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“It’s fine,” he says, his breath stirring my hair. “Josie was a whirlwind. On good days, there was no stopping her, and you couldn’t help but get swept along with her. She had this list she made and was determined to pick off as many items as she could.”
“A bucket list.”
“Yeah. Some things were small, others were big.”
“Like what?”
“How to make a perfect origami paper crane. That one wasn’t too hard. Even with my clumsy fingers.”
“Hey, don’t put yourself down. I’ve seen the things you make with those clumsy fingers.”
He chuckles, and I’m proud that I’ve managed to make him laugh.
“Is that so?”
“Stop fishing for compliments. How long did you have with her?”
“Two years. We tried to help her with as many as we could, but some of the things, like children…that was never in her future.”
My heart aches at the thought.
“Was getting married one of them?”
I feel his nod in the way his cheek moves against the top of my head.
“Yeah. It was one I could do. One I won’t ever regret doing.”
“You’re a good man, Kallan Reed.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
BAILEY
I HATEalarms. I’m usually up before mine goes off, but on mornings like this, I want to throw my damn phone out the window.
After a satisfying stretch, I turn on my side, burrowing deeper into my pillow and forcing myself to keep my eyes closed. Old me would have glanced to the left first thing every morning to take in Quinn’s slumbering features, cuddling closer to steal some of his warmth. New me wakes up every morning to an untouched pillow and cold sheets.
I have two choices here. Either break the habit or get a single bed. The second option feels too much like admitting defeat, so option one it is.
Research suggests that it takes about sixty-six days to form a habit, and breaking it may take anything from eighteen to 254 days. I’ve had over ten years to form this habit, which is a hell of a lot longer than sixty-six days, but I’m clinging to the hope that it won’t take more than eighteen days for me to wake up without this soul-wrenching emptiness. If that doesn’t work, there’s always hypnosis. Now there’s a thought. Hypnotize Quinn right out of my life.
Five more minutes won’t hurt. It’s not like I have far to go for work. Living upstairs has its advantages. But I miss my morning walks. The sounds of the waves—sometimes lapping, sometimes crashing against the harbor walls. The vibrant purples, reds, and greens of the mural—painted and paid for by a bunch of young, local artists—splashed across the side of Sid’s corner store. The cobblestone streets. It's not a long walk, ten minutes at most, but I treasured it. I enjoyed the silence, mentally preparing myself for the day ahead. I enjoyed the beautiful flower boxes bursting with color. Everything is painted differently in the early morning light when the world is still sleepily awakening from its slumber.
I don’t know how people can live in big cities. The constant hustle and bustle where everyone is a stranger, and nobody cares about anything beyond themselves. Sure, we get crazy busy during tourist season, and it’s our lifeblood, but we still know our neighbors and wave at them. We still have a sense of community.
Eventually, when I can’t ignore my bladder anymore, I drag myself up and swing my legs off the side of the bed. I’m still rubbing leftover sleep from my eyes when my phone rings. Mom’s the only one who ever calls me this early—not that she calls much—so I don’t check before answering through a yawn.
“Mom, just because you enjoy catching the worms doesn’t mean anyone else does.”
“That’s no way to greet your mother,” she huffs over the sound of pots and pans clanking in the background. Mom lives to cook, and growing up there was never a meal that wasn’t an occasion. Grabbing a bowl of cereal before school? Never an option. We never even had cereal in the house. She was of the mind that if it couldn’t be fried, baked, grilled, or poached, it had no business being in her house.
Yawning again, I stumble my way into the bathroom.
“Bailey, are you tinkling while talking to me?”
My laugh is more of a snort. What’s going on down there right now is a bit more than a tinkle. Who even still uses the word tinkle?
“Don’t call me so early if you don’t want to hear it.”
