Page 33 of The False Flat

“I distinctly remember you discouraging entrepreneurship when I first met you.”

I needed his hand off me. Why was he still touching me?

“Me? Never. You must be confusing me with someone else.”

“Right. That must’ve been the other arrogant guy with the mustache.”

His hand dropped. Thank you. We were silent for several minutes as we stood side by side and stared at Deanna’s B and B. “You’re really building your sister her own space, her own business?”

“Because of you. You inspired me. And you’ve been good for Deanna. She’s a strong woman, but after meeting you, it’s like something’s lit up in her. Seeing what you’re doing made her feel like it was possible. I don’t think I took her seriously. You did.”

Warmth spiraled down to my belly and then infiltrated the rest of my body, like getting in a hot tub. Hot tub. Grant in a hot tub.

Hot Tub Grant looked at me.

The same silent conversation passed between us that had when he was holding Gloria, the chicken, and I didn’t know what to do or how to feel. Except that something felt like it was blooming in my chest.

And since I couldn’t process my own feelings, I did what I’d done that day: I got back on my bicycle and rode away from him.

Within seconds, he passed me and gloated as he went by.

My legs moved like pistons as I tried to catch back up. I was going too fast. One second, my wheels were on the ground, my body on my bicycle; the next, I was in the air, and then . . .

CHAPTER 14

SEVEN BOTTLES OF WATER

Through the molten pain, I squinted at the two people across the room. No, after blinking, it was only one.

“Chad?” I sat up, but I immediately had to lie back on my pillow when my head erupted like a volcano.

The light was too bright, searing my retinas and making me feel like I was on a spaceship, about to be probed.

“Why is it so bright in here?” My voice came out scratchy, veiled with a weakness I didn’t understand.

What happened? I wanted to ask this out loud, but I couldn’t make the words come out. Had I been in an accident, a fight?

“Thank God you’re awake.” He was beside me in two large strides. “What can I get for you? Do you need water?”

My eyes snapped shut as my breath stuttered to a stop. The man talking to me, the man moving in my bedroom wasn’t Chad—it was Grant.

After several seconds, my eyelids slowly slid back open, and my eyes tracked Grant to the bedside table, where three bottles of water poked out from a plastic-lined cardboard box.

I didn’t own a table like this. My nightstand was wood, white, part of a suite of furniture I’d picked out with Deanna. This table was plastic, gray, and portable.

My chest went hot, the bad kind of hot. Too hot. My insides charred.

Not only was the man in this room not Chad, but this wasn’t my room.

“They’re chilled,” Grant continued. “I wasn’t sure what kind you preferred, so I got every kind they had, and if you’d rather room temperature, I have those too.” He pivoted to the windowsill, where four other waters stood at attention. “Which can I get you?”

I needed the water. All the fluid had been sucked out of my body, leaving my husk of a self to look around the room, dry eyed and dry throated.

Nightmare. This had to be a nightmare.

I bit the inside of my cheek so hard that were I actually dreaming, the pain should’ve jolted me awake. I closed my eyes again and let my hands fall to my sides, hoping to feel the line of cording on the edge of my mattress. But the sheets were rough and the mattress unfamiliar.

No. No. No.