“I know.”
“Do you? Because I solidified the plans for Europe.”
The silence stretches between us. Is he saying what I think he’s saying?
“You’re finally ready to set up the satellite agency abroad?” I clarify.
Lennox hums in the affirmative. “You play your cards right, and you’ll officially be my pick to get it off the ground.”
“Understood.” My response comes out sounding noncommittal and sterile. I’m excited, but I’m something else too. Something I don’t want to examine while I’m on the phone with my father.
“Good.” Lennox matches my tone. “Check in from the gala tonight.”
The line goes dead.
I stare at my phone for a second before tossing it onto the bed.
A chance to go to Europe again. This is big news. I’m not surprised my dad is using it as leverage. Nor am I surprised he waited until now to sweeten the pot. He knows what he’s doing. Travel has always been a big draw for me. A chance to get out and explore. It was the diversion I needed after everything went south with Anton five years ago. I told my sisters a job opportunity had come up for me to help in an English immersion school abroad, and they didn’t ask questions. I’ve always been nomadic, bouncing from job to job, place to place. It’s the nature of the work I do. My sisters think the vagabond lifestyle is my preference—that it’s a part of who I am. But I truly have no clue if it is, or if I’ve just been doing it for long enough that I don’t know any different. What do I really like? Who knows?
What I do know is that, right now, I can’t help but think of The Downer with something that feels like fondness. There’s a pinch in my chest at the thought of packing up my suitcase and leavingCashmere Cove—not just for a weekend in California, but for an indeterminate amount of time—to work overseas.
What about Mood Reader?
What about my sisters?
What about Anton? We’ve just reconnected.
The thought snaps me out of my spiral.
Silly, silly Rose. I haven’t reconnected with Anton. I’ve been assigned to protect him. Nothing more. Nothing less. Anton is not a factor here, except for the fact that I need to keep him safe. That’s job number one. Everything else hinges on it.
I dump my carry-on bag out onto the bed next to my phone. I’ve got shorts and a t-shirt to sleep in, a pair of joggers and a fresh shirt for the plane ride home tomorrow, and an evening gown.
I shake out the fancy red dress and head to the closet for a hanger. The fabric cascades to the ground, and I pray the wrinkles somehow disappear before I have to put it on later tonight. I’m not usually self-conscious. There’s no time or headspace for that in this line of work. But Anton’s going to be there tonight. As many times as I tell myself he’s nothing more or less than the job, I’d be lying if I said I don’t remember what it feels like to have him look at me—and really see me.
7
Rizz
Rose – Five Years Ago
“It’s not a real date. It’s not a real date. It’s not a real date.”
Maybe if I say it enough, I’ll get it through my thick skull. I stare at my reflection in the mirror of the small apartment I’m renting near the Mobile Tigers’ football stadium. I smooth down my asymmetrical chiffon dress. It hits me slightly above the knee. The sleeveless V-neck halter crisscrosses in the back. It was a beast to get into it myself.
My heart squeezes. I miss Poppy and Noli, and I wish they were here. When I packed my bags and told them I was moving to Mobile to try out for the cheer squad, they were so supportive. They always are. But gosh, I miss them. If we were all still living together in our decrepit apartment in Pensacola, they would be helping me get ready and joking around, making ridiculous comments about falling in love and behaving myself. They’d take my mind off my nerves.
But they aren’t here. They don’t know that I’m dating—notfor real, though—Anton Bates. I hate keeping secrets from them. I push the thought of them and the web of lies I’ve woven out of my mind.
Anton is going to be here any minute. It’s been one week since we met at the bar. One week of near constant text messages back and forth. We had lunch together in between his OTAs (organized team activities, in case you, like me, aren’t up on your football acronyms) and my cheer practice on Wednesday, but this is our first official date.
“It’s not a date.” I say it out loud again.
This time with feeling.
A knock sounds. I give the mirror one last look and take a deep breath. I shouldn’t be so tense, but someone needs to tell that to my entire nervous system, which is over-enthusiastically reporting for duty.
I swing the door open, and Anton is there.
