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Thinking about Maeve and Donald must have conjured them because my phone rings with a video call from my mom. I can’t answer sitting in the back of this luxury car, so I hit ignore and shoot her a quick text.
Mom, camera broken on my phone. Can’t get it fixed because repair shop is closed. Busy with take out. Love you and Dad. Talk soon.
Another lie. How does that quote go again? What a wicked web we weave when we practice to deceive? Ugh, that’s going to be stuck in my head now.
“Miss Whitney, we have arrived at your apartment,” George tells me, startling me from the small screen in my hands. “Mr. Coleman instructed me to help you with your bags. Shall up come up with you now?”
“No, George, although thank you. I have to pack first. If you could come back in three hours, that would be great. Would that work for you?”
He nods and tips the brim of his hat.
“Yes Miss. I’ll see you at 3:30 then.”
I trudge up the five flights of stairs, a mix of emotions roiling inside me. I am both excited and nervous to spend the week at Peter’s penthouse. What if we spend too much time together? What if we get sick of one another, and whatever this is just fizzles out? We did have our first argument today, and it felt momentous. But it did end in makeup sex, so there’s that.
I’m also hopeful about SugarTime. Peter’s investment opens up a whole host of possibilities. I need to figure out the best ways to put it to use so I can pay him back quickly. This leads me to ponder what he said about success being ruled in a large part by who you know. I know no one except him. But I don’t want to become overly dependent on him because it puts too much pressure on our relationship.
There it is: the word “relationship.” Is that what we have together? I’m not even sure.
I hear Apollo caterwauling as I march down the hall to my apartment. I’m sure he’s been lonely but I wonder how he’s going to handle a week with Demeter, Peter’s cat. The penthouse is big at least; I guess we could keep them apart if we had to.
I pack a bag for the week and gather up Apollo’s things. I check my cupboards for spices and ingredients not found in the average kitchen so I can play around with recipes in Peter’s amazing kitchen. I could go to SugarTime to experiment, but I put a temporary freeze on all my utilities so I wouldn’t be racking up more bills. I’ve just thrown everything together when George rings my buzzer. The three hours flew by and I look at the duffel, the two suitcases, and the backpack ruefully. I have way too much stuff for one week. Peter is going to think I’m trying to move in.
I decide to leave my laptop behind. It would be nice to have, but I can write down any recipes I create on some notebook paper and add them to my computer later. The elderly George raps on my door and stands smartly when I open it. Then his eyes bug out at my pile of stuff.
“George, I am so sorry for making you carry all this stuff down five flights of stairs. I promise to repay you in baked goods.”
He smiles and inclines his head.
“I don’t mind at all Miss Whitney, and if it gets me some more of those fabulous pastries I’m thrilled to do it. I nearly had to fight my daughter for them when I took them home.”
“Oh, how old is your daughter?”
He smiles and there’s a sparkle of pride in his eyes.
“She will be fourteen next week. She is terribly upset about having a quarantine birthday. She had a party planned and it had to be cancelled.”
Immediately, I jump to the rescue.
“How about if I make her a birthday cake? What’s her favorite flavor?”
George looks surprised.
“That would be lovely, Miss Whitney. I’m happy to pay you for it. I am not a very good baker and I lost my wife when Sarah was just five.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that. But it’s completely on me, and no, I won’t take your money for it. I’d love to make a young lady’s quarantine birthday a little brighter.”
George grabs a bag and my backpack, and I grab a suitcase. Together we walk down the stairs. He tells me how he lost his wife to breast cancer when she was just thirty years old. It breaks my heart to think of a little girl growing up without a mom. I couldn’t imagine not having my mom during that time. The guilt about lying to her always finds a way to wiggle back into my thoughts.
