Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 90682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“She’s not here,” she repeats.
“Um. Do you know where she is?”
Mrs. Galvin turns up her nose, which I interpret as ‘Yes, I know where she is, but the information is going to cost you.’
I sigh. “What do you want, Mrs. G?”
“I hear Costco has the most amazing bamboo bed sheets.”
I mull it over, debating the wisdom of locking myself into a healthy pattern with Posey’s neighbor, knowing that I’ve fed the beast, and she only gets hungrier.
Still. I’d rather know where Posey is so I can go speak to her than wait outside all night—I can’t sneak in, and she moved the key, and I know if I climb in through the window, this old bird will be watching me and probably call the police.
She’s shaking me down for bedroom linens? “Fine.”
“I’d like white, and I have a full-sized mattress.”
The little con artist!
I swear I can feel my nostrils flaring as I nod. “Where’d she go?”
Mrs. Galvin crosses her thin arms. “At a place called Waldorf Social with some of her girlfriends, got all dressed up and everything.” She doesn’t smile when she adds, “You missed her by about ten minutes.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Saw her waltzing by the window when she left all dolled up, wearing rouge and a dress that was too short to be decent, so naturally, I had to come outside to investigate.”
Naturally.
“Waltzin’ by the window?” I laugh.
“Yes, sashaying past in heels I don’t approve of.”
“Thanks for the intel.” I sigh, shifting the bag from one shoulder to the other. “Guess I’ll set this down and call myself another ride back to the city.”
She nods, her gray coif bobbing. “Feel free to borrow the car.”
The offer makes me laugh. “Lady, I’m runnin’ out of money payin’ you for all your favors.”
She huffs indignantly as if I’ve insulted her. “I didn’t ask for a payment to borrow the car!”
Yeah, but she’s asked for a payment for everything else! “So I can borrow the car, no strings attached?”
“Naturally.”
“Forgive me for being sus, given our history.”
“Keys are in the ignition.”
“In the ignition? Are you trying to get your car stolen?” Granted, I can’t imagine who would want a thirty-year-old Buick with an eight-track tape player, but I suppose someone desperate would.
The ride to the city is somber. In my head, I go over and over all the things I want to say to Posey the same way I had done while I was on the plane on my way to Illinois. Nothing to do but think or listen to the radio, this entire day has been consumed by thoughts of her. Actually, the entire week has been consumed by thoughts of her; ever since I left, I’ve been restless.
Misplaced.
Felt uneasy, like I’m missing something.
It took me a damn minute to figure out what that something was, only to discover it was a human. A sweet, bratty, kindergarten teacher from the Midwest. I don’t know, maybe this is a mistake. It was certainly an impulsive decision to jump on a plane, fly halfway across the country to plead my case and apologize to a woman I’d wronged. I left without a goodbye and she’s holding my feet to the fire for it.
I have no idea where in tarnation this damn place is, getting lost once exiting into downtown, and then taking a one-way street before realizing it was a doggone one-way street. Thank Christ when I arrive that it has valet parking.
I can’t imagine trying to find a spot for this fucking thing, let alone back it into a spot.
The valet raises his brows when I pull up; they lift higher when I unfold my body from behind the steering wheel.
He immediately recognizes me.
“It’s not mine,” I tell him when I hand him the keys. “Wouldn’t mind if it got stolen or lost while I was inside—I’d appreciate you not callin’ the paparazzi on me.”
I hand him fifty bucks.
“No, Mr. Colter, sir, I would never,” the kid stutters. “I…I know we’re not supposed to ask, but would you mind…” He can’t even finish the sentence. I wouldn’t be shocked if pee was running down his legs, the kid is so nervous asking me for a photograph.
“It’s fine,” I say, eyes scanning the front windows of the restaurant, hoping to catch a glimpse of Posey before I even step inside. “No problem.”
He fumbles his phone out the back pocket of his black work pants, arm shaking when he extends it for a selfie.
I crouch down and smile.
Well. I bare my teeth, which is practically the same thing, ain’t it?
I take a deep breath when the hostess pulls the door open for me, then another one when I step inside the dark, dimly lit entry of the place. Do another scan.
“Can I help you?” another hostess asks. “Do you have a reservation?”