Page 84 of Three Months Yesterday

Ian answers on the third ring. “What’s up?”

“I’m pretty sure someone was in the cottage.”

“Details,” Ian demands.

“The door was open when I got back, and the bed’s unmade.” I don’t need to explain more than that. Ian’s the reason for my obsessive behavior with locking doors and he knows I wouldn’t mention the bed unless it was something important.

“Is anything missing? Don’t just look for the obvious, check drawers, cabinets…wherever you keep your underwear.”

I flinch at the reminder, but move around the loft, checking places like he suggests. My clothes are still folded in their drawers, my underwear piled next to my socks. My laptop is on the coffee table where I left it after my call with Ryan last night. Everything’s exactly where it should be. “No. Nothing’s gone or moved. The only thing of note is the bed.”

“Okay.” He says it carefully, the way he talks when he’s thinking.

“Maybe I’m overreacting,” I blurt, hoping I am. “But⁠—”

“You’d rather be safe than sorry,” Ian finishes for me.

“What do I need to do?” I ask in resignation. I don’t want to leave, but if this is what I think it is, I don’t know if I have a choice.

“You’re positive you locked the door when you left?”

“I don’t—” I cut myself off, truly thinking about what I did this morning on my rush out the door. “Is it possible I was moving too quickly and didn’t lock the door? Yes, but it’s unlikely.”

“What do you want to do?” There’s a soft rustling and then the sound of a door shutting and I wonder what I interrupted Ian doing on a Saturday afternoon.

My eyes wander to the front window. I can’t actually see it from where I am, but I know the sight better than anything. I can see the image of Madison’s house, dusted in the blanket of snow we got last night. I can feel the warmth of the living room as if I’m already standing in it.

“I’m supposed to go over to Madison’s,” I say. “We’ve got our movie day planned.”

“Then go.”

I shake my head even though he can’t see me. “Maybe I should cancel. Come back to the city.”

“Go spend time with the woman you love. Let me figure out what comes after that. I’ll call you in a bit.”

The line goes dead before I can say anything else, and I stand in the loft with the phone still pressed to my ear, stunned frozen.

Love.

The way Ian said it, like it’s obvious. Like it’s a fact I’ve already written down somewhere and just haven’t read yet.

My mind wanders to the last few weeks since Madison told her family about the pregnancy. She’s been lighter, more carefree. She initiates contact more. Even if it’s in small ways. A brush of her fingers along my back as she walks past. A text in the morning to tell me about some funny request a guest made. A photo of a squirrel sitting on the porch railing with the caption “your replacement.” All random, ordinary things that I read three times before I respond because I want to get the words right.

It feels like love, like the kind of thing I’ve heard songs about, the kind of feeling that pours out of me in a way I can’t stop—not that I want to. It also feels insane. I’ve known her less than two months. People don’t fall in love in two months. That’s something that happens in movies, in the books Madison keeps around the house, in the songs I’ve tried to write to capture something I’ve never actually felt.

But maybe that’s no longer true. I’m feeling it now, standing in a cottage someone broke into, thinking about a woman who’s waiting for me on her couch with a pile of depressing movies and a bag of popcorn.

I don’t want to miss a single moment with her. Not when they might be numbered.

I grab the food and go.

Madison’s curled into the corner of the couch, her feet tucked under my leg under the blanket we share, the remote in her hand. The credits of Schindler’s List are rolling on the TV and the silence in the room is heavier than it was before the movie started.

“Thank goodness Singin’ in the Rain is next,” she says without looking away from the screen. “I swore I’d never watch this movie again after the first time I saw it.”

“I get that,” I murmur, my attention still on the rolling credits. “I’m good never seeing that one again either.”

I feel Madison shift and let my head lull in her direction. She’s so beautiful with her hair pulled up in a knot on top of her head, a few pieces falling loose around her face. She’s wearing one of her oversized sweaters, the gray one that falls past her hips. She looks comfortable.