Yes.
But I.
And that’s the last thing I remember before the world goes a cozy shade of dark.
13
MISSION ACCOMPLISHED SHOULD FEEL BETTER, SHOULDN’T IT?
Bea
The next morning,I’m sitting sideways at the little nook in Daphne’s kitchen where we regularly have coffee and tea together, frowning at my computer that’s resting on my pajama-clad knees, as I scroll my social feeds.
Everyone in town has an opinion about the opening of JC Fig.
It’s three posts about Simon and me for every one post about the actual restaurant opening. And of the posts about us, over half of them mention him breaking down the restroom door—while holding a bottle of champagne—to rescue me when the doorknob broke.
Which the firefighters confirmed.
The doorknob was broken. There’s no way I could’ve gotten out on my own, and there’s no way I could’ve broken the doorknob, or if I did, it was because it was so old that it was bound to break no matter what.
And now I’m vindicated.
Mission accomplished.
With dozens and dozens of pictures of Simon carrying me out of JC Fig floating around local social media to boot.
Several of them with the Camilles gawking awkwardly in the background.
I should be thrilled.
Instead, Simon’s rambly comments about not liking me because I used him are rolling over in my head.
“I was going to come in here and high-five you, but you don’t look like it’s a high-five morning,” Daphne says.
I scroll and read another post, and I frown harder. “It was…an unexpected evening.”
“I didn’t rig the door to break and lock you inside. For the record. I wouldn’t do that.”
“She did try to order seventy cheese fondues to go when she stole my credit card though,” a new voice says.
“A thousand dollars is like less than a penny to you.”
I lift my head and blink at Daphne’s older sister, then feel a real smile bloom on my face for the first time since Simon passed out on my burger bus chef’s table last night. “Hey, Margot. I didn’t know you were here. Sorry for taking your usual room.”
She’s taller than Daphne by a couple inches, a little more slender, with blue eyes and hair that indistinct shade right between light brown and blond. Her pajama shorts are adorned with cartoon mice, which is the last thing I ever expected the first time I saw Daph’s uber-elegant, strait-laced, CEO-track sister.
She reaches into a cabinet for a coffee mug and smiles back at me. “No problem. Good excuse to make Daphne clear off her bed so we could have a slumber party.”
“A snoring party is more like it.” Daphne grabs the electric teakettle and fills it with water. “You need to see a doctor to get that addressed. Or maybe—I know this is gonna sound crazy, but hear me out—maybe you should sleep well enough during the week that you don’t crash so hard every weekend.”
Margot casually flips her off, and I smile bigger.
“Could you all shut up?” Hudson mutters from the couch in the next room. “Some of us need fourteen hours of sleep every night.”
“Like you’re not partying your heart out and sleeping no more than five hours a night at college,” Daphne calls.
“Yeah. Duh. That’s why I need sleep in the summer.”
