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I sat down in my living room and pulled my phone from my pocket. What were the chances that perhaps Leah would come to Boston and decorate my home for me? I let out a large laugh at the crazy idea. Then I thought, maybe it wasn’t so crazy, and I should call my mom, she would know where Leah was. I quickly dialed the number.
It took three rings for her to pick up. “Hello.”
“Hey, Mom, how are things?”
“Logan, I didn’t recognize the number. I am good, how are you?”
“Good, Mom, listen. You don’t have a number or an address where I can reach Leah, do you? Seems that she may have changed her cell number.” The line went silent, and I heard her put her hand over the receiver and a few muffled voices in the background.
“Mom?”
“Sorry, honey, I don’t. She asked that we keep that private.”
“For goodness sake, Mom, I’m her stepbrother. I need to talk to her.”
“I’m sorry, honey. I would do the same for you if you asked. Why don’t you tell me what you need, I can pass on the message to her?” I let out a huff, even my mother was taking Leah’s side.
“Don’t worry about it. I have to go.” We said our goodbyes, I hung up the phone and sat back in my chair thinking of how I would find Leah. I had no idea where she was, no address to write. I fucking missed her, she wouldn’t leave my mind.
I was getting irritated with myself. I stood, walked into the kitchen and dialed the number to Preston Interior Design. I glanced at the clock noting they were probably already closed for the night. Seven rings, eight. “Hello. Preston Interior Design, Mary speaking.”
“Yes, Mary, Jean from Dream Home Magazine recommended you. My name is Logan Lehmbeck, I’m one of the architects over at Jim’s firm.” I knew she would know who I was speaking of, we had often recommended Preston Interior Design to our clients.
“Ah yes, Logan. I’ve seen some of your work. I actually just finished doing work on a home you designed for the Meyers family.”
I rolled my eyes. Meyers had been a huge pain in my ass during the whole design process. I didn’t want to hear about what she did at the Meyers’ home, I wanted to get this booked so I could get back to figuring out how I would find Leah.
“Anyway, I am calling because Jean thought you could set me up with a designer. She recommended the woman who recently worked on the Boston Harbor Hotel.”
“Ah yes, she is a young spitfire. How about we set up the initial meeting tomorrow, if that works for you. I happen to have an opening at eleven. We can discuss what you’re looking for, and if I think she would be a good fit then I will pass your account to her and she will call you to set up a meeting.”
“Perfect,” I said, gave her a bunch of information then hung up the phone and sat back down.
I flipped through the calendar in my phone and noticed that Mother’s Day was in three days, then Memorial Day at the end of the month.Two can play at this game,I thought. I couldn’t call or write, and since I didn’t know for a fact that her cell number had changed, I would send her a text message every single dayexceptholidays. And I would do it until she answered me.
I open a new text message, added her name to the top and thought for a moment before typing anything.
ME: IT’S RAINING, I HATE THE RAIN.
. . . and so began the way I hoped I would get her to talk to me again.
TWENTY
Leah
My day started with a morning from hell. I slept through my alarm—I never did that. I rushed around my apartment and got ready for work. I grabbed coffee and muffin on my way into work because I didn’t have time for breakfast, and just as I was about to open the door to the office building some guy pushed on it from the other side, hitting my cup and spilling my latte right down the front of my brand new, white blouse. This day couldn’t possibly get any worse.
It was now eleven, and I was finally seated in the safety of my office with the door closed, going through my email. I was just about to write out a reply when I heard my cell ping with a message. I frowned, only three people messaged me—Anna, Dad and Jenna—and if one of them messaged me at eleven in the morning, then something must be wrong. I bent and pulled my phone from the purse that sat under my desk by my feet and quickly punched in my password. I had three text messages.
I frowned, that’s odd. They had come in over the weekend while my phone had been on silent while I worked from home. One on Saturday, one on Sunday and now one today.
LOGAN: IT’S RAINING, I HATE THE RAIN.
LOGAN: DID YOU KNOW THAT GINGERSNAPS ARE MY MOST FAVORITE COOKIE AND FOR A REASON I DON’T UNDERSTAND, THE GROCERY STORES HERE ONLY SELL THEM AT CHRISTMAS.
LOGAN: I ORDERED A CARAMEL MACCHIATO FROM STARBUCKS THIS MORNING. I CAN SEE WHY THEY ARE YOUR FAVORITE!
I placed my phone down on my desk; I wasn’t in the mood for his games. If he thought he would get my attention by sending me these stupid text messages, he was wrong. I let out a sigh and went back to checking my email when Mary walked by my office. She waved and then entered.
