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HOLLAND
I didn’t have work clothes to change into, so I wound up going home from Iain’s on Sunday night.
Which was hard.
Because since the moment he’d surprised me at the bar to the moment he’d said bye to me last night—kissing me so deeply against the wall that the elevator had opened and closed and left without me—the weekend had felt like a whirlwind within a whirlwind. A dream within a dream that I needed at least another day to recover from. Just the thought of having to wake up in the morning and get on the subway to go to work made me whine to myself while alone in my apartment.
I wasn’t quite ready to return to reality.
But as if the universe had been looking out for me, the office was in party mode when I got in on Monday.
At least my department was, because apparently my boss, Freya, was transferring to the Minx headquarters in Milan in two weeks, which meant it was celebration time. Despite the fact that it was 9AM, the store design team snuck into the conference room where we secretly popped two bottles and drank to Freya while the copy, design and print departments continued working outside.
It was a fun and inspiring celebration full of long, sometimes emotional toasts, but once it all died down and everyone fell into individual chatter, I found the time to quietly swoon over Iain by revisiting the two-word text he sent me this morning.
Reheats well.
Accompanied by a picture of my French toast on his kitchen counter.
He had even topped it with some berri
es and the maple syrup I left with him, which made my heart flutter, because sure, he did staunchly refuse to see the merit in regular weekends and me time, but at least he was taking a moment from his morning to treat himself to my labor of love—which hopefully, felt like a bit of a sweet escape before he started his very busy day of work.
I was still smiling to myself as I reread the texts I sent back.
ME: Perfect way to start the morning! But bad news. I’ve decided that birthday toast doesn’t actually count as celebrating your birthday
ME: Mostly because I just thought of a great idea for your actual birthday this weekend (P.S you should take off this weekend)
It had been sent hours ago, before I even got into work.
He’d yet to text back, but I didn’t take offense since I knew the week he had ahead of him. He’d dubbed it “hell week,” and it apparently consisted of tons of meeting and fires to put out, thanks partly to some endorsement deal drama, but mostly to trade deadline drama. But there was also something about a “very important project” he’d been working toward for over a year now.
Basically, he was swamped. So swamped that we weren’t even scheduled to see each other again till Wednesday, which sucked, but I comforted myself by knowing that I could always sext him to ensure that he was beyond ready for our time together.
“Ugh. How cute is this one?” Freya asked the team, nudging me with her elbow before tossing back the last of her champagne. “She’s got a little fling going on with a boy,” she winked to the rest of the table, making me laugh to myself at the word “boy.”
And as everyone prodded me for details and offered their even steeper senior employee discount to buy some new lingerie—which I happily accepted—I found myself getting so swept up in the conversation that of course, my subconscious forced me to pump the brakes for a second.
Specifically with the memory of an odd moment last night.
I had tried to ignore it by telling myself I had no right to be upset, because I wasn’t dating Iain. As much as I’d consider it—okay, be totally into it—we had never even agreed to sleep with only each other.
A fun fact I conveniently forgot about till yesterday’s calls.
He’d ignored two in a row while we were in the kitchen before turning his phone face down, and though it struck me as odd, I’d told myself it was probably work. Though if work called twice in a row, it would probably indicate some kind of urgency, which we all know Iain Thorn would never ignore, I thought now, finally allowing myself to do what I wouldn’t yesterday, which was wonder about the name I’d caught on the screen.
Camila.
And I was wondering now about Iain too, of course, since I was starting to remember that there was still a lot left to wonder about him—namely what had caused him to just up and disappear five years ago.
For so long, it wasn’t my business.
It certainly felt like it was, but I couldn’t actually make that claim to anyone besides me and my broken teenaged heart. So I just swallowed it.
But after this particular weekend, I couldn’t anymore.
It felt different after this weekend. Like I had more of a right to wonder, which was why I was doing exactly that—wondering about him like I did at seventeen. Once again dying to know why he left so suddenly.
