Swing (Landry Family #2)(67)

“I live here,” I point out, my voice wobbling.

“And, right now, so do I. Most likely I will when I get back later today too.” He bends forward and takes in what I’m sure is anxiety written all over my face. “Hey. Relax. It’s just a meeting.”

“It’s just a meeting,” I repeat, although that’s not true and I hate that he’s comforting me. “I know that. Now go, get it over with so we know what we’re facing.”

“Exactly.” He kisses my forehead. “It’s what we’re facing because we’ll figure it out together, all right?”

“All right.”

He gives me one final, reassuring look and then leaves. As soon as the door closes, the walls cave in. The hum of the ice maker in the kitchen dances through the air and it only makes the quiet more obvious. No one is laughing, no one arguing. A television isn’t on in another room and cell phones aren’t chirping from some far corner of the house.

It’s just me.

And I hate it.

I drag my luggage to my room and empty the clothes into the laundry bin. Sorting my toiletries in the bathroom, I try to hum, sing, talk to myself out loud just to break the stillness. It seems that is something that can’t be fixed by my antics alone. It’s something deeper than yearns to be filled.

Pulling my phone from my pocket, I type a quick text to Lincoln.

Me: Good luck today.

Landry: I don’t need luck. I have you.

Me: Charmer. Call me when you get home.

Landry: Just be there waiting on me. Key is under the front mat.

Me: Gasp! That’s the most obvious place to put it.

Landry: Good point. Use the one I put on your keychain then. ;)

I bounce to my purse in the living room and dig until I find my keychain. There’s an extra key with a purple rubber band around the top dangling in between my car key and my house key.

Me: Sneaky!

Landry: I should be home around eight. I’d love for you to be there.

Me :I might be able to pull that off.

Landry: If you need a moving truck to help you . . .

Me: What happened to one day at a time?

Landry: That idea sucks. I’ve moved on. Note: You have too. ;) Jumping in shower. See you soon.

Me: xo



Danielle

I’ve done three loads of laundry, folded them, and put them away. I’ve reorganized my bathroom cabinets and purged about twenty bottles of crusty fingernail polish that outlived their expiration date by a few years. Then I sorted my lingerie into two piles—pretty and Aunt Flow. Looking at the clock, I still have a few hours before Lincoln is done.

There would be no issue with me going over there early. I have a freaking key. While that seems like a winning idea, and one that will make me less likely to end up in the looney bin this afternoon, I don’t want to do it. It’s too presumptuous.

I’ve jumped into a lot over the past few weeks, much of which I promised myself I never would. But I trust him. I want him. I even love him, which is enough to make me want to absolutely freak out if I think about it too long. So I don’t let myself go there.

Rushing into my bedroom and opening my suitcase that still sits on my bed, I toss in a few days’ worth of clothes and cosmetics and latch it shut. Grabbing a phone charger from the wall in the kitchen, as well as my keys, I head out the front door and lock it behind me. Within a few minutes, I’m in my car and heading across town towards the Smitten Kitten.

When I arrive, the eatery is bursting with aromas unusual for a Saturday afternoon. My brows are pulled together as I make my way to the counter.

“What’s that smell?” I ask. “What are you doing?”

Pepper is covered in flour. It dusts her nose, cheekbones, front of her apron and both arms. She blows out a breath and little white particles go floating. “The mixer had a mishap.”

“You or the electric one?” I laugh. “You look like a ghost!”

“I’m trying to make this soup I found online from China. I spent a fortune, a literal fortune, Danielle, on ingredients and it turned out to be the worst thing I’ve ever made.”

“Maybe it’s not,” I suggest. “Maybe it’s just not what you’re expecting.”

“I don’t want to talk about it. I’m grieving.”

Laughing at her dramatics, I order a chocolate croissant and a cappuccino and then burrow down in my spot in the corner. Pulling out a notepad, I plan on making notes for work next week but instead finding myself sketching the tree line from the Farm.

“What’s that?” Pepper asks, sitting my items in front of me. “And why are you here now?”

“I’m waiting on Lincoln to get done at a meeting,” I tell her. “We had the best time in Savannah.”

“What was it like?”

“Perfect,” I gush. “His family is incredible, the property was breathtaking. Now I can’t stand to be home alone. It’s just too mundane compared to the Landry’s.”

“Don’t go comparing stuff,” Pepper warns. “That’s a dangerous game.”

“I know.” I lift my cappuccino and watch the foam swirl. “I need you to make me feel better about this.”

“About what?”

“About this thing with Landry.” Taking a hesitant sip, I feel a sting as the drink trickles down my throat. “Tell me this will end okay. Tell me I’m not foolish to try this. Tell me this isn’t Einstein’s definition of insanity.”