chapter 45
Remi
IT’S BEEN A COUPLE DAYS since I found the orchids on my porch, but discomfort still lingers in my stomach and under my skin.
I danced on Saturday and Sunday, and James never showed up, even though my eyes kept scanning the floor and booths for him.
He didn’t leave anything else on my porch either—it’s the first thing I look for now when I get home from a shift at the club.
Now it’s Monday, and I just finished up at the gym with Riley.
I need to pick up groceries so I can meal prep for my work week coming up.
Usually, I enjoy shopping and cooking and going through my normal routines, but ever since coming back from Cali, it feels almost like I’m dragging my feet through my daily tasks, and more often than I mean to, my eyes find the sky, and my thoughts are drawn to Seb.
I keep watching the planes that fly overhead, wondering if any of them are headed west, to where he is.
I watch one plane cut through the pale blue sky from where I sit in the front seat of my Jeep, parked in the grocery store lot.
And I imagine myself on it, headed for the coast. Remembering the glittery pink sign in Seb’s hands when he picked me up at the airport makes me smile.
The plane slowly disappears from view, and I let out a sigh, then shove open my car door, grab my bags from the back, and head into the grocery store.
I’ve got a long list, and I pop my earbuds into my ears and turn on my playlist as I walk the aisles, grabbing fresh produce, canned goods, a box of pasta, and a few bags of chips.
I even pick up some Skittles, just because they remind me of Seb.
Maybe I’ll keep some around, so if he comes to visit me again, he can eat them.
The thought comforts me, and I smile to myself.
My cart is already halfway full when I look up from the list I have on my phone and glimpse a man walking away from me down the grocery aisle.
Tall. Lean. A flash of blond hair, trimmed neat around his neck and ears. A crisp jacket over nice slacks.
And suddenly, I find my heart racing, my breath coming a bit faster now.
The man turns the corner before I can get a good look at his face. But I’m already seeing blue eyes narrowed under neon lights, a frown that looks somehow bored and sharp at the same time.
Is he following me?
I draw myself up, standing taller, trying to steady my breathing. My gaze remains glued to the end of the aisle, where other shoppers drift by with carts and baskets and children, but the blond man doesn’t reappear.
It’s fine, I tell myself. Just finish your shopping.
Still, when I look down at my phone, the list I have pulled up swims before my eyes. The words don’t look like anything more than squiggles of black against a white background.
I can’t focus. And I’m still breathing too hard, my chest tight.
My gaze flicks up again, then over my shoulder. At any second, I expect him to step into my line of sight, giving me that bored frown, whispering, “Welcome home, Mirage.”
Next thing I know, I’m abandoning my cart, leaving it right there in the middle of the aisle, and I’m walking through the store as quickly as I can without drawing attention, almost bumping into other shoppers as I go.
I cross the parking lot and am in my Jeep, doors locked, before I’ve even had a chance to question my own actions.
In the quiet warmth of the locked car, I think, What am I doing?
He hasn’t done anything—not really. The flowers crossed a line, but that doesn’t mean he’s lurking around every corner. And he hasn’t appeared at the club or at my house. Yet my heart is still beating too fast, and my hands tremble in my lap.
I take a deep breath.
Now that I don’t feel quite as vulnerable, I look toward the grocery store’s entrance, and I only have to watch for a few minutes before the man walks out. He pauses in front of the store to put his sunglasses on.
And . . . it’s not even him. It’s just some random blond man in a nice jacket and polished shoes.
I feel like I overreacted, like I’m being ridiculous. Embarrassment floods my veins, mixing with the adrenaline still lingering there.
It’s not him, I tell myself.
The racing in my heart settles, just a bit, but when I think of going back into the store to resume my shopping, I find it hard to get out of the car.
So I’m still sitting there, trying to decide if I should just pick up takeout on the way home and try my shopping again tomorrow, when my phone rings with a video call.
The sudden sound in the quiet car makes me jump. Then I look down.
Seb.
On my screen is the photo of him with a burrito, smiling in Cali’s sunset light. And he looks so happy, so carefree.
For a split second, I consider not answering.
I don’t want to concern him with my make-believe problems. I don’t want him to see how scared I just got in a crowded grocery store, of all places.
But when I go to hit the Reject button, my thumb hovering over the screen, I find I can’t do it.
Because I really want to talk to him. It feels like it’s been a lifetime since I last saw him or heard his voice. I miss him so much it hurts.
So I swallow hard, take a few breaths, and answer the phone, putting a smile on my face.
“Hey, Seb.”