Wherever It Leads(80)

I’m in his bedroom, the sunshine filtering in through the blinds. The fountain has been turned off and Fenton’s side of the bed is empty. I can smell his cologne in the air and smile as I close my eyes and let it permeate my senses. The notes hit every part of me, from my groin to my heart, and I know I’ve slipped too far into the rabbit hole to climb back out. I feel too good in his bed. I don’t know where this is going, but I’m on board, ticket in hand, heart on the line.

Rolling off the mattress and onto the floor, I notice his briefcase is missing. I swipe my robe off the chair in the corner and begin my search of the house for my man.

“Fent?” I call out, entering the living room. The sea is a brilliant blue, seagulls circling over the water. I could sit on the deck and watch it all day, and I just might do that if I can convince him to sit with me. “Fenton?”

I peek into his office and he’s not there. He’s not in the kitchen either, but there’s a note next to the Keurig.



Brynne,

I had to run to the office this morning. I’ll be back as soon as possible. Please be here when I return. I really want to talk to you.

Fenton



I run my fingers over the ink, his writing just like him—controlled, masculine, and striking. I slip it into the pocket of my robe and pop a coffee pod in the machine and await the delicious nectar of the gods.

Reading his letter again, something triggers a memory of him wanting to talk to me last night. An unsettled feeling washes over me. What would he want to talk about? Something in his tone last night right before I drifted off tells me it isn’t something I necessarily want to hear. He was too calm, too heavy, too serious.

I have no idea what he could want. Everything has been amazing.

Grabbing the steaming mug, I head back to the deck and get comfy in a chair. It’s so peaceful, the sun so high in the sky I’m guessing it’s closer to noon than an acceptable time to wake up on a weekday. A few people are on the beach below, walking a dog along the shore. They hold hands, letting their arms swing between them.

That’s what I want, I think to myself. Some day, when everything settles down, I want the ease of the couple on the beach. The comfort, the unhurriedness, the trust they seem to have.

Fenton has made me realize there’s so much more out there than I ever dreamed. He’s the hero in a movie, the dapper hunk that whisks you off your feet. The one all the girls want and somehow, he seems to want me.

No, he does want me.

That’s the thing—he doesn’t leave any doubts in my mind. I don’t question it like I did with men before him.

He. Wants. Me.

My lips twist across my cheek as I take a sip of my coffee and remember the way he looked at me from this very chair last night. I brush the lingering uneasiness out of my mind. Whatever he wants to talk about, we’ll discuss and deal with and move on.

A ringing sound chimes inside the house and I place my mug on the little glass table beside me. It rings again and I get up and venture back through the house. I try calling Fenton to see if I should answer, but it goes immediately to voicemail.

Standing on my tiptoes, I look out the peephole. A delivery guy in brown is standing holding an envelope. He goes to ring the bell again. I take a deep breath and open the door a sliver.

“Can I help you?” I ask.

“I have a package for Fenton Abbott.”

“He isn’t here right now.”

The man glances at the envelope in his hand. “This doesn’t require a signature. Do you want to take it?” he asks impatiently.

“Oh! I . . . uh . . . sure.” He hands it through the crack in the door and scrambles back to his truck.

Locking up behind me, I head to the kitchen and toss it onto the counter. It slides across the marble and smashes into a basket of fruit, causing apples and pears to go rolling across the hardwood floors.

“Shit!” I scoop them up and inspect the damage. Kind of bruised, but not too bad. Popping them back into the basket, the label on the envelope catches my eye. It’s blue and white, a bold, official looking emblem that I think I’ve seen before.

A ball presses in my throat, a feeling of anxiety lodging itself in my windpipe.

I flip the manila envelope around until the label is facing me. There’s nothing outstanding about it, nothing that seems out of line. Just a package to Nzou Ltd in care of Fenton.

Shrugging and blowing out a breath of relief, I wander back through the house and take my place again on the chair. The sun is warm against my legs and face, but the wind coming over the water keeps it perfect. I soak up the rays, breathing in the fresh air, but I can’t knock the feeling of something being off.

My mind scrambles, trying to locate the source of the anxiety. No matter how long I think, what I think about, nothing sticks out. Not one thing.

I down the rest of my coffee and make a mental note to call my doctor and get another dose of the anti-anxiety medicine I was on for a while earlier this year. I haven’t needed them in a few months. I always try to not need them, to not depend on them, but sometimes it’s necessary and I don’t want this feeling to spiral out of control and leave me bedridden like it did before.

Heading inside to grab another cup of coffee, I figure I’ll go ahead and call the doctor now. Nip this in the bud. My phone is on the coffee table in the living room, so I grab it as I go through. With one hand, I search for my doctor’s number. With the other, I insert a fresh K-Cup and push the magic button.