Chapter 45
Harrison
“Ihave now spent two thousand dollars to love bomb my own wife,” I mutter to the empty kitchen.
Zac pauses halfway through the room with his truck keys dangling from one finger.
“…Good morning to you too.”
He glances around. “Where’s my love bomb?”
Barefoot, irritated, and still on hold, I press the phone tighter to my ear and point toward the kitchen island.
“Right there. Help yourself.”
Zac helps himself like a bear at a picnic table, rolling a sausage into a pancake before absolutely drowning the thing in syrup and shoving half of it into his mouth.
“Who’szat?” he mumbles around a mouthful of pancake.
“Nobody.”
He wiggles his fingers impatiently. “Unless you’re dirty talking with Ava, speakerphone.”
“No.”
A pancake immediately smacks me in the shoulder.
I stop pacing and slowly glare at him.
His huge shit-eating grin says he’s not letting this go anytime soon.
And since he’s taking the kids out today so I can catch up on work and quietly figure out how to win my wife back, technically I owe him.
Which he absolutely knows.
And fully intends to exploit.
Mercilessly.
Before another pancake gets frisbeed at my head, I sigh and switch the call to speaker.
Soothing zen hold music immediately fills the kitchen.
Zac’s eyebrows slowly climb toward his hairline.
“…Whale song kink?”
“Shut up.”
He glances toward the hallway. “Why are the kids suddenly acting like they’ve joined some kind of toothpaste cult? Connor brushed twice, Ollie said mint is ‘for cowards,’ and Snooki announced cinnamon toothpaste changed her life.”
“Pix uses it,” I say immediately. “Why do you think?”
After a small eternity and Zac demolishing the rest of the leftovers like the world ends at noon, he wipes his mouth and checks his watch.
“Who are we on hold for?”
“We are not on hold,” I correct. “I’m on hold. I’m checking with the spa to see how Pix liked her spa experience.”
Zac blinks once.
“Didn’t you already send flowers?”
“Yes.”
“And spent how much to overnight decorative weeds to another continent?”
“They’re marigolds, you uncultured swamp goblin. Not weeds.”
Zac drags off his ball cap. “Wow. You’re like one scented candle away from becoming a Hallmark movie.”
“Your romantic vibe is gas station roller food.” I shake my head. “How Hannah ever fell for you is the eighth wonder of the world.”
Zac points two fingers toward the front of his jeans and raises a brow. “Mystery solved.”
My eyes slam shut.
For fuck’s sake.
“That’s my sister,” I groan. “Seek help.”
“You asked.”
The line suddenly clicks.
“Blue Aurora Spa, Elín speaking.”
Finally. “This is Harrison Evans. I was just checking on the spa package I purchased for Ms. Alvarez.”
She giggles.
Zac and I exchange confused looks.
Then her voice lowers to Scandinavian sex operator.
“Ohhh. Hi. It’s you.”
I frown.
Across the room Zac immediately perks up.
“I knew you’d call,” she says knowingly.
My brows knit hard.
…Okay.
That’s weird.
I shake it off.
“I was just checking on…,” I say cautiously. “I just wanted to make sure Ms. Alvarez liked it.”
Because my wife has now been in Iceland for over a week and hasn’t once acknowledged:
The flowers.
The spa.
The note.
Or apparently… my existence.
Not that I’m spiraling about it.
“Mmm.” Elín hums sympathetically. “I do not think she enjoyed it very much.”
“What?”
Zac’s eyebrows shoot upward.
Nerves tighten along my neck. “What, uh, makes you say that?” I ask slowly.
“Well, most people stay for hours. Lounge. Relax.” Her voice softens sympathetically. “Poor thing could not get out of here fast enough. I practically had to shove champagne into her hand for the walk back.”
“I see.”
Note to self:
Pix hates spas.
Awesome.
Two grand.
And Pix enjoyed it as much as being waterboarded.
“Hey, man,” Zac whispers, “roller food’s looking better and better?”
“Shut up.”
Maybe I should’ve just called her like a normal person instead of launching Operation Icelandic Seduction from another continent.
“Did she say anything about my note?” I ask quietly.
A pause.
“…Note?”
I close my eyes.
Slow inhale.
Slow exhale.
“Elín,” I say, fighting to keep my last shred of sanity from fraying. “You told me to email you what I wanted the note to say.”
