work in silence for a few minutes. It’s not that I don’t appreciate what Jake’s doing, because I do, but it’s not working.

The job helps. The kids are distracting, but the Fox family is not. Every time I’m with Jake and Finley, I’m reminded of Taylor’s eyes, the shape of her mouth, and the sound of her laugh.

In two weeks, I’m taking a weekend off to meet Paul and Moira in Stony Point for golf. Maybe by then, the searing torment will have settled into a dull burn.

The side door in the kitchen creaks open. “Jake,” Finley’s voice calls out. “Are you home? You’ll never believe what Veronica said.” Footsteps clatter through the house, Finley’s tread followed by Archer’s louder clomp. “She wants to retire and move closer to her son so she called Taylor to offer to sell her the bar and—oh, Atticus. Heyyyy.” She smiles at me, but it’s halfway to a grimace.

They’ve been very careful about not mentioning Taylor around me. I’m sure they’ve talked to her. I’ve been tempted to call her myself, my thumb hovering over the Empress of Awesome listing in my contact list.

“It’s okay,” I tell Finley. “She’s your sister, you can talk about her.” But my heart is racing at her words. Veronica offered to sell Taylor the bar? What did she say? Is she coming back?

What if she turned Veronica down?

My emotions swing wildly from ecstatic hope to doubtful fear.

Finley and Archer exchange a glance, and then Finley makes her way into the living room, perching between Jake and me on the sofa. Archer folds his frame into the recliner facing us.

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