At least the shower wokeme up some. I’m not sure what I’m going to do with myself today. Or for the rest of my “vacation” for that matter. Probably ought to call Zoe first. I figure we can meet up for lunch and then maybe I’ll… Christ, I have no idea. I’m not a city guy. That ought to be clear to Zoe from the way Imoved to a freaking cabin in the woods instead of sticking around Boston like the rest of our family or moving to New York like her.
But no, somehow she’s convincedthisis just what I need. And when Zoe gets an idea into her head?—
My phone, still sitting on the nightstand back in the adjoining bedroom, rings out loudly with an incoming call.
“Hey, Zo,” I say as I sink down on the bed.
“Hey, cuz. Sleep good? George and I went shopping for linens for him together, so I happen to know he has some really nice sheets…”
There’s a playful hint of innuendo in her voice, despite George himself being several hundred miles away, and this being entirely a platonic real estate arrangement. But thecommentdoesmake me realize I am sitting wet and wrapped in nothing but a towel on those fine linens. I jump up.
“Fine. I slept fine. Except for all the traffic. And the sirens. And the occasional random person yelling in the street at two in the morning.”
“Aw, poor baby. I know the city’s not your thing, but I am selfishly glad to have you here. I miss you, you know.”
I feel some of the tension in my shoulders soften. I miss her too. We were best friends growing up. And since Uncle Max died, Zo is the only person in my family who simply accepts me for who I am. No judgement. No passive-aggressive attempts to change me. Okay, she does have a tendency to think she knows what’s best and to insert herself into my business accordingly—this entire housing swap thing is case-in-point. But I love her, and we really don’t get to spend much time together these days, especially since Iinherited the cabin and moved to Moonlake Village.
“So you want to meet up for lunch?”
“Didn’t you get my note?”
“No. I found one from George—” it still feels wrong to call him that, but I’m not sure what else I’m supposed to call him—”But I didn’t see one from you.”
“In the kitchen. Anyway, I’m on a deadline. Have to submit a piece by end of day. But I left you a list.”
“A list?” I’m back in the kitchen now, looking around.
“Yeah, you know. Things to do around the city. I’ll catch up with you later, but the list ought to keep you busy until then.”
I spot an envelope with my name on it leaning against a mug in the shadow of the monstrosity of a coffee machine. No wonder I hadn’t noticed it. I open it up and look at it. Good God. It looks like a full itinerary for a week-long vacation.
“Now, I want you to promise to do everything on that list.”
“Zoe—”
“Ah, ah… Owen Wilde, I did not bring you to the city so you could sit admiring George’s walls all day.”
I look up at the walls. They have some excellent crown molding on them, actually. I don’t think Zoe would take kindly to me saying so, though.
“Zoe, this list is?—”
“Just what you need. Promise me.”
I have two problems now. Zoe is definitely not leaving me alone until I promise. And I don’t make promises I don’t intend to keep.
Oh, and she knows it. So three problems, maybe. Or really just one…
“Fine.” I groan at last. “I’ll try.”
“That’s all I can ask!” I can practically hear her grinning through the phone. “Talk to you later, darling! I expect a full report.”
She hangs up, leaving me wet and naked in a stranger’s apartment with a mile-long to-do list and absolutely no desire to do any of it. Great. Well, I’m not obsessing about Beau at the moment, I’ll give her that.
A little while later,I’vegotten dressed, read over the list, and scrounged up what breakfast I could in the form of some leftover Chinese in the fridge (Knight wasn’tkidding about the pickings being slim). I really ought to start tackling Zoe’s list. I’m pretty suresheisn’t kidding about expecting a report. She means well, but it’s going to be a long “vacation” at this rate.
Not feeling quite ready to face the first item on the list, I find myself poking around the apartment, exploring my temporary home. It isn’t a huge place, maybe twice the size of my tinycabin—though by New York standards I understand that to be pretty damn spacious—and it’s neatly decorated, but spare. The living room has a leather sofa and chairs, a TV, some art on the walls, a sideboard, and even a plant in the corner. No holiday decorations, I note. I guess George isn’t a big Christmas guy.
The bedroom, as I’ve already noted, is even more sparse. A low dresser, a bed, a single nightstand. The place feels empty. And while I don’t feel right speculating, I can’t help but think it looks like someone has taken out half the stuff and no one has bothered to fill in the space left behind. I’m uncomfortably aware of the very public breakup between Knight and Luca Santoro. It isn’t like Knight has kept literal space open for him – there isn’t half an empty closet or a faded square on the wall where a photo used to hang. Instead, it’s more like there isn’t quite enough to make the rooms feel fully lived in… It’s lonely, I guess.
