Chapter Ten #2
And did he expect me to text him now? And say what? Thank you for creepily noticing something I thought I’d hidden from the world?
Okay, the apology landed sincere. But . . . There is no feud between us. What am I supposed to do with that? Forget everything?
Believe him?
I read the note again and made a face. Did he feel bad about putting me through the escape room test?
He should.
He’d gone too far.
I sighed. Even if it was creative. And exhilarating.
Then I read the note a third time, as if the words might rearrange themselves into something I could categorize if I stared hard enough.
He’d apologized.
And sent candy.
What’s the likelihood that he’d poison me?
I shook my head to rid myself of that level of doubt in him.
After setting the card down, I walked to the window, forcing myself to breathe. The city below pulsed with movement, indifferent to my internal disaster.
I was being ridiculous.
It was candy.
It was a note.
It meant nothing. Like any good CEO, he’d decided to de-escalate a potential budding problem. He probably thought I was planning something in retaliation.
That he was important enough for me to waste my time on that.
I went back to my desk like I was returning to a crime scene and picked the card up again. Thank you for bringing a potential issue regarding Nora to my attention.
My eyes narrowed. At least he acknowledged that.
I put the card down again and stared at the candy.
Don’t.
But I couldn’t help myself. I reached for the bag.
The plastic crinkled like betrayal before I popped one into my mouth.
The flavor hit my tongue and for one disloyal second, I wasn’t a Holliston in Manhattan.
I was a girl in Firebrook Valley with sticky fingers and a tiny moment of peace.
Comfort flooded through me like something I hadn’t allowed in years.
Which didn’t mean I forgave him. I could enjoy something he sent me without it being a sign of anything. It doesn’t mean Sloane and Jax are right.
Am I supposed to throw out my favorite candy?
Just to prove what should be obvious to everyone?
My phone pinged. The sound snapped me back so hard I almost choked and I checked my messages, my chest tightening—briefly, stupidly—when the text wasn’t from the man I told myself I didn’t want any further contact from.
Instead, it was Brady.
Brady: Heads up so you don’t worry. I’m going MIA for a few days.
I crunched the rest of the candy, dissolving it quickly in my mouth as I responded:
Bella: Where are you going?
Brady: Vermont. With a friend. Ski trip.
A cold, familiar fear slid under my ribs. I winced as I typed:
Bella: Nora?
Three dots said he was typing and I held my breath.
Brady: I’m sharing my location because I know you worry. We’re just friends. Please don’t say anything to Dad.
My thumbs hovered over the phone. A dozen responses rose up like smoke.
Don’t go.
What really happened at that party?
Do you have a drinking problem?
If so, going anywhere with Nora is not a good idea—for either of you.
I couldn’t say any of that because it would have shut Brady down. He was telling me things again, and that mattered.
I started typing and stopped.
Started again and stopped.
I forced my breath out.
Finally, I wrote.
Bella: Thank you for telling me. I appreciate it. Where will you be staying?
He shared the name of a resort I was familiar with.
Brady: Just for a few days. We both finished midterms and want to burn off some energy.
Oh, boy.
Bella: Be careful. Have a good time. Check in when you can.
Brady: I will.
And I sat there, another candy dissolving on my tongue, dread settling into my stomach like a stone.
This isn’t good.
Brady wasn’t acting like the little brother I knew. He was acting like someone on the verge of making a big mistake. Being alone with Nora in a secluded place? Not good. Possibly drinking again? So not good.
I looked down at my desk.
The bag of candy sat open.
The note lay beside it.
And underneath, on the lower edge of the card, was Drew’s number.
A line to him that didn’t go through anyone else.
I told myself I could handle this on my own. But Nora is his sister.
It takes two to make a mistake like the one they were about to.
I picked up the phone and texted: We need to talk.
I read it once.
It looked clinical. Controlled. Professional.
Good.
I did a quick search of places between New York and Boston and wrote: Sally’s Diner on Route 84. Two hours.
Two hours.
I was acting like this was an emergency. Was it?
And the time limit? It was a test, one I wasn’t sure why I needed to see his reaction to.
I hit send and immediately regretted it. Candy and a card did not mean I could trust him. Why would I set myself up to be disappointed again?
His reply came less than a minute later: I’ll see you there.
Simple.
Immediate.
No question.
No hesitation.
My pulse did something humiliating; it quickened as my face warmed. I stared at the screen, then at the candy, then at the note again.
He could have demanded to know why I wanted to see him. He might be assuming it’s to personally thank him for his gift.
With my mouth.
Tasting him. Pleasing him. Exploring every hard corner of him . . .
I shook my head. Stop that.
This isn’t about seeing him again.
This is about making sure nothing is happening between Brady and Nora.