With that thought, I finally drift off.
It’s Sunday afternoon,and after I slept way too long, I couldn’t stand being in my apartment anymore, so I figured I would get this over with andgrovel.
With a massive strawberry cake balanced precariously in one hand and a leather-bound special edition ofEmmaby Jane Austen—one of Morgan’s favorites, as I discovered during our literary expedition to the bookstore—clutched tightly in the other, I stand in front of Mr. Donovan’s house.
I know I hurt them with how I just up and left. And they weren’t the ones who deserved it.
My heart is doing an Olympic-level gymnastics routine in my chest as I take a deep, steadying breath and press the doorbell with my elbow. The chime echoes through the house, and I swear I feel the vibrations in my bones.
The familiar jingling of Peanut’s collar announces his arrival just as his short, loud barks ring out.
The sound of his paws pattering down the stairway is accompanied by Mr. Donovan’s gruff voice, commanding the pup to “Shush, you furball.”
Peanut falls silent just as the door swings open, revealing Mr. Donovan’s stern visage, his bushy eyebrows furrowed.
Ah, shit.
I muster up a shy smile, feeling about as small as a mouse under his piercing gaze. He doesn’t utter a word, just steps aside with a barely perceptible nod, granting me entry into the warmhome. Crossing the threshold, Peanut trots over, his wet nose investigating my ankles with great interest.
“Hey, buddy,” I coo at him, wishing I could give him a good scratch behind the ears, but my hands are frustratingly occupied with my peace offerings.
Gathering my courage, I look up at Mr. Donovan, only to find his scowl has intensified. It’s uncanny how much he resembles Grey in this moment, and I half expect him to launch into a lecture about proper security protocols.
My nerves getting the better of me, I thrust the cake and book forward, my voice coming out as barely more than a squeak. “I, um… I brought you a strawberry cake. And a book for Morgan.”
For a heart-stopping moment, I’m convinced he’s going to send me back out again, only to slam the door in my face and tell me never to darken his doorstep again. But then he takes my offerings and places them on a nearby antique dresser before he grasps my elbow and pulls me into a bear hug.
His voice is gruff, thick with emotion, as he rumbles, “Don’t you ever pull a stunt like that again, young lady. I was worried sick, and at my age, I can’t afford that kind of stress. You hear me?”
Overwhelmed by his unexpected display of affection, I wrap my arms around him, burying my face in the soft fabric of his cardigan. The scent of old wood fills my nostrils as I whisper, words muffled and choked with emotion, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. It won’t happen again, I promise.”
“Amelia!” Morgan’s shout is followed by the sound of her footsteps racing down the stairs. As I pull away from Mr. Donovan, I barely have a moment to catch my breath before Morgan’s arms wrap around me tightly. “Don’t you dare scare us like that again.” Despite her scolding tone, I can hear the genuine joy in her voice as she adds, “I’m so glad you’re back.”
Her embrace is comforting, and I find myself melting into it, realizing just how much I’d missed them.
Morgan releases me, and her eyes fall on the book I brought. “Oh, is this for me?”
“Yes. Thank you for watching the fish,” I say, smiling and handing it to her.
Her smile seems oddly forced from a moment when I mention the fish. But it’s gone so quickly that I wonder if I imagined it.
What is that about?
Mr. Donovan clears his throat, his eyes twinkling with warmth. “Let’s have some of that cake in the kitchen, shall we?” We make our way to the table, Peanut trotting alongside us.
The moment I sit down, he rests his head on my knee, and finally, I give him the pets he deserves. “Oh, I missed you, too, buddy.” I scratch behind his ears, feeling the tension in my shoulders ease a bit as he looks up at me with those adoring eyes.
Morgan chuckles. “Looks like you missed the dog more than us.”
Mr. Donovan cuts the cake, and as we settle in with slices, he asks, “So, what happened? Grey and Oliver just texted out of the blue that you were all flying back.” His tone is gentle, but there is a notable underlying concern.
Well, here we go.
I take a deep breath and recount the events in London, including the disastrous gala. The words tumble out, a mix of frustration, hurt, and confusion.
God, saying it out loud like this only makes me realize more how fucked up all of that was.
When I finish, Morgan leans forward, her green eyes filled with concern. “That was a lot, you’re okay?”
