Turns out, someone liked me enough to trip over their own feet.
Turns out, I didn’t completely dislike that someone’s attention.
I think my mother notices. Calanthe definitely does. Neither mentions it in front of my father, who’s slowly regaining his upbeat demeanor thanks to Lisa entreating him for help in the kitchen.
When Diego and Dorian come to fetch my parents to drive them to the airstrip, Mom insists on dropping me off on the way.
“I honestly prefer to have dinner here rather than all by myself at the apartment,” I say.
“What your mom’s too polite to put into words is that you desperately need a shower and something clean to wear.” Calanthe gives me a shove.
I might not smell like a flower shop, but I’m nowhere near public restroom territory. “I’ll shower here and?—”
“Just Uber back.” Calanthe tugs on her shorts, forcing them to sit lower on her hips. “We’ll wait for you to eat. Plus, your dad made this panzanella salad that is to die for—I had some when I picked them up for lunch. You need to bring me the whole bowl.”
“Let me guess… There are tomatoes inside?”
Calanthe shoots me a crooked grin. “Yep.”
I shake my head. “You’re so weird.”
She blows me a kiss. “Love you too.”
Mom smiles to herself as she spears her fingers through mine and draws me down the stairs. “I love your friendship.”
“I know. I’m really lucky.”
“It’s not luck. It’s fate.” Mom squeezes my hand. “You know my take on life—the good, the bad…everything happens for a reason.”
As we weave through the busy Boston streets packed with tourists and returning college students, I tally up all the good and the bad in my life.
Naturally, my mind strays to Cillian, who showed up right as Malachi wrecked me. And who’s kept showing up since. I wouldn’t say the dance coach has mended my heart, but he’s handled it with unexpected gentleness.
Even though I’m not looking forward to returning to my empty home, Iamlooking forward to retrieving my phone and seeing if he’s texted me. He must have. Especially after having had breakfast with my parents.
As I stride into the lobby, I smile to myself, imagining him sweating through my father’s interrogation. I keep smiling—right up until I open my front door and realize the Penthouse isn’t empty.
Chapter 21
Electra
Shock roots me to the threshold of the kitchen.
My pulse feels quiet, lost beneath the noise around me—the soft hum of the range hood, the clunk of a wooden spoon against the side of a pan, the lazy drone of an indie folk tune floating from the speakers above.
Have I stepped into some alternate version of my life, or is Cillian Lowry actually manning my stovetops while wearing the frilly green apron fromBloom’s Bloomskitchenware collection?
My presence must finally register, because he glances over his shoulder. And then he smiles as though this—him hanging out inside my home,cooking—is normal.
I shut my eyes, steeple my fingertips against my lids before slowly cracking them open again.
He’s still there.
Thishasto be some parallel universe, because he couldn’t have entered my apartment with Fiona’s remote. It only works on my garage door and private elevator.
“Who let you in? Mom or Callie?”
“Your mother. I asked her if I could surprise you with dinner. She was reluctant until Callie said you’d love it.”