“I did?”
“So you’d know exactly what to write.”
“Oh!” she says brightly. “I remember now.”
I’m not sure she does.
“Sorry. Our booking system has been uber glitchy.”
I think Elín’s the glitch.
“Tell me what you wanted it to say,” she adds cheerily, “and I’ll write it now,” she chirps.
Like I requested she do the first time?
“One second. Where is pen? Pen, pen…”
I stare blankly at the ceiling.
If she could just carve the message directly into my chest with an axe, it would be less painful.
Ollie barrels through the kitchen wearing one shoe and a backpack.
“Can we bring the toothpaste with us?”
I blink. “To the indoor water park?”
“And floss.”
I pat the tiny psychopath on the head. “Sure, buddy.”
He races back down the hallway. “Dad said it’s okay!”
Zac snorts. “Upside? Lower dental bills.”
A drawer slams loudly through the speaker.
“Okay! Ready.”
About time.
I brace both hands on the kitchen island and lower my head.
“Just write…” My voice catches for one humiliating second before I force it steady again. “You’re thought of. You’re missed.” My brain scrambles helplessly. “You’re loved more than you know.”
Zac makes a so-so motion with both hands.
“No matter where you are.”
Elín sighs dreamily.
“Aww.”
Across the room, Zac nods reluctantly.
“That is very sweet,” she says softly. “Who should I say it’s from?”
“Um…” I can’t not include the kids. “Your family,” I blurt out.
“Your family,” she repeats slowly as she writes it down.
Zac immediately whispers, “That absolutely does not sound like it’s from you.”
Shit.
In a panic, I dart out of the kitchen and lower my voice.
“P.S. Sorry about the hot springs. I’ll do better. X.O. Your Lumberjack.”
A pause.
“I’m sorry,” Elín says politely. “What was the last part?”
Goddammit.
I close my eyes and whisper louder into the phone.
“X.O. Your. Lumberjack.”
“Camel back?”
“Lumberjack.”
Silence.
“This connection is terrible,” she apologizes. “Lumber-snack?”
Is she serious?
What the fuck is a lumber snack?
That’s not even a word.
I hear Zac absolutely lose it in the kitchen.
“Lumberjack,” I say through clenched teeth. “Lum-ber-jack,” I bark.
“Ahhh,” she says brightly. “Got it.”
Does she?
I’m suddenly terrified to find out what she actually wrote.
By the time I walk back into the kitchen, Zac is physically braced against the counter trying not to die.
“Elín,” I say tiredly, “please just make sure she gets it.”
“I’ll put it in her hands the very next time I see her,” she promises. “For you?” She coos warmly. “Anything.”
If by anything you mean deliver a simple fucking note, that would be great.
“Thanks,” I mutter.
We hang up.
Silence settles through the kitchen while rain continues tapping softly against the windows.
I’m suddenly a million miles away, deep in thought.
Zac watches me for a long moment.
“You know,” he says, gathering the last of the dishes from the sink, “a text would probably be faster. Maybe throw in a heart… and an eggplant emoji.”
“Here’s your emoji.”
I flip him off.
He snorts just as the kids come stampeding down the hallway.
“Everybody got everything you need?” I call out, full dad mode.
Three impatient nods.
“Towels?”
“Yup.”
“Flip-flops?”
They’re already halfway into their coats. “Uh-huh.”
“Swimsuits?”
Ollie freezes.
Then immediately bolts back toward his room.
“One sec!”
“But I bet he’s got plenty of toothpaste,” Zac snickers.
He and Connor crack up.
After a round of hugs and quick kisses on the head, even Connor against his will, everybody finally piles out the front door.
Zac pauses beside it and glances back at me.
“I’m here if you need anything,” he says quietly.
“Yeah,” I say just as quietly.
Then he opens his arms.
Universal bro code for do you need a hug?
I recoil instantly. “We’ve already hit our annual quota for touchy-feely shit. You’re making this weird.” I shove him toward the truck. “Be nurturing somewhere else.”
Zac laughs as they all pile into his truck.
They wave through the windows while he backs out of the driveway.
Then silence settles over the property again.
A brisk gust of wind scatters leaves across the porch.
I shove both hands into my pockets and close my eyes.
For one brief, flickering second, I’m halfway across the world holding my girl again.
And the universe feels right.