A Kiss Like This (Kiss and Make Up #3)(10)

Regardless of the sentiment, my arm wearily stretches out across my body, grappling for my phone on the bedside table, and I mumble to the empty room, “I swear, if this is Meg, I’m going to freaking kill her…”

I hold the phone up to my face, the light on the small screen brighter than my e-reader blinding me, and swipe the screen with my forefinger to open my messages. I give a small yip of delight. It’s my best friend, Cecelia, and I haven’t texted her in a few hours.

Propping myself up on an elbow, I flip a bedside light on so I’m not blinded by the glow of my phone, and smile when I click open her text.

Cecelia: HEY SLACKER! You must have been busy today. You never sent me a note and now I miss you even more!!!

Me: I’m so sorry. You wouldn’t believe the day I had. And why are you up so late?

Cecelia: Waiting for Matthew to get home. He had a dinner meeting with his agent and I’m up waiting so I can eat his leftovers. He promised me steak. What’s your excuse? Why are you up?

Me: Reading and NOT waiting to eat my boyfriend’s table scraps.

Cecelia: Like I’m going to pass up steak niblets. Don’t roll your eyes at me.

Me: I wouldn’t dare ;)

Cecelia: Everything is situated in the new condo—all is well in Chicago. When are you going to come down and visit?? Or should I come up?

Me: Maybe we should plan an overnight somewhere during my break. Not ALL of us are done with college, Ms. Master’s Degree showoff.

Cecelia: Break would be a good time to come up in the fall. Matthew has a bye week in December and I know he’d love to see everyone. So maybe early first semester?

Me: Okay. But I also really want to see your new condo. Before we get to all that tho… I have a confession to make. I did something stupid.

Cecelia: You???? Abby and ‘I did something stupid’ do NOT belong in the same sentence. MATTHEW and something stupid, on the other hand… Or Jenna and ‘something stupid,’ but never Abby.

Me: Well, then aren’t YOU in for a treat. Are you sitting down? This one is a doozy…

***

As I move around my bedroom, piecing together my outfit and getting ready for class, I stop to pause in the mirror, studying my reflection with renewed interest.

I’ve already thrown on jeans, a navy fleece, fleece vest, and navy Bean Duck boots. My long brown hair is in a loose ponytail, and since it’s both cold and rainy, I toss on a ball cap for good measure.

Shifting to my dresser, I watch myself in the mirror as I insert small gold hoops into both ears and clasp a thin gold necklace around my neck. Like I do every single morning, my hand reaches robotically into the jewelry bowl for the ring my parents gave me for high school graduation. Dismayed, my fingers touch the cold white ceramic and feebly feel around, but they turn up… nothing.

My mouth turns down, perplexed. Huh. That’s odd.

I crouch down a tad and get eye level with my old oak dresser, eyeballing the surface and moving a few things around. I lift my jewelry bowl, looking under a few notebooks and a blinged out coffee mug. I could have sworn I put it back in the bowl…

I stand in front of the dresser, staring at its surface, chewing on my lip and racking my brain. Where the heck is that ring?

Getting down on my hands and knees, I peer under the wooden dresser, next to it, and under the bed, feeling my way around the thin, threadbare carpet. I grab my phone and open the flashlight app, shining the bright beam under all my furniture.

No luck.

Frustrated, I stalk over to the bed, yanking back my quilt and sheets, flapping them up and down like a parachute, for any trace of the gold band that I’ve worn every day for the past three and a half years.

“Ugh!” Why do I even take it off? I’ll tell you why; I can’t smear moisturizing lotion all over my hands when I’m wearing it without getting cream in all the intricate crevasses and gooping up the small vintage stone.

But still, I’ve never misplaced it before. Never, not once.

I continue my crusade for a few more minutes, until I run out of time and have to leave for campus, missing breakfast and the opportunity to put together a snack for later in the day.

Sighing, I grab my laptop, notebook, and messenger bag, abandoning the rescue mission for now and heading out the door.





CHAPTER 5

Caleb

Balancing my six-foot-three frame up on a chintzy six-foot ladder, I lean precariously to the side, brace my forearm against the wall, and grasp the bucket of plaster in another.

Having already patched the large, gaping hole in the foyer, I carefully spread the paste on the old wall over the patching tape, using the putty knife to smooth the edges before the plaster begins to dry.

Some putz on the hockey team named Cubby Billings thought it would be a fantastic idea to take the NCAA National Hockey Championship trophy that’s normally displayed in the dining room of the Omega house, and hoist it up in the air.

All thirty pounds of it.

At some point this weekend, Cubby stumbled through the door with it after a hockey victory party, lurched to the side, thanks to the five consecutive Jaeger bombs he’d consumed, narrowly avoided the porcelain Omega vase resting on an antique cherry wood table, and crashed into the wall instead.

Oh, wait.

I forgot the part where a sorority girl named Claudia was riding Cubby’s shoulders, and she was the one who actually smashed the trophy into the wall. You know, in case you were wondering why the f*cking hole was eight feet up off the ground, and why I’d need a ladder to patch it in the first place.