Me:U want to come meet me at the shop when I get off?
Me:If ur done in time
Me:Totally fine if not
And then an hour later:
Me:I miss u too *sun emoji*
Me:How r u planning to make it up to me?
And finally, twenty minutes ago:
Me:Some guy came into the shop asking for me yesterday
Me:Reaganand Mitchel told me
Me:I know it’s not Josh. Fuckers halfway across the country but I’m stupid and I can’t help thinking it’s him
Me:I miss you Jesse
Thank fuck the days are long enough now that it’s not dark out. And it’s not like there aren’t tons of people out and about. Add in the fact that I’m just being totally stupid by freaking out overnothing, and I don’t have a damn thing to worry about.
Except the whole walk home, I can’t get that nasty, creepy-crawly feeling out from under my skin.
By the time Ifinallyget to our building, I’m tempted to head straight up to Jesse’s place and wait for him there. My stash of romance novels—all recs courtesy of Reagan—is there, and I could just zone out with the latest one I’ve been reading until Jesse comes home.
It’s a totally tempting thought. And, not gonna lie, so is making a dash up Jesse’s stairs and into his apartment rather than having to walkfartherback down the dark alleyway behind our building so I can get tomyset of stairs. Being back here in the shadows, out of sight of everyone else on the street, is making me all kinds of jumpy tonight.
Not to mention the fact that, even without him there, just being in my sunshine’s space feels like home.
I can’t let myself forget about Mitchel asking if I could bring in more paintings though. If I don’t get my ass in gear and work on some pieces thataren’tmy secret project, I’m not gonna have anything to bring in next time he needs more.
Am I gonna ditch whatever I’m working on and headstraight over to Jesse’s the moment he gets back? Damn right I am. At least I can make a bit of progress first though.
So, ignoring the way it makes the back of my neck go all cold and clammy and the way my stupid-ass hands shake so bad it’s hard to fish my keys out of my pocket, I keep going.
49
Tristan
I’m just getting into my painting, finally starting to get my stupid thoughts to calm down, when my phone goes off. Scares the hell out of me for half a second before I realize it’s Jesse’s ringtone.
“Tris?” Fuck, but just hearing his voice makes me feel safer than I’ve felt all day. “Where are you?”
Even though the connection’s a bit choppy, there’s no missing the panicky edge to his half-whispered words. And now I feel like shit ‘cause he’s clearly freaking out over my stupid-ass paranoia, and I’m just here. In my apartment. Painting like normal.
“Home.” I practically choke over the word. “My place. Look, sunshine, about earlier, I was just being stupid—”
“You’reneverstupid, Tris,” he cuts me off. He sounds a bit clearer, like he’s got better service, and I totally feel like I can see the way he’d look right now. All serious, with that little crease between his eyebrows. “And if you’re worried about something, then you have every reason to be. I’m still in the library, but as soon as your texts came through, I found a spot with enough service to call to make sure you’re alright. Youarealright, right?”
“Yeah.” Except that he’s gone and made my throat go all tight and achy and my heart all fluttery-melty-warm, and suddenly, I want to see him so bad I’m not sure I’ll be able to really breathe until he gets here.
I can hear the relief in the rush of his exhale. “I have to go back to grab my things, but I’m packing up the second we get off the phone. Stay in your apartment, okay?”
I nod like an idiot, forgetting he can’t actually see me.
“I—” he hesitates, lets out another heavy breath. Shaky this time. “I’ll be there soon, Tris.”
