Chapter 34
Sleepless in Seattle
Layla
It feels weird to be back in Seattle now.
The city noise hits me the second I step off the elevator, distant horns, the low rumble of buses on the street below, someone’s muffled TV through the wall.
It’s familiar, but it feels like someone else’s life.
I walk down the same hallway as ever before, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, the faint smell of carpet cleaner and someone’s burnt toast lingering in the air.
The key sticks in the lock like it always did, but tonight it feels wrong, like the door is resisting me.
I push it open. The apartment is cold and plain.
No warmth from a wood stove. No scent of hay or pine drifting through an open window.
Just stale air, the low hum of the fridge, and the gray Seattle light filtering through half-closed blinds.
I miss all the loud farm decor, the mismatched quilts and the horseshoes nailed to the walls like they were art.
Never thought I’d ever say that, but here we are.
The ranch felt cluttered and chaotic in the best way.
This place feels sterile. Empty.
Surely they’ve noticed I’m gone by now. But my phone is silent.
No calls. No messages. I don’t expect one from Cole, honestly.
He’s never been the type to chase. I set my suitcase by the door, the wheels leaving faint tracks of dust and walk to the kitchen.
The counter is bare except for a single coffee mug I forgot to wash before I left.
I fill the kettle anyway, just to have something to do with my hands.
Unpacking all of my crap makes me ill. I don’t really want to be back here.
Yeah, it’s nice to be back with all my things—I did miss my bed, the guest house mattress was a little too firm for me—but the closet smells like mothballs and old perfume, not cedar and leather.
My books are still stacked on the shelf, spines worn from rereading, but they look lonely now.
I start the shower to try and kill this jet lag, maybe it will wake me up.
The water pressure is weak compared to the ranch’s strong stream, but it’s hot, steam filling the tiny bathroom, fogging the mirror.
I stand under the spray, letting it pound my shoulders, washing away the last traces of Tennessee dirt and smoke.
My skin still feels tender from the sunburn, faint pink lines across my collarbone.
I close my eyes and see the willow tree, the pool lights, Cole’s hands on my hips.
I turn the water colder. It doesn’t help. I shoot a text to Tina.
Me: Back in Seattle. Meeting Friday?
30 seconds later.
Tina: Yeah. See you here at 9:30 Friday morning! We are excited to finish this series! Can’t wait for the tour.
Me: Me either. See you then.
I’m lying. Totally lying. I love my readers, they’re what keep me going but I hate the tours.
The airports, the hotels, the forced smiles, the questions about my “inspiration.” I’d rather be back in Tennessee.
With Cole and Shadow. With Maggie’s teasing and Nancy’s hugs and Luke’s dumb jokes.
With the quiet that wasn’t quiet at all, just alive in a way Seattle never is.
I took a picture of Shadow that I’m going to have printed off and put on my desk.
I’ve never been attached to an animal like him before.
I’ve never had a pet. I always wanted a cat though.
They seem cute and cuddly. Independent but affectionate when they choose.
Like me, maybe. I scroll through my phone, photos of the ranch, the pool, Shadow’s big dark eyes, Cole’s back turned while he worked the fence, his shoulders broad under his shirt.
My thumb hovers over one of him laughing, rare, unguarded.
I lock the screen instead and put the phone down on the sink next to me.
The shower feels good, steam loosening the tightness in my chest, but when I step out, the apartment feels even colder. I wrap myself in my old robe, the one that used to feel cozy. Now it just feels thin.
I eat a bowl of cereal standing at the counter, crunch too loud, milk too cold, the spoon clinking against the ceramic bowl.
The TV drones in the background, some late-night rerun but I’m not listening.
I watch Pride and Prejudice instead, curled on the couch, ball my eyes out at the proposal scene.
The romance feels too easy. Too certain.
I want to scream at Elizabeth to stop being so stubborn, but I’m the stubborn one here.
I try to go to sleep but all I keep doing is tossing and turning.
I’m not used to my house anymore. Downstairs neighbors arguing through the floor.
Upstairs footsteps pacing. Sirens in the distance.
I need quiet. Crickets and cows mooing. I need—no, I’m not going to say his name.
That name is out of my vocabulary from here on out.
I look at the time: 12:55 a.m. Oh god. I grab the pillow and scream into it while I’m flat on my back in the bed, muffled, raw, the fabric soaking up tears I didn’t know I still had.