“You’ve got through the end of the week,” he says firmly. “Get your head on straight and come back fresh next Monday. Deal?”
“Deal,” I say, relieved.
“And kiddo?”
“Yes?”
His voice drops. “You’re a smart girl. You already know what to do with your accountant. Trust your gut.”
I can hear the air quotes around the word “accountant.”
“I would, but my gut is currently waging a bloody war between my head and my loins. Things are ugly. The casualties are piling up.”
He chuckles. “Ah, to be young with an overabundance of hormones. I’m so glad I’m old. Things are far less confusing.”
“You’re not old!”
“I’ve been alive twice as long as you have. That’s half a century.”
“Half a century isn’t old. My grandmother was ninety-two and still going strong the last time I saw her.”
“And I’ll bet she looked as fresh as a daisy, didn’t she?”
When I don’t say anything, he laughs. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Fifty isn’t old in mind or spirit, but trust me, kiddo, you get to my age and you start avoiding mirrors. Your skin becomes forested with weird moles. Sleeping the whole night through without having to get up to pee is a thing of the distant past. Anything that can possibly sag, wrinkle, or dangle, does.”
“Please excuse me while I go throw up.”
“Hey, don’t blame me for gravity.”
“I like you the way Newton liked gravity. Once he found it, everything else made sense.”
I close my eyes and rest my forehead against the cool metal housing of the pay phone, praying for some miracle that will block Killian’s words—and his beautiful face—from my mind.
“You still there?”
“Yes. Just wondering if there’s a way to bleach my brain of the hideous images you’ve branded onto it. I’m traumatized. I’ll never be able to look you in the eye again.”
“You’ll live. See you Monday.” He hangs up without waiting for a response.
The next call I make is to the voicemail Fin, Max, and I use for emergencies. I leave a message saying I’ll be out of town for a few days, but I’ll check in so they know I’m OK. Out of an overabundance of caution, I don’t say more. Especially not where I’m staying. I know they’ll understand.
I rent a room for the rest of the week at a motel right on the water’s edge. It has a view of the boats bobbing peacefully in the marina, a fully stocked minibar, and a whirlpool bathtub big enough for three people. If I thought heaven was anything like this, I might start trying to be a better person.
Then I call back the voicemail and tell Fin where I left my car in the mall so it doesn’t get towed. There’s a spare key in the kitchen drawer, but knowing her, she’ll hotwire it just to rub it in.
There’s a small gift shop in the motel lobby where I buy toothpaste and a few toiletries. A boutique down the street catering to tourists sells T-shirts and shorts, flip-flops and breezy, floral dresses. I splurge on several things, wondering when was the last time I bought myself clothes.
Unlike Fin, the fashion plate, or Max, who always looks like she’s auditioning for a role in the next installment of Tomb Raider, I’m usually dressed down in jeans.
I spend the afternoon wandering around on foot, no destination in mind. When the sun is sinking below the horizon and my empty stomach is protesting, I look for a place to eat dinner. I settle on an oyster bar with a crowded outdoor patio and a live band playing classic rock covers in one corner of the dining room.
I take a seat at the bar inside and order a chardonnay from the leather-skinned, wild-haired bartender, who is approximately two hundred years old. He tells me his name is Harley after the motorcycle, that he’s lived in this town since the day he was born, and also that he’s in love with me.
“I love you, too, Harley,” I tell him, smiling. “Let’s run away to Mexico together.”
He cackles, then sends a glance down the bar to my right. He lowers his voice. “I’d take you up on that, sweetheart, but I think you might have bigger fish to fry tonight.”
Following his head tilt, I turn in that direction.
Seated backward on a stool with both elbows propped up on the bar top, a man faces the crowd. Clad in denim, one long leg is stuck out into the aisle, the other