Miraculously, I managed to keep Weston’s cell phone in my purse while I finished up at the Verizon store. Outside on the street, the fresh air made me feel a tiny bit better. During the two-block walk back to The Countess, it dawned on me that Weston was going to see the email at some point after I handed him back his phone. If he was waiting to talk to me about something that had come up—whatever that email exchange referred to—he’d probably bring it up soon enough anyway. I likely wouldn’t have to wait long to feed my curiosity.
In an hour or two, I’d be laughing at how silly I’d been for stressing over some email from a sixty-year-old plumbing contractor or something like that. Weston would tell me he had an estimate to go over that needed my sign-off, and that would be that.
Yeah, that was what would happen.
I’d probably get a good laugh at myself, too.
Though as I walked back into The Countess, I definitely felt more anxious than amused.
***
“So… Do we have any open issues we need to discuss?” I asked.
I’d just finished up for the day and walked over to his office. It was almost ten o’clock at night, and Weston had had his cell phone back for hours now. Yet he still hadn’t mentioned anything he needed my sign-off on.
He shook his head. “Not that I can think of.”
Maybe he needed a little reminder, because he forgot… “What about any repair work or estimates we both need to sign-off on? I brought you one from the Wi-Fi company that wants to upgrade our service a few hours ago. Do you have anything for me?”
Weston seemed to give it some thought. “Nope. The only thing I have outstanding is the revised timeline the Boltons owe us. Other than that, I think we’re all good.”
My stomach felt hollow. Could he have forgotten the email?
“Well, I’m going to head upstairs. I have a lot of emails that came in today that I still need to respond to. How about you? You buried under, too?”
Weston shrugged. “Nope. Actually, I’m all caught up.” He smirked. “Guess I’m a lot more efficient than you.”
I forced a smile. I wasn’t ready to walk away from his office yet, because I was still clinging to hope he’d remember something. But I also couldn’t think of anything else to say. So I stood there awkwardly. At least I felt awkward.
Eventually, Weston said, “I’ll meet you upstairs in a little while. I need to finish a few things.”
I felt deflated. “Okay.”
Back in my room, I was disappointed in myself. Why hadn’t I just asked him about the email? Reading one line of a message preview on his phone had been entirely accidental. He couldn’t be mad about that. Yet instead of putting myself out of my misery, I’d allowed my dark thoughts to fester.
In my heart, I knew the real issue had nothing to do with me having done anything wrong. I wasn’t nervous about telling Weston I’d read a message on his phone. I was nervous about him saying it wasn’t what I thought, and me not believing him. My trust issues ran deep, and I hated that I assumed the worst. So instead, I hid my fears and attempted to cling to hope that the situation would resolve itself.
He’s probably going to see that email and mention something to me when he gets up here. I’m making a mountain out of a molehill.
Rather than wear away the carpet with my pacing, I decided to take a bath. I filled the tub with warm water and tossed in some bath salts. Slipping in, I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and blew out a big exhale.
I’m on the beach in Hawaii. The sun is warm on my body, and the sound of the waves gently crashing against the shore is lulling me to sleep.
But… Where’s Weston? Why didn’t he come with me?
Because he’s a lying bastard who I don’t talk to anymore. That’s why.
I took another deep, cleansing breath and tried to change my focus.
This time, I went to a happy place I’d had in London, which had nothing to do with Weston—a small park that overlooked the river, a few blocks from where I’d lived. Unfortunately, when I imagined myself sitting on a swing, taking in the peaceful view, I noticed a couple lying on a blanket in my periphery.
Liam and my cousin.
I turned to run the other way, and my father loomed over me.
He tsked. “I told you so.”
I sighed and opened my eyes. Maybe I should try some music, something I could sing along to. Reaching over to where I’d left my phone, I called up my Spotify app and dug out a playlist of oldies I figured I’d know most of the words to. After about six or seven songs, I finally felt my shoulders relax a little. Until Billy Joel’s “Honesty” came on. He crooned about how lonely the word was and how hard it was to find truth, and whatever tension I’d managed to soak away seeped right back in. Frustrated, I got out of the tub and turned off the music before the song finished.