Chapter 9
Something soft is wrapped around me. A blanket? Eyes closed, I begin to stir. I take in the sensations around me. Something plush underneath me, something soft over my skin. Something firm and warm across my stomach.
It feels like an arm ... but not my arm.
My eyes fly open. I’m at home in my bed. How the hell ...
“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” a deep voice groggy with sleep says from behind me.
I freeze before glancing down at the massive toned arm that’s wrapped around my bare midsection. That tan skin, those dark hairs dotted along the muscled flesh ...
That’s Milo’s arm around me.
I jump out of bed like I’m on fire. Over and over I smooth my hands over my sleeping shirt, grateful to feel fabric against my skin.
“Whoa. What’s the rush?” He starts to sit up, rubbing his eyes with his fists. My heart has rocketed to my throat, and my chest is heaving as I process this impossible moment.
I’m in bed. With my husband’s cousin.
He aims a sleepy smile at me before running a hand through his mussed hair. “Bad dream?”
I gasp for air. “Something like that.”
He starts to open his mouth to speak, but I hold up a hand. A million questions dance on my tongue. What in god’s name are we doing in bed together? How did I even get here? I fell asleep in my car on the roadway hours from London ... Did he come and get me and bring me back here?
Wait ... are we a couple?
“I know what’ll help,” Milo says before I can get a word out.
He groans softly as he slides out of bed, scratching his bare, toned chest. I let out a breath when I see that he’s wearing boxers. Thank Christ he’s not naked. That would make this a million times more awkward.
“I’ll put the kettle on.” He swipes a T-shirt from the floor and pulls it over his head.
For a second I’m unnerved at how ... good looking he is so early in the morning. He looks like an underwear model.
“Tea?”
“Don’t worry, I know the special way you take it. The only way you take it.”
He winks at me, and my stomach does something strange, something traitorous. It flips, like I’m happy and excited to see him do something so playful, so flirty.
It’s a strange clash of sensations taking place inside me right now. Right now, my brain is scrambling to figure out how I woke up in bed with my husband’s cousin. But my body seems to be enjoying it.
I rest my hand on my chest and try to steady my breathing. I watch him walk out of the bedroom and down the hallway toward the kitchen. My phone buzzes on my nightstand. When I see it’s Poppy calling me, I answer immediately.
“Morning, Ri. Sorry for the early call, but just wanted to give you an update on the store before I head out on holiday with Desmond.”
“Oh, um, great.” I scurry to the primary bathroom and shut the door behind me. What holiday? She never told me she was planning to go on vacation.
She talks about some shipment due to be delivered to the boutique next week while she’s gone, but I stop her. “Never mind that right now, Poppy. Did you get my voicemail yesterday?”
“What? No.”
“Are you sure? I called you in the morning and left a message.”
“Positive, Ri. I was at the store all day with my phone on me.”
“Oh.”
I go quiet, confused as hell.
“You sure you’re okay, Ri? You sound a bit freaked out.”
“Um, no. I’m actually very not okay.”
She lets out a heavy sigh. “I figured this would happen. Just pretend like tomorrow isn’t Valentine’s Day.”
An invisible record skids in my brain. “What do you mean ‘tomorrow’? Valentine’s Day was yesterday.”
“Christ, if only. Whatever you need to tell yourself to get through that dumpster fire of an anniversary, you do it, Ri. We can pretend Valentine’s Day doesn’t exist from this day on if you’d like. You know I’d do it for you.”
I stammer, confused to hell for the millionth time.
“Hang on,” I tell her before swiping at the calendar app on my phone. It’s February 13, 2025.
I stare at the date for what feels like a solid minute before pulling up my internet browser and checking the date on a dozen websites. They all say the same thing: today is February 13, 2025.
I plop on the toilet seat, suddenly so disoriented that I’m dizzy.
Because if this is real, then I’ve lost my grip on reality. If this is real, we’re moving backward in time, and I’m the only one who seems to notice it.
“Ri? Ri, you all right?” Poppy’s worried tone blasting from my phone speaker jerks me back to the moment.
“Not even close,” I mumble.
“Oh, Ri. I knew I should have canceled this trip. Look, I can still do that. Desmond will understand; he adores you and wants you to be okay.”
I press my eyes shut, shaking my head. “No, don’t. Please don’t do that.” Whatever warped shit I’m currently going through, I don’t want to drag my best friend into it. “Sorry, I’m just feeling a bit off today. I’ll be fine, though. Go on your trip. Seriously.”
A heavy sigh rockets from her end of the line. “You sure? Where we’re going in Malta is so remote the cell service is going to be awful.”
That explains why I couldn’t get a hold of her yesterday ... or technically tomorrow. Jesus, this is such a mind-fuck.
“Really. It’s okay. I’ll be okay, I promise.”
“Milo’s with you, right?”
“Um, yeah. He is.”
I blink and think back to just minutes ago, when he was standing right here, bare chested in my bedroom, flashing that charming smile and winking at me. He’s so comfortable being here, like he’s done this a million times before.
