“Barely,” I said, shrugging off my bag. “Have you ever traveled a long distance with Dig? I had to suffer through eight hours of an a cappella version ofHamiltonwhen Jordan refused toconnect his Bluetooth to the car.” I tossed my messenger bag onto the island. It split open, spilling receipts, ChapStick caps, and what might have been a half-eaten granola bar onto the counter. My camera tumbled out next.
Dig deposited the salt lamp onto the immaculate kitchen island with a thud that made all three of us flinch. “She insisted it come with us. For balance or witchcraft. It wasn’t clear.”
“It’s grounding,” I said, slipping out of my Birkenstocks, depositing them swiftly by the back door in a pile where there was no pile of shoes. “Besides, it gives off good light for indoor photos if the sun refuses to play along. Trick I picked up in Scotland. From, yeah… she was probably a witch.” I lifted my camera from the table and scanned the penthouse through the lens. “We should plug it in over there, by the TV stand.”
Jordan visibly winced.
Doyle’s smile stretched too tight, his flawless life wrapped around him like armor. And there I was, dragging the ghosts of situationships past, impulse buys, and a dog who smelled like corn chips into his clean snow globe.
And suddenly, I hated how tired I was. Like I’d already overstayed a welcome I hadn’t even used yet.
“Can we get you anything?” Doyle asked. “Food? Drink? Skincare?” He pointed vaguely toward the bathroom. “I picked up some essentials for you. Jordan said you didn’t exactly have a routine.”
I shrugged off the jab, snapping a quick photo of my brother leaning on the counter. “I need to take Nancy out. Do you want to come with me? Maybe we can catch up?”
Doyle’s face flickered. “Can’t. We’ve got a thing tonight, remember?”
“You said you’d be here tonight,” I replied dryly.
“I left chicken and quinoa in the fridge,” he said, ignoring me and patting my arm. “And ginger ale. But easy on the bubbles.”
I blinked. “Should I come with you? To your thing? I can change.”
Doyle and Jordan exchanged a married-people look. One that said,You should handle this one, and Jordan stepped in. “You should rest. We’ll get you settled in Savannah soon enough.”
Dig let out a low whistle. “Oof.”
I didn’t reply. I nodded and kept busy looking for the good light in the penthouse through my camera. The undeniable sting, however, was there. But I did what I’d always done and shrugged it off, keeping myself busy under the guise of a woman who desperately didn’t want anyone to see how much she was hurting.
After they left, I changed into a sundress, dabbed on some unnecessarily expensive lipstick Doyle had set out for me, and tried—really tried—to feel like a person. Like someone worth bringing along. And, more importantly, like someone who had reset the timer on the last time she had gotten sick.Ten minutes.
I ran my fingers through my curls, stepped into my sandals, looked in the mirror, and told myself,You’re not the sad girl in the movie. You’re the one who figures it out.
Nancy wagged her tail like she bought it.
Dig and I took the elevator down to the lobby, and he jabbered on about his weekend plans. I nodded along, but my stomach was twisting. Once he left, I’d be solo with a poodle and my well-meaning, overly bearing brothers. Not exactly the dream scenario.
Hoyt waved us toward the back alley and nodded toward a nearby square for Nancy’s walk. “Avoid the front of the shop,” he said, grimacing. “Your brother’s hosting a wine tasting tonight. You don’t want to accidentally crash into his friends—you’ll want a proper introduction.”
I shot Dig a look that begged him not to open his big mouth—wide-eyed panic and silent pleading in full effect.
But, well… Dig did what he always does.
“So he wants to hide this insanely gorgeous woman from his stupid friends? Seems like maybe his friends are the ones who should have the honor of gracing my best friend’s otherworldly presence.” He gave a little shimmy, flicked imaginary hair from his shoulders, and I could do nothing but slap on a smile and herd him toward the back entrance.
We stepped into the sticky Savannah night, the air thick with gardenia and the heat of my own embarrassment, blinking against the sting of tears in my eyes.
Dig fell into step beside me, unusually quiet for someone who normally narrated everything from sidewalk cracks to passing clouds. I suspected his silence wasn’t just a pause—it was calculated. Protective. Watching, waiting to see if anyone dared to jump out of the shadows and mess with me.
“Can we agree that this is really shitty?” I asked when we hit the edge of the alley and stepped onto the street.
Dig nodded. “We can agree on that, yes. But, aside from what I said back there, I do think you all need some time to adjust.”
“Are you actually in agreement with my brother?” I scoffed.
He turned to me and took my hands in his, his face unreadable to the naked eye—but I knew that look. Even though he’d put someone through a wall for me, there was still a thread of pity there. “I found a hotel a few blocks away. I need to check in. You good?”
I let out a small, bitter laugh. “Peachy.”
