Despite the adrenaline high of scoring a victory with the board meeting, I’m able to fall asleep pretty easily. I don’t stay asleep, though.
I wake up suddenly, almost an hour before my alarm. I blink and check the time on my phone, trying to figure outwhat woke me. Something is off. No, not off. This isn’t a bad feeling. It’s …
I shoot straight up in bed. I know this feeling. Smitten Kitten has a letter waiting. Or I have a Smitten Kitten letter waiting for me. I’m not sure which is true anymore.
I don’t bother going to check, I’m that sure. Instead, I get up, get dressed, and head out for work, stopping by my mailbox. The envelope is visible through the glass. “Art Deco is the best deco,” I say, kissing my fingers and pressing them to the lock for extra luck. It opens right up, and I pull out the letter. I know Dear Heart’s handwriting like I know Foster’s at this point, having seen both so often.
Phoebe
Another letter. On my way over.
Breakfast and even coffee can wait. My mind hums with possibilities on the drive to the museum. At the rate the clues have unfolded, this letter could finally tell us which of our three beauty queens is Smitten Kitten—or even give us enough to find Dear Heart’s name.
I see lights on at the cottage when I pull in. The new text has been read, with no answer.
Phoebe
I will open this without you …
I watch the screen. He sees the message but still doesn’t answer. The uneasiness I tried to ignore last night comes back but multiplied. I feel stupid for texting him “good job.” The polite detachment wasn’t just a show for Catherine. Jay is upset.
Even the thought of waiting for him to come talk to me about it makes me want to climb the walls, so I back out of my space and drive over to the cottage. I don’t spend any time gathering my courage in the car because he’ll have heardme pull in. May as well knock while the guts that got me here are still being gutsy.
At the sound of my closing car door, a jackrabbit bolts from a shrub in front of the porch railing, and I say “sorry” to it on reflex. I knock, and when Jay opens the door, he leans against the doorframe and waits.
“You’re mad at me.” I don’t love stating the obvious, but since I don’t know what the problem is, it’s the only way I can think to start.
“I heard you talking to Catherine last night before the meeting.”
I do a super-speed replay. “When she asked about you.”
“Guess I got my answer about what you’ve decided about us.”
“No, come on. I wouldn’t spill anything to her without talking to you first. I was downplaying”—I swallow, finding the tiny word terrifying—“us.”
He shakes his head. “That’s what I thought at first, but it was more than that. You were downplayingme. You called me unserious and a lightweight.”
“That’s the image you try to project.” I don’t like being blamed for the persona he cultivated.
“Maybe in social situations, but this is professional.”
“I wasn’t talking about you professionally! Oh, my gosh, no wonder you’re upset. I would never say that about you. I was trying to make her think I wouldn’t date you because you’re too much of a …” I don’t finish the sentence when I realize how bad it’s going to sound.
“A player?” he guesses. He shakes his head when my silence answers for me. “I’m not.”
“I know. I didn’t say that to her. I wouldn’t say that to her. I only wanted her to stop looking for signs it would be too easy to find.”
He chews on his bottom lip, watching me before he dropshis arms and walks out on the porch, crooking his head at the bench in an invitation to sit. I do, and he takes a seat too, but he leaves enough space to speak for itself.
He braces his arms on his knees, scrubbing his hands over his face. “It’s hard with the two Phoebes. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “I get it.”
He’s quiet for a few seconds, looking over the reclaimed acreage. “It still sounds like you made a decision about us.”
“Us” feels so big and scary coming out of my mouth, but when he says it, it makes me feel fluttery, not panicky.
“I didn’t,” I say. “Not really, but only because I want two things equally that are mutually exclusive, and I don’t know what to do about that. What would you think about … I mean, if we maybe tried to …”
