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She had fire in her, which I admired, and she was business-minded like I was, so she understood the hustle.
My trip was filled with us Facetiming, and even digital, long-distance sex, distant “I love yous” and “I miss yous” were not enough for me to say how much I wanted her to be by my side. It was a struggle, but beggars can’t be choosers or whatever.
God, I missed her so much. I wanted to sleep the entire day with her until my jetlag was cured.
The driver drove in the direction of my penthouse in Miami that day. I had missed the sun and the salty taste of the tropical breeze.
It was cold this time of year in Europe, and I was thankful I didn’t have to wear so many layers now that I was home.
But when I arrived at my penthouse, it was quiet and empty. This was odd because Paige Simmons wasn’t the type of woman to dwell in silence. She’d usually prefer to have music playing in the background, even at low volume.
“Baby?” I called. I tossed my keys in the bowl by the foyer as I set my bags on the floor. Paige and I moved in together two years ago, and it was the best decision we’d made together. Choosing her was the best decision I had made. “Paige?”
It was unusual that she wasn’t home and that she wasn’t picking up her phone. It was four p.m. on a Thursday. She should have wrapped up her date with her friends that she mentioned already and be headed home. Plus, she was never without her phone.
I dialed her number as I walked towards the kitchen, only to see two vases of wilted peonies on the counter. Another oddity. Paige never waited for the flowers to wilt before changing them. She said it made her sad to see withering flowers, so when I could, I always made sure to change them out regularly.
I touched the decaying flowers, and they crunched in my hand, implying that it had been weeks, months even, since they died.
My stomach turned as alarm bells rang in my head. Was Paige in danger? Had she been in an accident and she couldn’t pick up her phone? When I dialed her again the third time and was sent to voicemail, I decided to call Ryan.
His phone rang endlessly as well, and I didn’t stop dialing it over and over again until on my seventh try, he finally picked up.
“Matthew?” His voice crackled with breathless energy like he had been running before answering.
“Ryan,” I greeted him.
“How are you, man? Are you home already?”
“I am,” I answered, not caring about introductions. “Look, I’m at the penthouse, and Paige isn’t home. Have you seen her by any chance?”
“No, man. I haven’t. I’m in California right now with Reagan and Dad.” I didn’t know why, but Ryan’s voice seemed off, like he was doing something suspicious. But again, it was not my business. Ryan was an adult and was grown up enough to face the consequences of his actions.
“How long are you staying?” I asked.
“I’m hopping on a plane tomorrow. How about we get some drinks, yeah?”
“Sounds good. See you, St. James.” I ended the call, my stomach still turning, worried sick about my girl not being home.
I was about to dial her number again when my phone started to vibrate on the kitchen counter. A weight seemed to evaporate from my shoulders when I saw Paige’s name show up on the screen.
“Matthew?”
“Baby? Where are you?” I asked.
“I’m at the home with Mama.” Paige’s voice was as carefree as I remembered despite the number of calls she missed from me.
Her mother had mobility limitations, and Paige thought it was better for everyone to send her mother to a care home. She visited her every day.
“I’ve been calling you.”
“I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t have cell reception in her room. I just received your calls.” The service in her mother’s room wasn’t usually an issue. But I didn’t want to sound paranoid because I might just be missing her.
“Come home. I miss you,” I said, taking my phone with me to take it to my room.
“I thought your flight was tomorrow.”
“I couldn’t wait to see you,” I said. “Are you coming home?”
