On the Run (Whispering Key #2) - May Archer Page 0,94

maybe I’ll just send it to you and let you forward it on?” she asked hopefully.

“Oh. Sure.” I swallowed. “I… I missed you, too,” I rushed out belatedly, then rolled my eyes at myself.

Jeanette might not have been entirely wrong about me losing my sass since I left the Key. I was positively soggy.

“Aww, honey.” Jonquil’s voice was warm as sunshine. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think that you must still be busy with your emergency. Is it a family issue? Or work? Are you sick? I would have asked about it first thing, but I didn’t want to be nosy. I mean, I did want to be nosy, but I held back,” she said solemnly. “Until now. And don’t you fret about this flyer thing. I’m sure it can wait a day or two if you don’t have a chance to handle it right yet.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just…” I bit my lip. “I figured you’d want someone from the Key to handle this, that’s all.”

Jonquil sounded bewildered. “But… you are from the Key, honey. Or close enough. It’s like you’re commuting for work, or off at college, or something! This might not be where you get your mail delivered just now, but it will be, once you and Beale get married.”

Shit. Littlejohn’s explanation of a family emergency hadn’t covered the whole Beale-and-I-aren’t-together thing, had it?

“Jonquil,” I began. “You see…”

“Or not married, per se,” she hurried on, like she was worried she’d offended me. “I just meant, until you can be together more permanently, that’s all. I hope it’s soon. Poor Beale hasn’t smiled in days and days, and that’s not like him.” She sighed sadly. “All the crystals in the Universe can’t guard a body from missing the one he cares about, huh?”

My heart twisted, and I let out a little puff of breath like I’d been punched in the stomach.

I’d very specifically not asked Littlejohn about Beale, and if I were being honest, the reason I hadn’t called Mase to clear the air was because I was afraid he’d volunteer information I didn’t want to hear.

Like that Beale was making voodoo dolls in my image using all the toiletries I’d left behind in the pool house bathroom.

Or that he’d finally spoken his soul mate into existence, and they were off on some plover-counting honeymoon, chuckling about that moment of temporary insanity when Beale had screwed around with me.

I hadn’t known until Jonquil spoke that thinking of Beale being that unhappy nearly a week later was worse than either of those outcomes.

“Still,” Jonquil continued, “when I told him I was gonna call you today, he said that sounded like a great idea, and you always had the best advice even when you didn’t think you did, which I thought was real sweet.”

Oh, damn. Another gut punch. “He… he said that?” I whispered.

“Sure. He loves you an awful lot. Even Barbara Patenaude could see that, and that woman is a slave to her cataracts. You know, I’ve always said she should’ve…”

I stared out the window at the beautiful, not-quite-right skyline, and right there, while Jonquil Pepper chattered on about eye surgery or some shit, I had what my mother used to call a come-to-Jesus moment.

I missed Beale. God, I missed him.

I wasn’t just sad that I’d been dumped by a guy, or feeling salty and unwanted. It wasn’t that my pride was injured, or my confidence was bruised. I genuinely missed him. Specifically Beale Goodman.

I missed him in a way that I doubted all the Blue Bunny Peanut Butter Party ice cream in the tristate area could soothe.

I missed his smile and his warm embrace.

I missed the way he made me feel safe.

I missed the way everything seemed possible with him.

And it didn’t matter that I’d been back in New York longer than I’d been in Florida. It didn’t matter that we were polar opposites. It didn’t matter that I knew better, or that our relationship had been a lie.

This part—the missing-him part—was very real.

A little over two weeks ago, I’d found myself on Whispering Key with none of the things I valued in the world—no money, no contacts, no best friend, no privacy—and instead I’d gotten Beale…

And if I had the chance, I’d trade it all again and consider it a fucking bargain.

But I didn’t know how to make Beale give me that chance.

“So anyway, about the bridge,” Jonquil finally said. “Guess you’ve heard there might not be a concert at the Extravaganza after all.”

I blinked

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