Maybe Riri’s right.
Because in that helicopter—while I was convinced my obituary was being written in real time—I didn’t think about Craig’s bullshit or whether I’d screw up the project. I was just…alive. Heart hammering, completely present in my own skin.
Maybe she knew that sometimes you need to be shaken up, thrown in a helicopter with a brooding Yorkshireman, just to remember you’re more than the tiny, careful box you’ve been hiding in.
I pull my knees to my chest, still in my coat, still crying, and watch the sea crash against the cliffs.
“You’ve been crying for my entire session.”
The voice comes from nowhere and I nearly shit myself.
I twist toward the window, expecting Riri’s ghost.
Instead, there’s a girl on the grass outside flowing through yoga poses. She looks to be around my age, wearing leggings and a vest top, with her hair in a messy bun. She straightens, bends into a sideways arch, and waves casually.
My mouth drops open. “You heard all that? I’m mortified.”
“Don’t apologize for having feelings,” she says, still twisted. “Tears are just emotions leaving the body. Like emotional piss. You clearly needed a good emotional piss.”
I burst out laughing despite myself. “That’s the most disturbing description of crying I’ve ever heard.”
“I’m Fee.” She unfolds herself, barely out of breath, and offers a hand through the open window. “I’m guessing you’re my new roommate?”
“Georgie,” I say, shaking it. “And this is probably the worst first impression in the history of cohabitation.”
“You just got here?”
“Yeah. Via helicopter, believe it or not.”
“Shut. Up. Only the VIPs get the chopper. The rest of us suffer four hours of winding roads.”
“Oh no, I’m definitely not a VIP. Patrick just happened to be heading this way. I got… bundled along.”
“Patrick McLaren?” she practically shrieks. “You must be someone.”
“Hardly. It was more like a charitable airlift. HR realized I was landing at the same time and took pity.”
Her eyes widen. “What’s he like?”
I shift nervously. “He was… fine. Professional.”
What Idon’tmention is that Patrick knows my brother. Because people either assume I’m some sort of corporate spy who’ll report them for taking extended lunch breaks, or they suddenly become my best mate, casually asking if I couldperhaps drop their name to Patrick—no pressure, but they’re passionate about hospitality and did I happen to notice they’re Employee of the Month?
As if I have that kind of influence with him.
She tilts her head. “What are you here for?”
“IT stuff. I work at HQ in London. They’ve shipped me up here for a special project.”
Fee nods. “Sothat’swhy you were crying.”
I snort. “Pretty much. What about you? What do you do here?”
“Yoga instructor,” she says, rolling her shoulder in a way that would probably dislocate mine. “Been here about three weeks now. Just got back from leading a wellness retreat in Peru.”
“Wow. That’s incredible.” Meanwhile, my last trip was a three-day work conference in Slough.
“Hang on, I’ll come in.”
