Chapter 89
Flowers and Cedar
Tessa
By four o'clock, I was completely spent.
The day had dragged on in slow motion, broken only by Skip whining about his sprained finger and suggesting that I make him lunch.
Aside from that, it was just me, the counter, and a phone I kept telling myself not to check.
So of course, I checked it nonstop while obsessing over the guy who'd turned my world upside-down.
Not Evan Carver.
Ryder.
I didn't understand him at all. Fine. If his feelings could change on a dime, I was better off without him.
Except it didn't feel that way, so I tried to focus on the other villain, the menace who'd driven me from Chicago. By noon, the story was everywhere – at least from sources in the city.
There, Evan Carver was a big deal. Here on the island, not so much.
Still, I devoured the details like a diner who'd skipped breakfast.
Evan Carver was dead, found in his condo overnight, and the investigation was ongoing.
As for Carver Health, they were scrambling to sound calm, but I could see the cracks already showing. Absently, I wondered if they'd hire Thatcher-Hale to manage the fallout.
Was I being cold?
Probably.
And yet, the practical part of me couldn't help but think that the world was a better place for not having a snake like Evan Carver slithering all over it. Still, if I'd had my way, he would've ended up rotting in jail, not six feet under.
And then there were all of those questions – not from the news, but from myself. This included the oddest question of all. How on Earth had Ryder known?
I had asked, but all he'd said was that he had a friend with connections. When he'd refused to say more, that was that.
I was still thinking of Ryder when Skip shuffled out of the back room and asked, "Hey, have you been sleeping in my recliner?"
Heat rose to my face. Embarrassingly, I had slept in his recliner – and not only on the night of that phone call, when I'd nodded off more than once.
The real overstep was last night. After Ryder had gone to see Griff, I stayed in the suite for way too long, waiting for him to return. When he didn't, I felt too unwelcome to stay at the hotel and too upset to return to Maisie's.
If she was still angry with me, the last thing I'd wanted was to sob on her couch while refusing to answer basic questions.
Good Lord. She might've thought I was sobbing over Griff. And with everything else, I definitely would've lost it.
So I'd spent the night huddled up in that stupid recliner, praying today would bring better news. Instead, I'd been officially dumped and then shaken by the news of Evan Carver.
This meant I could go home.
By home, I meant not to Maisie's, but to my own place in Chicago. This should've been a relief.
It wasn't.
I didn't want to go back at all.
What was that about?
In the coffee shop, Skip's tone grew accusing. "You have, haven't you?"
Oh. Right. The recliner. I reached up to rub the back of my neck as I mumbled, "I might've tried it a time or two."
"I knew it!" Skip said.
"How?"
He wrinkled his nose. "It smelled funny."
I stared. "What are you saying? I stink?"
"No. But you smell like flowers." He straightened. "And I smell like cedar." And then, at my questioning look, he added, "It's my favorite soap. So, what's yours? Rose or something?"
The question made me pause. "Actually, I'm not sure."
He eyed me with suspicion. "Why not?"
"Because the soap wasn't mine, and I didn't pay attention." It was true. That pink bottle of bodywash had magically appeared the second night I'd stayed at Ryder's.
Had he put it there just for me?
He must've, because there'd been a second brand beside it that was obviously masculine – a sleek charcoal bottle with small gold lettering.
Skip's voice broke into my thoughts. "What's wrong?"
I swallowed. "Nothing. Why?"
Suddenly, he was looking a little afraid. "Because you look like you're gonna cry."
I froze. Oh, no. He was right. I reached up and rubbed at my eyes. "No, I'm not. I'm probably allergic or something."
"To what? The recliner?" And when I gave him a sharp look, he mumbled, "I'm just saying, you should probably avoid it. And it is mine, you know."
That did it. All day, I'd been thinking about Ryder. And Evan Carver. And my own sorry situation. I'd come to Mackinac Island, telling myself I was running from danger. And yeah, there was definitely some of that.
But what I'd really been running from was my own failures – and yeah, maybe the shame. And then, there was the thing with my sister. For weeks now, I'd been sticking it out in this sorry shop, telling myself I was doing it for her, just in case she happened to wander in?
Was I completely insane?
Possibly.
But I'd definitely been an idiot, especially when it came to this job.
Ryder was right, which somehow made everything worse – because if he was right about that, what did that say about his decision to send me packing?
Suddenly, it was all too much, and I heard myself say, "You know what? I quit."
Skip's eyes widened for half a beat before his face broke into a smile. "Really?"
I stared in disbelief. "So, that's good news?"
"Hell, yeah, it's good news. I can go back for my master's."
"Uh…come again?"
"It's my parents," he said. "They said they wouldn't pay as long as the shop was humming."
I looked around. The shop was empty, the reviews were terrible, and the tip jar contained only three lonely quarters. The only thing humming was the espresso machine, which had been making that funny sound for days. I looked back to Skip and said, "Humming? Seriously?"
"Hey, it's Mom's word, not mine. Anyway, she said as long as I had a good employee, I had to keep at it."
And now, I was at a loss. "But I wasn't a good employee. I totally sucked."
He shrugged. "Hey, you were still better than me."
On this, he had a point. "But I don't get it. Why didn't you simply fire me?"
"Why would I do that?" he asked. "Classes don't start 'til fall."
What the hell? "You can't be serious."
"Sure I am. They always start in the fall. What, you didn't know?" He gave me a sheepish smile. "Plus, I kind of liked having you around."
I blinked. "Really?"
He nodded. "Sure. Other than you, I hate this place."
I wasn't sure if I should feel flattered or annoyed. Probably I was a little bit of both. But in spite of everything, I couldn't help but smile back – not because I was happy, but because if I didn't, I was pretty sure I'd burst out crying.
I'd save the crying for later, when I was all alone with just me and my pillow. But first, I needed to talk to Maisie, if only to see where I stood.