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I’ve been in Pines Peak for a few days.
That’s it.
I don’t know what’s really going on in Parker’s life, besides the fact that he can’t live in the structure he calls home, and he’s a bartender who doesn’t even know how to mix a cocktail.
I’m here to try to help him. Instead I drank with him and then made out with him near his truck in a dark, empty parking lot like we were two teenagers.
Time to put your big-girl pants back on, Gemma,I tell myself, as I get off the line with Carly.
I am going to take the day off from normal work stuff. It’s good for me, this mini-vacation. I need it. I understand that now that I have a solid eight hours of sleep under my belt. Also, Parker’s words of wisdom last night landed. He was a pro athlete, and he knows what he’s talking about.
I was pushing my limits, and it wasn’t healthy.
At best I was heading for chronically high blood pressure and an incurable caffeine addiction. At worst, I was heading straight for burn out. The kind of burn out that includes a weird collapse in a public place, an ambulance ride to the ER, and IV infusions plus bedrest.
Slowing my pace a little definitely feels right.
But just because I’m veering away from the routine of emails, meetings, and managing my team, that doesn’t mean I have to actually laze around all day. Self-care can also mean getting fresh air, exercise, and maybe even a little snooping.
It’s the snooping part that sounds the most fun, actually.
I’m going to do some honest-to goodness research today, with regards to Parker’s life situation.
What is actually going on at his mobile home?I wonder, as I brush my teeth.
Back in the guest room. I tug leggings on and then lace up my running shoes.
Did he make up the noise issue thing, like Carly thinks, or is it legit?
And if it’s legit… what is making the noise?
I ease the guest bedroom door open, peek left and right, then tiptoe down the hall.
I wince as the rubber sole of my sneaker squeaks against the floor. The door’s latch clicks under my thumb, and I step out into the brisk, sun-streaked fresh air.
Once the front door is securely closed behind me, I bend my knee so I’m gripping the toe of my right foot. The stretch makes my quad burn.
I put my left leg through the same torture, then start down the road at a slow jog. I know from the maps on my phone that the Tipsy Tavern—and therefore my car—is four miles away. Most of it is down hill. I haven’t jogged in ages, and this will be good for me.
Chapter18
Gemma
It’s cool out this morning, with a few clouds up in the sky that make the sun land in patches on the pavement. A few golden leaves twirl down onto my path, but I don’t bother trying to catch them like I used to do when I was a kid.
Back then, I’d say a wish whenever I caught a leaf. I still do that on rare occasions, now that I’m grown. But this morning, I don't trust myself enough to even try to form a wish.
I’d probably wish for something stupid.
Like another night on that big, overstuffed couch, with the fire crackling and Parker’s arms wrapped around me.
Each time we kissed last night, more of my reservations fell away.
All those inner protests—they twirled away from me like these leaves falling around me. And that left me bare and raw and vulnerable. More vulnerable than when I was standing on that stage, singing Karaoke.
What if Carly’s right, though, and this is just fun and games to Parker?
I know Carly’s hard on her brother. It’s natural for siblings to be like that with each other. Competitive, even unfairly harsh.
