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Trying to decipher the hidden meaning.
This after having to search up the number in my database, thus confirming what I already knew low in my belly.
The number belonged to Joel.
Joel was texting me.
About planners.
“What. The. Fuck?” I whispered, dropping the cell on my desk and frowning at the wall.
Why the wall?
Because I was deliberately avoiding looking at the couch.
The material no longer smelled of Joel, but it had for long enough that I’d slept heavy and deep and peaceful until the scent had faded.
Then it had been right back to this.
Passing out for a few hours before the nightmares hit. Trying to go back to sleep for a while. Giving up and shuffling to my desk, to my computer, trying to catch up on a stack of work that never seemed to get any smaller.
And worse, next month was the mayoral election.
There wasn’t anyone running against me, but there were a multitude of procedures and extra meetings that I had to navigate on top of my normal workload.
Which had always been intense, heavy, almost too much to shoulder.
But I was an achiever, a problem solver.
Ilivedfor that.
For my work.
I loved it. Really. I did.
But—I sighed—that night in the city, doing the escape room with Bailey and Dessie and the men, going back to their house after dinner and hanging while Axel served us all—including Veronica, who was definitely growing on me—seemed very far away.
Even though it had only been a week.
And now Joel was texting me.
He’dnevertexted.
I’d never texted, or at least my phone told me I hadn’t. I’d apparently delivered all of my instructions in person.
And now Joel was texting me aboutplanners.
My brain couldn’t process that.
My heart…thudded against my ribcage each and every time I’d thought about it.
And I’d thought about it a lot since it had come in hours before.
But I hadn’t replied.
First, because I hadn’t known who it was.
Then because Ihadknown.
