“What?”
“Please use another word. I hate that one.”
“Which one?” I asked, utterly confused.
“The ‘m’ word.”
“Moist?”
He winced again. “Yes. That one.”
“Why don’t you like the word moist?” I asked.
“Cari.”
“What? Moist isn’t a bad word. I’m just wondering why you don’t like it.” I drew the word out. “Moooist. See? It’s not too bad.”
“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” he asked.
“Doing what?”
“Repeating that word over and over just to torture me.”
I lifted my coffee cup to hide my grin. “Of course not.”
“And that’s as true as saying I have a tail,” he muttered, crossing the kitchen to the fridge.
“Vampires have tails?” I asked, keeping my tone as innocent as possible.
“Stop bedeviling me and make the toast,” he commanded.
Yesterday, I would have argued. Maybe even thrown the coffee mug at his head.
Today, I just grinned wider and took a step to my left, toward the bread box.
Maybe the next few days wouldn’t be as unbearable as I’d expected.
After breakfast, we both got ready to head into town. When we climbed into Daniel’s SUV, he pulled my cell phone from his pocket and held it out to me.
“Please text your friend back. I think she sent you at least ten messages last night.”
I frowned. That meant Sela was having a bad night. When her anxiety was up, she struggled with insomnia and would sometimes text me throughout the night. If I was up, I would text back. If I wasn’t, I usually slept through it because, once I was out, I stayed out. Bethany used to joke that I fell into a coma every night because I slept so deeply.
“Thanks,” I said, taking it from him.
I scrolled through Sela’s messages. Most of them were silly observations and memes. Maybe she wasn’t having a bad night but trying to cheer me up instead.
Her final message read: Let me know you’re okay when you get up.
I pressed my lips together as the urge to cry gripped my throat. I loved this woman. And she loved me.
I had to think about what to say to her because I never lied. Not even in a text. I’d been so consumed with everything happening with Daniel the last two days that I’d barely been processing the loss of Bethany.
Finally, I settled on the version of the truth that would be the easiest to explain.
I’m dealing. Sort of. There’s a lot going on here and I can’t do any of it without Bernie, so I haven’t had time to really think about why I’m here.
I hit send. Then, I typed one more message.