“Good,” Poppy says. “You shouldn’t be alone right now. He’ll take good care of you, I know it. He’s a gem, that guy. Had him pegged all wrong this whole time.”
I almost scoff. Poppy likes Milo now? I’m about to ask her to explain what he did to change her opinion of him, but the sound of Desmond’s voice pulls her attention away.
She groans. “Desmond is insisting we leave for Heathrow now so we can be three hours early.”
“It’s an international flight,” Desmond says in the background. “That’s the recommended time nowadays.”
A yippy bark follows. Desmond coos at Gus.
“Give him extra treats, will you? The expensive-as-fuck organic ones that are made of dehydrated chicken,” Poppy says.
“Too many treats is bad for him. It’s crucial that he maintains a balanced diet at his age.”
“Oh Christ, Desmond. I’ve been feeding him table scraps ever since he was a puppy. He’s fine. Besides, treats are the best way to get him to calm down so he isn’t a ball of nerves for the dogsitter.” There’s a pause, then a muffled kissing sound.
“I suppose you’re right,” Desmond says.
“Can you believe I fell in love with such a rule follower?” Poppy says to me before chuckling. Another kissing sound. Despite the confusing-as-hell shit show that my life currently is, it’s a comfort to know that Poppy and Desmond are still solid, still as in love as ever.
“Have the best time, you two,” I say.
“See you in two weeks!”
We hang up. I stand at the sink, splash cold water on my face, and try to figure out what exactly is going on.
Yesterday I woke up exactly one year into the future. Today I woke up the day before that. I seem to be living life backward, one day at a time, while no one else notices—they’re living their own lives unbothered.
What. The. Fuck. Is. Happening.
I don’t know how long I stand there, but the skin on my face and hands has turned to ice. I shut off the water and dry myself. Clearly I’m not going to solve anything by attempting to give myself hypothermia in my bathroom.
I’ll just have to figure this out as I go, one day at a time.
I pee, wash up, pad to the kitchen, and see Milo standing at the marble island, reading something on his phone, a mug of tea in his other hand.
I breathe in the familiar smell. Dank and faintly citrus with wet-dirt undertones. Only unlike before, I don’t make a face. My stomach doesn’t curdle. I inhale again. This time the smell is warm and soothing.
He looks up at me and sets his phone down. The corner of his mouth hooks up. “Hey. I made you your favorite.”
I glance at the steaming mug on my end of the island. “I like tea now.”
It sounds like a question, the way my voice hitches at the end.
The low rumble of Milo’s chuckle echoes in the kitchen. “I’m still surprised about it too. And I still can’t believe you let me convince you to try it all those months ago.”
I almost say, “I did?” but catch myself. I should try to learn as much as I can about every moment and memory I’ve missed.
“Tell me again.”
He smiles before taking a sip and glancing off to the side. His gaze cuts to me. My stomach flips again for the second time this morning.
“I texted you ‘Happy Easter.’ You texted back that there was nothing happy about the way you were annihilating that package of marshmallow Peeps. I texted that they’d go down easier with some tea. You sent back a string of vomiting emojis.”
I let out a chuckle.
“I claimed that I could make you love tea,” he says. “You said there was no way in hell that would happen; you’ve always thought it was gross. I said that if you tried it one more time and hated it, I’d sign over my flat to you. You said ‘game on.’ So I took you to that tea shop in my neighborhood. I ordered a half–Earl Grey, half-hazelnut blend. I figured hazelnut tea would be a good bet because—”
“Because I like hazelnut coffee.”
He grins. “Right. And when I ordered it from the guy at the counter ...” Milo shakes his head, chuckling, reminding me of what he told me while driving my car yesterday morning—tomorrow morning, technically. God, this is going to take some getting used to.
“He was pissed. He’s always pissed every time we order it,” I add.
Milo grins. “Yup. But he made it anyway. And when you sipped it, your eyes went wide. You smiled like you couldn’t believe it.”
“I liked it.”
He nods once, a half smile tugging at his lips. “You liked it.”
I pick up the cup, blow, and take a small, slow sip. The warm liquid coats my tongue. The flavor hits differently than the times I’ve tried it before. It tastes exactly how it smells—earthy, faintly citrus, like wet dirt, but in a good way. The hazelnut adds a richness that makes it heartier, fuller, more comforting.
I make an “mmm” sound. I like this. A lot.
“Good?” Milo asks.
None of this makes sense. Not me suddenly liking tea after a lifetime of loathing it. Not me waking up one year into the future. Not me living life backward while time moves forward for everyone else around me. Not Milo and I living like a couple in what used to be my home with Tristan.
But something about this feels comfortable. And in this confusion and chaos, in this impossible space of time, in the aftermath of finding out Tristan cheated on me, after finding out the life I loved so much was a lie, I’ll take this feeling. It’s the one thing that feels good. And I need that right now.
I sip again. “It’s really good.”