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“I’ll see you downstairs! I’ll get the coffee on for you!” she sang as she faded up the hall, and I couldn’t help a little smile.
“Yes, Margot.” I sighed and mopped off my wet chest with the sheet, feeling a small twinge of satisfaction at completing the first item on my list.
I can do this.
I sat up with a groan.
I really wasn’t sure what possessed me to drink so much. Other than, you know, nerves and a general, rising sense of panic, spritzed with a whiff ofeau de desperation. I mean, did I really think drinking my body weight in alcohol would make me any sexier? Alyssa was my copilot on this, but she did give me a number of concerned eyeballs, which I chose to ignore—
Wait.
Alyssa.
Shit.
I swiped my phone off the bedside table. Sure enough, I had a few new text messages. The first, from Alyssa, was sent just after midnight. With a photo, obviously taken with flash from the dark above my bed: me, passed out on the pillow, mouth hanging open.
The message said simply:Had to check.
I also had texts from my cousins.
Danica:Where did you go? Are you okay?
Daniella:Fun fact: you snore when you’re wasted.
Ugh.
There was another text this morning.
Danica:We’re heading over. See you soon for lady brunch!
I texted Alyssa back:Sorry!! I’ll call you later. XO.And tossed the phone aside. I couldn’t believe I’d ditched her at my mom’s wedding shower. I mean, I didn’t mean to.
But after I saw Shane with that woman outside and then my boob fell out—uggghh—I’d come straight to my room to collapse.
Anyway, Alyssa knew the whole sordid story with Shane, so once I told her what happened, she’d understand.
I got out of bed and stretched, carefully, aching. There. One more thing done on that list.
It was slightly disturbing, though, to find myself completely naked. Finding yourself unclothed without remembering exactly how you got that way was unnerving. I couldn’t remember much past running for the safety of my room after my impromptu one-boob peep show performance, but I was pretty sure the night didn’t end with me streaking the wedding shower. My dress and panties, the only clothes I was wearing last night, lay discarded on the floor.
Where the heck were Alyssa’s sexy shoes, though?
I frowned, checking under the bed, trying to remember what happened to them. Maybe I’d have to do a quick search of the bushes outside before brunch.
In the meantime, I threw on my plush guest robe—thank you, Hotel Margot—and cracked open the bedroom door to see what Mom meant. Something was out there for me?
The hall was silent, no one in sight. At my feet lay a tray with a modest breakfast, fit for a recovering alcoholic: a piece of plain toast, a peeled kiwi fruit cut into quarters, and a small box of coconut water.
I frowned and bent to pick it up, staring at the other items on the tray: Alyssa’s shoes. There was a clump of lawn on the spiked heel of one of them and a yellow sticky note stuck to the tray beneath it.
I poked my head out a little farther and glanced along the hall again, but there was no one around.
Retreating into the room, I closed the door with my heel and placed the tray on the bed. There was something straightforward, minimalist, even indefinably masculine, about the offerings on the tray.
Jacob?
I peeled the note from beneath the shoe and read the handwritten message.
