Accidental Tryst (Charleston #1)(29)

When he admitted he was stunned, I couldn't help my smile. The fact that my stomach flipped over as I read his text was, however, a little concerning.

My madness was complete when I found myself looking up the number and calling Armand.

"Indigo Café," Armand's voice greeted me.

"Armand, it's Emmy."

"Emmy, mi amor. I saw your friend today." He whistled. "Aye, aye, he is delicioso."

"Stop it, Armand," I admonished. And then because I couldn't help it. "He is though, isn't he?"

"Darling girl, yes."

"So did he enjoy his breakfast?"

"Of course," he said, sounding affronted that I'd even suggest such a thing—especially since after the café closed at two in the afternoon, Armand spent the rest of his time hand-making menu items from scratch. "But he spent mucho tiempo on the computer, tap, tap, tapping."

"Right, well, he seems to be a busy man. So, how are you?"

"Bien, bien. Annie, she came for lunch with the baby. So cute!"

"She did? That's great. You didn't tell her about Trystan, did you?"

"But, of course. He is too handsome not to be news."

I cringed. She'd probably texted my phone, and if she hadn't she would as soon as she arrived home and got the baby down for a nap. "Shit. I have to go and do damage control. Love you, Armand. See you when I get back. Are we still going dancing?"

"Claro, mi amor. See you Friday."

I hung up and immediately opened the message app to text Annie and then froze. Oh my God. I didn't remember her number off the top of my head.

I bit my lip and sent a text to Trystan.



* * *



Any chance you can forward me the contact information for my friend, Annie? Thx.



* * *



I caught myself chewing on my thumbnail and decided I couldn't put off walking somewhere to have lunch, or I was going to eat my own hand with anxiety. Thankfully, the rain slowed but the forecast showed there was more coming.



* * *



Oh and if she texts, just ignore it. She has a new baby and is a little woo-woo in the head. Says some crazy stuff. K, thx, bye.



* * *



After a frustrating meeting with David's assigned social worker, the head nurse, and Penny, I was no clearer on what to do about him. They wanted hard and fast dates when they could count on David being gone. It came down to a liability issue where they simply weren't equipped or insured enough to deal with a dementia patient. Then I spent an equally frustrating few hours with David, who started slipping into confusion as he got tired. And I still hadn't had a text back from Trystan. It shouldn't have bothered me, but somehow it did.

Maybe my phone had died. The battery was for shit. Unfortunately, the lack of hearing from him was probably more along the lines of him having received a couple of texts from Annie that were meant for me, and was now, at this very moment, hiring personal security.

What a disaster. It was already weird between us. This had made it infinitely worse. And I didn't understand why I was so fixated on making a good impression.

When I looked at his phone, I almost expected to see no signal, showing me he'd given in and bought a new phone and cancelled this one. There was an Apple Store right there on King Street. It would take him approximately eight hundred dollars and twenty minutes to get rid of me. Clearly he had the means. He wouldn't even have to ditch my phone, he could just leave it with Armand.

Trying to untangle my feelings about whether I was more worried about not having a working phone for the next twenty-four hours or that I might never hear from Trystan Montgomery again was giving me a headache.

I came to a dead stop outside my rented Airbnb. I looked at the phone to make a decision about dinner, and some kind of instinct borne of always checking my work email when I looked at my phone to make sure I never missed anything had me opening Trystan's by mistake.

Shaking my head, I double tapped to close it just as I saw an email from Trystan. From Trystan. To Trystan. It took all my effort not to open it and assume it was for me. I'd just pretend I hadn't seen it. I had to kick this Trystan habit.

Except right at that moment a text appeared at the top of the screen, and my heart rate sped up. Shit.



* * *



Suit Monkey: I replied to your email.





15





Emmy





To: tmontgomery

From: tmontgomery

Subject: re: Phone



* * *



Dear Emmaline Angelique Dubois



* * *



Thank you for your restaurant recommendations today. Both came at very opportune times. And by the way, your town is lovely, but I wouldn't call it a city. New York is a city.

I decided to wing it tonight and find somewhere to eat without your help. I chose The Ordinary. Luckily the food was extra-ordinary. Ha. I sat at the bar. Did you know they have 412 different types of gin? At least it seemed so. I'm more of an aged single malt man myself, but when in Rome . . .

Leaving my phone at the front desk of The Planter's Inn tomorrow evening might be problematic. They are kicking me out in the morning. Apparently your town has some kind of festival starting this weekend and the entire hotel is booked. In fact it seems every hotel is over-booked. Perhaps they should move the festival to an actual city?