she admits. “He loves the message, the magic, the—”
“I’m aware, but a seven-book series seventeen times is a bit excessive.”
“That’s what his therapist says, but the heart wants what the heart wants. We know him better.”
I nod. “Thank you for hanging out with him tonight.”
“This weekend, too? Remember you said after the game he could—”
“I remember.”
“He loves helping me at Bookland.”
“He certainly does. Goodnight, Faith.”
“Goodnight, Raff,” she says as she sits down at Nikki’s feet and begins unlacing her boots, something I had planned to come back and do later.
It wasn’t until after two in the morning that Faith left. I checked on her immediately, stayed a little bit longer than intended before heading back to my flat, and when I went over at five, Nikki was gone. I can’t say I wasn’t disappointed, but I was impressed that the bed was made and the blanket folded.
When Nathaniel got in the car for school, he noticed a pouch of some sort on the floor. It must have fallen from her bag. He dropped it on the console without any questions, as he knew I often took people home.
I was even more grateful that her phone, which also must have fallen out somewhere inside the seat, didn’t ring until he was walking into school.
While digging for the phone, I saw the pouch had her initials, N.D.W., engraved in the pale blue satin. It’s quite beautiful. When I got to her phone, I saw the caller identification announcing Winterfield’s Sweet Spot. Before I could push accept to let them know that I had the phone, the call ended.
I tossed it on the seat beside me and decided to make a stop before hitting the gym.
Rule Number Eight
When in doubt, ask a mom
Nikki
I’m pretty certain that this could possibly be the third shittiest day of my entire existence, and just as confident that bad things do, in fact, come in threes.
This morning, I woke with cottonmouth, a near paralyzing headache, in a strange place. It was pretty terrifying until I jumped up, looked out the window, and recognized my surroundings. Then I remembered … Raff giving me a ride ‘home.’
If that wasn’t bad enough, I had to do the walk of shame down Main Street in wrinkled clothing and heels for five blocks to my aunt and uncle’s home, where I quickly found the hideaway key and snuck inside… at twenty-seven years old. Thankfully, I wasn’t caught. Not even by the Golden Retriever Duke, whom I’m convinced has lost his hearing.
To add insult to injury, after washing up and popping two Advil, I realized my phone was gone.
And now, watching out the window of the Sweet Spot, I desperately wish that I did something with myself after my shower. Like call Raff and see if he had my makeup pouch and phone. But the shame was unbearable. And how would I even find his number?
No, no, I don’t want to reach him. Rich prick, I remind myself. I can buy new makeup, and my phone is due for an upgrade anyway.
Rich guys are not for me. I need a man who works with his hands. A man who punches into a stable, nine-to-five job. Pays his taxes and has no fancy accountant to find loopholes in the tax code….
Oh, shit. It’s like slow motion watching him get out of his fancy black Audi and walk to the front door of the shop. I desperately wish I could just disappear.
I drop down, hoping he doesn’t see me hiding behind the counter. But when the silver bells on the door jingle and I hear Nellie’s uncharacteristically chipper voice saying, “Craving something sweet this early, Rafferty Graham?” I curse my luck.
His voice is less playful when he answers, “Something like that.”
“I meant candy.” Her voice now resembles a pout.
“Just dropping off a couple of things Nikki left—”
I pop up quickly, cutting him off, “Hey, did I leave my phone at the bar last night?”
He looks at me, slightly confused.
“You know when Jenny and I were there for girls’ night?”
Walking toward the counter, I see the dimple beneath the sexy scruff deepen, as if he’s amused by my attempt to cover my tracks, as he sets my phone and makeup bag on the counter. He does not even attempt to hide that he’s looking me over.
I shut my eyes and exhale, remembering how I look today. Not only is my hair in a give-a-shit-less bun, but my face is bare as a newborn baby’s behind—a very pale,