Grilled cheese and tomato soup.
The real kind. Not that watery canned nonsense.
Ahh, you’re a classic. Nostalgic.
Let me guess—childhood favorite?
Maybe.
That’s a yes.
My mom used to make it for me growing up.
That’s nice. She sounds like a good mom.
She was. It was kind of our thing. On cold days. Long days. Basically any day, especially ones that needed a reset.
I get that. Everyone needs a reset meal. For me it’s peanut butter on toast. Judge all you want.
Absolutely judging.
But also… respectable.
I’m adding grilled cheese and tomato soup to my list. For science.
And I expect a full review. With photos.
Deal. No promises on presentation. I’m told my cheese melting skills are subpar.
The suitcase gapesopen on my bed, a colorful swirl of indecision spilling out of it. Bikinis, sarongs, linen pants, dress pants, work dresses, sundresses, heels, flats, even a floppy sun hat I bought years ago but never had the guts to wear.
What does one even wear to a high-stakes pitch event disguised as paradise? Professional yet relaxed? Chic but not overdone?
I’m overthinking it. And being ridiculous. The whole thing has my stomach twisted in knots.
Except… it’s not solely the event that’s doing the twisting.
The real for my gastric issues is because it’s been weeks. Three to be exact. Twenty plus days since Nolan Rhodes sent me a galaxy, then vanished from my life like he was never in it.
And every single day since, I’ve thought about him.
I’ve told myself I shouldn’t. That it was nothing. A moment. A misstep. A detour I should have never taken.
The truth is, I haven’t gone a single day without hoping I’ll bump into him at a networking thing, or glance across the room at happy hour and find that infuriating smirk aimed at me.
I’ve even started frequenting Muncan’s a little too often. Now I have enough frozen steaks and seasonal sausage in my freezer to start a carnivore podcast. Pretty sure the butcher knows my cholesterol score better than my doctor.
But I haven’t seen him. Haven’t run into him. Haven’t heard a thing.
Not a word. Not an email. Not a breadcrumb in the digital void.
Just silence.
Which, is what he wanted. Brakes applied.Hard.Well, slammed, really.
Fine.
Besides, I should be excited. This trip could change everything for The Laurel Group.For me.
