“From who?” she retorts. “Say their name.” I don’t answer her. “Exactly, I’m gone. Tell Jefferson she’s a little bitch for eating the string to my bikini.”
“That was two months ago,” I shout to her back, “and I got you a replacement!”
She doesn’t answer, she just shuts the door with a bang. I look at the phone next to me, seeing it’s after four. I pick it up and decide to just call Lexi. She answers after two rings. “Hey,” she answers and I can almost see her smile on her face.
“Hey,” I say back to her, looking at the salad in my bowl and pushing it in front of me.
“How are you?” she asks and then quickly follows up with another question, “Are you back?”
“I’m good. I’m back,” I reply. “Got back a little bit ago.
“Are you at the office?” I ask, not really caring but figuring I can perhaps keep her on the phone longer.
“Nope,” she replies, “it was a work-from-home day.”
“How come you haven’t invited me to see your house?” The minute I ask her the question, I close my eyes and I want to kick myself in the balls.
She laughs. “I don’t know, I guess I haven’t had the opportunity to. Would you like to come over and see my house?”
“Now?” I ask her, wanting to go and see her desperately.
“If you are free.” She chuckles. “You can come over now.”
“Drop me a pin,” I tell her. I wait, looking at the phone for what feels like five years but is actually a couple of seconds. “I’m about twenty minutes away.”
“Okay, I’ll be here.”
I hang up the phone, rushing to my bedroom and grabbing my keys before running out and into my SUV. I stop at the place where I saw her for the first time after she left Trent and she got the cinnamon rolls I know she loved.
When I pull up to the house, I take a second to look at it, smiling when I get out and see her in the doorway. “Wow,” I say to her, pulling the sunglasses off my face. “She owns more jeans,” I say of the jean skirt she’s wearing. It’s all the way to her ankles but has a huge V split in the front, showing her legs. Her midriff is out again because of her white, sleeveless tank top.
“I have a whole row of jeans now,” she announces, a smile on her face as she moves away from the door. “Kirby,” she says my name with a sly smile, “welcome to my home.” She moves away from the door for me to step in and all I can do is smile at her. Lucky for me the box of cinnamon rolls is in my hand, so I don’t wrap my arms around her and give her the biggest hug—followed by kissing the ever-loving shit out of her—and then fucking her against the wall. “Let me give you a tour, and then we can sit down.”
“I brought you these,” I say, holding up the box. “They’re the cinnamon rolls you love.”
She gasps, “I was literally craving one this afternoon and then told myself that if I was good all week long, it could be my treat on Saturday. But if they’re here, it’s rude for me not to eat one.” She looks at me. “Right?”
“It shouldn’t be a treat on a Saturday,” I tell her. “You should eat it when you want to eat it. Like on a Tuesday night or a Wednesday lunch. You don’t have to justify it,” I reply as she walks sideways.
“This is the kitchen,” she says of the little kitchen off the entrance. “It’s nothing big but?—”
“It’s perfect,” I tell her as I follow her into the living and dining area. I see a round glass table with her laptop on it and her notebook beside it with writing scribbled all down the page.
“I was working before I was so rudely interrupted by someone.” She points to the table and I roll my eyes. “It’s only two bedrooms.” She walks to the small hallway off the dining area, and I stick my head in the spare bedroom, seeing there are just racks of clothes and then stop when I look at the other side, seeing her bedroom. The big king-size bed is in the middle with two bedside tables, but my eyes go to the frames I had made for her above her bed. “The best part is here.” She grabs my hand and drags me back to the living room and then out the glass door to the balcony area. “I do yoga right there every single morning.” She points to the side where there is a rolled-up yoga mat lying. “Right when the sun is rising.” She lets my hand go and I want to snatch it back. “It’s small compared to your place.”
“It’s perfect for you,” I tell her softly, “and exactly how I thought it would look.”
The smile on her face is worth all the money in the world. “It’s windy today,” she mentions. “Let’s go inside.” She turns and walks inside. “Sit down.” She points to the couch. “I’ll go get the cinnamon rolls.”
I walk over to the couch and stop when I see what’s in the frame next to the television. I walk over to it, picking it up. “You saved it?” I ask her and she looks over at me from the kitchen, grabbing a plate out from the cupboard.
“I did,” she confirms, coming back into the room with a tray in her hand, containing two plates with two bottles of water, as she places it on the coffee table. “It’s special. It was the one thing that made me see the light. It’s gotten me through some tough times. You probably had no idea when you wrote it how much it would change my life.” She sits on the couch, grabbing a plate, and then leaning back tucking her feet under her. “I have news,” she says and I walk over and sit beside her, but not close enough for me.
“Tell me.”
She takes a bite of the cinnamon roll before she leans over and places the plate on the table. “I was thinking about what you said on Saturday, so on Sunday I reached out to Matty and Zara,”
she shares, and I can see the tears well up in her eyes. My hand automatically goes out to rest over her curled-up legs. “I apologized to them for not being there,” she says through a shaky voice. “I’m not sure I can say this without crying.”
