My phone chimes then, and Stef texts a photo of a gorgeous bar with high-coffered ceilings. The photo is too nice to be a selfie, well framed, and I can see both of his arms in the photo, hands around his drink. But, most importantly, it’s an actual photo of him, with a hard-to-read expression, holding a drink.
Chapter Fifty
After Eddie leaves, I find my phone, flop on the length of sofa with my feet over the arm, and scroll once again through my recent messages till I again find Stef’s. And then I stare at his message for a long time. Well, his photo. He wears a dark blue, lightweight pullover with a zip collar and looks seriously at the camera as he holds his stout. It looks like he’s in an old pub, with walnut-stained wooden surroundings and stained-glass windows. As ever, he looks amazing. I swallow hard at the sight of him. There isn’t any sort of actual text accompanying his photo. And I wonder who took the photo of him.
He has friends, Theo. A life.
The important thing is Stef replied, and he didn’t tell me to go away, which is something. Then again, he’s not likely to tell me to go fuck off either.
But Stef didn’t need to send me a selfie.
I rake my fingers through my hair, tousling it, adjust the collar of my shirt.
So, I lift my phone, take a selfie, partly unbuttoned shirt and all, and hit Send. I’m rewarded with a response from Stef five minutes later, which leaves me grinning. It’s a breakthrough.
I send Stef a text to follow.
It’s over with the duke.
Interesting. Also, you look like a debonair rake. Public health warning please
I laugh, thrilled to bits he’s responded, and thankfully, it’s not a message telling me to fuck off. Also, I’m a sucker for compliments. Beaming, I type out a quick response, as if his words—or mine—will disappear if I don’t message fast enough.
Yeah, I’m post business. Where are you? X
Back to Edinburgh. And I’m packing for work right now
Go on, I’m all ears. Work trip?
Yes. For a dig. My flight’s tomorrow morning
Where are you headed?
Greece
Ha, of course. Congrats on the gig. Good luck. Let me know how it goes?
I will
Then, the phone goes black. I hold it against my chest, excited for Stef to get some work. And I’m excited to even have this brief text exchange with him. It’s bittersweet, seeing Stef move on with his life in one direction, while mine goes careening off in quite another. If only we had the same destination.
But all our problems still exist. Maybe in another life.
And God, he’s probably going to find some other hot Greek guy digging in the next trench. Where they can go off finding ancient ruins together and watch Greek sunsets together. After all, in a dig, there’s got to be close proximity, long hours, and of course sweat. I scowl at the very idea.
Focus on your own life, Theo.
This time, I can’t impulsively pack my bags for Greece and leave my reality behind. Instead, I gaze around the main room of my flat. I’m going to need to hire a removals team for my things and figure out what to do with all of my belongings once they reach Copenhagen. Which is a problem for another night. Soon, I drowse on the sofa and fall asleep still in the same position, dreaming of Stef, until familiar unsettling nightmares begin a new cycle.
Later that week, I’m in the studio with Ethan. We’re sitting side by side at the worktable with open laptops and a buffet of pastries from the café up the street to fuel us as we go over the accounts together, continuing to wrap up loose ends on my part. Accounts aren’t my favorite, but I don’t want to leave Ethan in a mess either, so we’re making sure our records are up to date and correct on our end before sending them to our accountant.
I work on another apple strudel, the crunch of the pastry and the delicate taste of the filling reminding me of Stef’s kisses. I definitely don’t have a problem.
We’re well into our work when there’s a near simultaneous text on my phone and the ringing of the buzzer at the door. Miles is stationed in his SUV, and he would have intervened and alerted me to real trouble. At any rate, my phone starts blowing up with messages, vibrating and chiming and ringing like it’s having a seizure.
Ethan looks at me, startled. He sets his tea down. I shut the phone off as he goes to answer the door. We don’t have any appointments scheduled this afternoon.
Ethan peeks through the peephole. “Don’t worry, it’s not Aidan,” he announces. Then he opens the door to let James in. Ethan clicks the lock shut behind him.
