Lucky for me, Mondays are like my weekends. I took Tiny for a run along the beach, then we met Grams and Grandpa for coffee at Thistle Theory. I grabbed some more gardening supplies while I was there, then spent the rest of the morning in my garden, smiling to the sound of my phone beeping with messages from Isabelle. I was still wearing a stupid grin when I popped in to see Mum at her office with a takeout box of lemon doughnuts from Sweet Escape.
Mum didn’t know what to make of it. It’s not like I’ve been a miserable fuck for the last ten years. I’ve smiled and laughed, and had good days, but I guess they weren’t as big or common as I thought. I felt so guilty when Mum hugged me, with tears in her eyes, telling me that whatever I was doing, to keep doing it.
I don’t know what to make of the feelings Isabelle brings out in me. She has a charm that’s uniquely hers, that I can’t help but lean into. The light in her soul beckons to the darkness in mine, and all I want to do is follow. Follow that light. Chase it and possess it until she burns for me. She has a hold over methat I’m reluctant to fight. So, I went back to Sweet Escape for a maple cinnamon cannoli, and something with coconut for Caleb to cover up the fact that I was really coming to see Isabelle.
She hasn’t answered my last text before lunch, so I’m hoping she’s here. I walk through the open floor of desks, stopping when I see Riley, Caleb’s assistant, hanging over the cubicle wall, chatting to some woman who looks totally annoyed by his presence.
“Riley,” I call out.
He looks up, tilting his brows. “Hey, Gage, what are you doing down here?”
“I was just looking for Isabelle.”
At the curious arch of his eyebrows, I stutter out, “I had a meeting about Smoke and Barrel.”
“If you say so. Unfortunately, she went home sick.”
Panic washes over me like white hot fire. “Sick? What happened?”
“She and a few other girls went to some sushi place for lunch, and like an hour later, three of them were blowing chunks in the bathroom.”
“Riley, for fuck’s sake,” the woman says, “some of us are still eating our lunch.”
“It’s after two p.m., eat faster,” he sasses straight back with a roll of his eyes, then he nods his head in her direction. “This is my cousin, Raven.”
“Gage,” I say, extending my hand. “I’m friends with your Uncle Tuck.”
Riley looks at Raven. “Gage and Dad met at grief counselling, and then he bought the tattoo studio for Dad.”
“I didn’t buy it for him, I invested in his business.”
“He was on the brink of losing his studio cos he was behind on rent, and you bought the whole building,” Riley deadpans.
I shrug, wanting to move on from the conversation. I don’t help people for the accolades, and honestly, I don’t know how to take thanks or compliments. But more so, I want to shut downthis conversation so I can go and check on Isabelle. She was throwing up? How did she even get home? I’m sure she needs me.
“Okay, well, I guess I’ll go see Cale. Nice to meet you, Raven.” I wave and head back to the elevators, smashing the down button.
Isabelle’s apartment is only a few minutes’ drive from the office. I wonder if she walks to work every day. How did she get home if she was so sick?
I jump into my ute, tossing the bag of treats on the passenger seat and tear out of the underground parking garage. I make it to Isabelle’s in under five minutes, running up the three flights of stairs to her apartment and pounding on her door the second I reach it.
“Izzy, it’s Gage.”
I wait, pressing my ear against the door, not hearing anything.
I knock again a little louder. “Isabelle?”
“Can I help you?” I look over my shoulder.
An older woman stands in the doorway of her apartment on the other side of the hall, assessing me up and down.
“Isabelle left work early with food poisoning. Do you know if she made it home?”
“And who is she to you?” The woman folds her arms over her chest.
“She works with my brother, Caleb Heart.” I’m hoping our name is somewhat recognisable to this woman to find me reputable, but she continues to stare blankly at me.
“And she’s my…” What’s the answer to that question? “She’s mine.”
