She exhales, leaning back into me for exactly half a second before straightening. “Oh! I got an invitation while you were away. You remember my cousin, Bree?”
I think back, and yeah, I do remember her. A blonde girl a few years older than us who could have been Violet’s sister because the resemblance was so similar.
“Is that the one that stayed with you for a few weeks over the summer after sophomore year?”
She flips the sandwich over in the pan. “That’s the one. She’s getting married! The wedding’s in Scotland in a couple months.”
“Scotland? Nice. Why there?”
“Oh, it’s a whole thing. Her fiancé, Callan, is from there. She moved there a while back.”
“Huh, neat. You going?”
She spins to meet my eyes. “Am Igoing? Well, I was kind of hopingwecould go. Together. You know, like a couple normally would.” She smirks. “I know for a fact you have a passport since you use it all the time.”
Hell, I never thought about things like vacations when I took this job. I’ve just always built my life in short increments and never got to anything that required calendars or commitment.
Standing here now, it hits me—I don’t know how to plan a life with someone.
I know how to build something solid on my own. I know how to save, how to buy a house, how to make sure I land on my feet. But that’s different. That’s survival. That’s keeping one step ahead of everything that could fall apart.
This is making promises, and I’m afraid I don’t know how to do that.
I only know how to leave.
I study her face. She’s watching me, braced for rejection. God, the last thing I want is to disappoint her.
I inhale slowly, shoving down the panic that always hits when I think too far ahead. “I could go.”
Her shoulders relax, relief flickering in her eyes. “It’ll be fun. Our first trip together.”
“When is it, exactly?”
She grabs her phone off the counter, scrolling through her calendar.
“Well, actually…” She bites her bottom lip. “I’m pretty sure it’s only a couple days after you’re supposed to be back from your Mexico trip.”
I freeze. That’s cutting it close. That familiar coil of guilt knots in my gut as my mind races, thinking about unreliable flights, briefings I can’t skip. Everything that makes my life so damn messy.
I take a slow breath. “A couple days…okay. I’ll make it work.”
She nods, but there’s no mistaking the doubt in her eyes. I fucking hate that I even know what that looks like, never mind being the reason for it.
“Hey,” I say. “Even if I have to swim back from Mexico, I’ll be there.”
That gets a laugh out of her. “I’d pay good money to see that.”
“Don’t tempt me. I’d do it just to prove a point.”
She flips the sandwich onto a plate and hands it to me. “Just eat your food, tough guy.”
thirty-three
. . .
Violet
September hardly ever brings us any relief. The heat today is clingy and grossly thick, turning Rowan’s white T-shirt nearly transparent by the time he hauls the fifth box from the bed of his truck. I stand by the porch, one hand on my hip, the other shielding my eyes from the sun, not even bothering to pretend I’m not staring.
