Chapter 33
Flint
I’m happily dozing Friday morning, vaguely aware that the sun is peeking through the blue checkered curtains Opal insisted on putting in here for me when I moved in, under the massive quilt that was a gift from a student my first year of teaching, playing big spoon to Maisey’s warm, lush body, when she bolts upright with a gasp. “My phone.”
“It’s here,” I mumble. I smack my nightstand on her other side, find it, and hand it to her. “Why?”
“This isyourphone.”
“Hmm?”
She sighs. “Go back to sleep, goofy.”
The mattress shakes as she climbs off it. I watch through half-closed eyes, enjoying the view of naked Maisey moving around my bedroom, but not so much enjoying the sight of her pulling on her leggings and her sweatshirt. “I think I left it in my truck when I got here last night. Right back.”
“Better,” I say through a yawn.
My favorite thing about Maisey?
She doesn’t hold back. She doesn’t play games. She says what she’s feeling. She tells me what she wants. She’s not afraid to talk about herinsecurities and what she views as her failings, and she’s not afraid of the work it takes to get what she wants and needs.
Yeah, that’s a lot of favorite things.
But they’re all true.
My stomach grumbles, so I pull myself out of bed, dig into my dresser for a pair of pajama pants while Maisey hunts around my living room and kitchen. “I’m running outside quick,” she tells me when I step out of the bedroom. “I really do think I left it in the truck.”
“I’ll be here to warm you up. Coffee’s coming.”
She smiles over her shoulder, her hair a disaster, her cheeks pink, and her lips whisker burned, and dashes outside. I yawn through realizing I should’ve offered to go get her phone out of her truck for her, but it’s too late.
Plus, one other thing I like about Maisey?
She’d tell me that I do enough for other people and she can do this for herself.
So I start coffee instead.
I’ve just hit the button on the pot when I hear a strangled noise that wakes me up faster than caffeine ever could. I’m out the door before I register that I’m barefoot, but the frost and subfreezing temperature don’t bother me.
Not after one look at Maisey’s face.
“What?” I stop on the freezing gravel driveway right next to her. “What?”
She gulps for air while she lifts her phone to her ear. “Junie’s missing.”
“What?”
“Shh.”
June’s voice comes through the phone. I can’t hear her words, but I can hear her tone, and it’s a punch to the gut.
She’s crying.
No, she’ssobbing.
Maisey’s blinking rapidly, her chin trembling, while she listens. “That utterasshole,” she chokes out.
I cup her elbow, straining to get close enough to hear June’s words. My heart’s in my throat, and I can’t imagine what Maisey’s feeling right now.
