Or drank?
My water cup is empty, but I think back…and can’t remember any food after lunch yesterday. I was waiting to eat dinner with Leo (and for the fries and shake he was bringing me), but I didn’t eat after I talked to Smitty, and I was too nervous to eat breakfast this morning and…now it’s the afternoon.
“Crap,” I say, turning for some of the leftovers that haven’t been packed away. I’ll eat something to get me through the final preparations.
The bell goes at the front door and I look up from shoving a sandwich in my mouth just in time to see Luna pushing through the swinging metal door, her hand over her eyes as she calls, “Is it safe to come in or is there naked makeup sex happening far too close to my mini quiches?”
My lips twitch despite my misery.
She drops her hand, looks around. “You work quick, kid.”
“He’s not here.”
Her eyebrows form a little vee. “Did you send him off with the first load of food already? That’s great. I think we’ll be able to fit the rest in my car.”
“No,” I say, chewing and swallowing the sandwich. “I mean I haven’t see him at all today.”
A blink.
Another.
“You mean the man hasn’t apologized?”
I shake my head and?—
Whoa.
I need to not do that, not when it makes the room spin.
“I cannot believe this,” Luna rants. “I told Smitty that men are dumb and he wouldn’t grovel right, but did he listen?” She tosses her hands up. “No. Of course not.”
My head starts pounding and I brace myself on the table. “It’s not all his fault?—”
She snorts. “Um. No, sorry Harps, I got the scoop from Beardo. It’s all Leo’s fault and he should be here on his knees begging for your forgiveness. In fact”—she reaches into her pocket, snags her phone—“I’m going to tell him exactly that right now.”
I push off the table, start to walk over to her. “I told him?—”
But I don’t finish.
Because black is crawling all over my vision.
And the last thing I remember is Luna’s scream as I crumple to the ground.
Forty-Four
Leo
I’m just pulling into the lot of Harper’s shop when my phone rings.
“Where the hell are you?” Luna snaps.
I frown at the screen. “Are you trying to get ahold of Aiden?”
“What? No.” Her tone is far sharper than I’ve ever heard. “I’m trying to get ahold of you, asshole. So where are you?”
Clearly motherhood has made her short-tempered.
“I’m pulling into the parking lot behind Harper’s kitchen,” I say, “and don’t worry, I’m prepared to grovel like a motherfucker.”
