I usually enjoyed waking up early. Even if I had a late shift the night before, I preferred to be up and at ‘em. But today, my head felt like someone had split my skull in two with a chisel and my entire body ached. Another hour of sleep would’ve helped.
My phone beeped with an incoming text. And then my email started to buzz. I’d dealt with migraines my entire life. This wasn’t a terrible one compared to some of the other ones I’d had in the past, but it was enough to make me want to stay in bed for the rest of the day.
Okay, to be honest last night’s surprise ambush to take over Bianca was the real reason I wanted to hide inside my three-bedroom loft with my blackout curtains drawn and Netflix rolling for the rest of forever and ever amen. The migraine was a byproduct of my recently imposed head chef position and all the stress that came with it.
Groaning into my plush pillow, I blindly reached for my phone, patting the nightstand until I nearly knocked it to the floor. It started ringing just as I grabbed it.
Without bothering to look at the number, I pushed it against my ear and croaked a garbled, “Hello.”
There was a beat of hesitation before my mom said, “Dillon? Is that you?”
Rolling over, I faced the curtains that hadn’t been fully drawn last night. A glimmer of early morning light slipped between the opening. Downtown was just on the other side of those dark curtains. The city would be waking up soon. Trucks would start delivering their goods to nearby businesses. Men and women with briefcases and suits would start dotting the sidewalks as they trudged their way from nearby parking garages to their high-rise office buildings. A man with a pushcart of coffee, fresh fruit, and savory hand pies would appear on my corner—like an angel sent to earth every morning, winning over humanity one delicious, flaky, buttery crust at a time.
I loved living in the middle of Durham city life. I loved the hustle and bustle. I loved my expensive loft that overlooked the high rises and gritty streets and was way too big for just little old me. I loved the doorman that let me double park and helped me with groceries because I kept him fully stocked with leftovers from Lilou and chocolate croissants I made every weekend.
Waking up in my giant, king-sized bed with my down comforter and ten pillows in this city I loved so very much was the best way I could imagine a morning. And it eased some of my fears concerning Bianca.
Not much. But some.
My headache pulsed at my temples, reminding me that there was still plenty to fret over.
“Hi, Mom,” I told the woman on the other end of the phone. “You’re up super early. Is everything okay?”
I said the Baptistes had the early morning bug. Not my mom. She could easily sleep till noon and not even notice. The woman was a total night owl. All my life, I’d hear her moving around at all hours of the night. I always had to rouse her to eat lunch the next day.
“Is it early there?” She sounded distracted. “I forgot about the time change.”
I scrunched my eyes closed and searched for the missing information. My mom lived in Durham. If it was early for me, it would be early for her. “Where are you?”
“Dillon, I told you. Tony and I are spending the summer in Paris.”
“You did not tell me that.”
She sighed, thoughtful. “Yes, I did. Of course, I did.”
I blinked at my curtains. “I think I would have remembered you were spending the next three months in France.”
“Maybe you’re right.” She laughed at herself. “Sorry, darling. Tony and I are spending the summer in France touring. We’ll be home by Thanksgiving.”
That was more than just the summer, but I rarely argued logistics with my mom. “You’re going to miss Killian’s wedding.”
I heard a smack on the other end and knew she’d slapped her hand over her forehead—a trait we shared. “Oh, I totally forgot they moved the wedding up.”
“It’s because Vera’s knocked up.” I tsked conspiratorially, totally joking.
“Shotgun wedding then,” my mom teased in return. “I always knew if Killian were to get married, someone was going to have to be held at gunpoint. Although, honestly I always thought it would be that girl.” She took a breath. If I didn’t have a migraine, I would have cut her off before she could speak again. But the pain in my head was throwing me off my game. “You know, I always thought he would fall in love with you, Dilly Bar. I was so surprised when you told me he’d met someone else.”
I bit back a groan, we’d had this conversation at least one thousand times. Maybe more. Even before Vera showed up, I’d constantly had to remind her that nothing would ever happen with Killian and me. We were like brother and sister. Sure, I looked up to him. I respected him. I was going to totally take advantage of his offer to help with my transition to Bianca. But romantically we were about as compatible as a kitten and a stampeding elephant.
I was the kitten in this scenario.
Obvi.
“Mom, Vera is amazing for Killian. She can handle all his… bullying. They’re basically the most perfect couple that has ever existed.” She made a sound in the back of her throat so I quickly added, “After you and Tony, of course.”
I could hear her smile all the way from France. “You’re too sweet, baby.”
Laughing at her easy retreat, I rolled on my back and adjusted to the pain shooting through my head. I needed some drugs. Fast. Which meant, I would need to disentangle myself from a conversation that could go on for the next four hours.
