Page 50 of Sullivan

“Sully—”

He cut me off. “We only have a few weeks left. Less now. I want you here. I don’t want to be figuring out what nights you’re at the hotel and which ones you’re here. Just stay.”

“The office pays for the hotel.”

“Then you’ll save them money. Bring your things here.”

“And tell them what?”

“That you have a friend. That you hate the hotel. That your lover wants you with him. Whatever you want.”

I bit my lip, thinking.

“I have to work late sometimes.”

“I already told you I don’t want to control you. I have to work late at times too. But you have a key. Keep it. When I get home, you’ll be here. If you’re late, I’ll be waiting.”

Everything in me wanted to say yes. He grinned, knowing what I was thinking. “You worry about us not knowing each other. Living together would solve that fast.”

“And what if I hate it?”

He bent and nuzzled my neck. “You won’t.”

“What if you hate it?”

“Not going to happen. We’re gonna be great. Then when you go back to Canada, you’ll be all the more anxious to return to me.”

I hummed as his lips traveled up my neck to my mouth, softly kissing his way, his voice beseeching. “Please.”

“I’ll think about it.”

He stood, brushing my cheek. “I’ll collect your bags later, once you pack them.”

“So sure of yourself.”

“So sure of us.”

And he left.

All day, I had been thinking. I groaned as I dropped my head into my hands. I always did that. Thought things through to death. Overanalyzed. Talked myself out of something I wanted. Auntie Lynn always scolded me about it. She had been a free spirit her whole life and encouraged me to stop overthinking everything.

“Go with your gut,” she’d tell me.

“And if it doesn’t work?” I asked once.

“Then the story isn’t over. You keep moving forward.”

I thought about my first reaction to coming here. I was worried, then decided to go for it.

And because of that, I met Sully. I knew she’d tell me to keep going forward with it.

Feeling homesick, I picked up the phone and called her. It was earlier there, and I knew she’d be watching a game show, shouting at the TV and calling the contestants idiots. Evenings were her favorite, though. She loved the crime shows the best and often cackled as she watched. She subscribed to a channel of true crime and loved to pass an evening filled with murder and mayhem.

“Amateurs,” she’d mutter. “You never wear jewelry when you’re going to kill someone. Blood splatter,” she informed me with a knowing look, as if she made a habit of offing people. “They can find it in the smallest little crevices.”

Her voice was cheerful when she answered. “Autumn, dear girl. I was just talking about you. How is Scotland? Been lifting any kilts lately?”

I laughed. “Sorry, Auntie Lynn, no.”