By the Book (Meant to Be #2)(9)

The woman smiled back at her. “Oh, that’s good. How long are you in town for?”

Izzy laughed. “When I said mini, I meant mini. I got here just now from a conference in LA and I have about four hours before I have to drive to LAX to fly back to New York. But I’m going to make the most of it. Maybe eat some tacos, go to the beach—it’s about twenty-eight degrees in New York now, so I want to enjoy this weather while I can.”

The woman’s smile got wider. “I’ll tell you just where to go. There’s a great taqueria, not on the beach, but not too far away. Tell them Michaela sent you, they’ll hook you up.”

Izzy pulled out her phone to jot down the name of the taqueria Michaela gave her.

“Thanks, Michaela,” she said. “I appreciate it.” She took a deep breath. “And can you just tell Beau that I said he can email me anytime about the memoir? I’m not an expert, or anything, maybe he’d rather talk to Marta, but if he just needs some encouragement, or reassurance, or anything like that, I’m happy to help.” Why had she said any of this? Oh well, it’s not like she had anything to lose here.

Michaela gave her that look again. Like she could see right through her. “Sure, Isabelle,” she said. “I’ll let him know.” She slipped on the sandals by the front door. Sandals in February, amazing. “Here, I’ll walk you to your car. I need to check the mail anyway.”

And she probably wanted to make sure Izzy actually left.

They walked down the sloping path together, and Michaela turned toward the mailbox at the bottom of the path. And then she slipped, or tripped over something, so fast that Izzy couldn’t reach out a hand, and she fell, right at Izzy’s feet.

“Oh no!” Izzy bent down. “Are you okay?”

Michaela looked up at her. “I think I twisted my ankle.”

Izzy knelt down. “Can I help you up? Let’s see how it feels.”

Michaela held on to Izzy as she stood up, and then winced as she tried to put weight on her left ankle.

“Do you think you can walk up to the door?” Izzy asked.

Michaela tried to take a step, and stopped. “Can you help me inside?”

Izzy put her arm around Michaela as they turned to the door. “Of course. You need to get ice on that.”

They moved, very slowly, back up to the front door.

“Thanks so much for your help,” Michaela said. “I don’t want to get in the way of your mini vacation.”

“What was I going to do, leave you sitting on the ground?” Izzy said. “The tacos will be there.”

When they finally got to the front steps Izzy helped Michaela up them and through the door.

“I hate to ask,” Michaela said, “but can you help me into the kitchen?”

Izzy pushed the door open. “No problem.”

They made their slow way down the long hallway. Izzy took the opportunity to glance around to see what Beau Towers’s house was like. The floor was tile, the doors were all big and wooden—and mostly closed—and there was lots of art on the walls. Hmm, this wasn’t the kind of house she’d expected Beau Towers to live in. It was a lot homier than she would have thought.

They finally got to the kitchen. It was sunny and warm, with fancy appliances and a cozy-looking breakfast nook with a round kitchen table under a big window. Izzy helped Michaela to a seat at the table.

“Here, sit down and put your ankle up. I’ll get you some ice.”

Izzy grabbed a dish towel off a hook on her way to the refrigerator. She pulled open the freezer and took out a bag of frozen peas. It was sort of comforting to see that even this rich guy had frozen peas in his freezer.

“Here.” She wrapped the bag in the dish towel and handed it to Michaela. “Put this on your ankle, but give me a second—I’ll fill up another bag with ice so you have more than one ice pack.”

Michaela set the bag of peas on her ankle and let out a sigh before she looked up at Izzy. “I would say you don’t have to do all of that, but I imagine that wouldn’t do any good, would it?”

Izzy shook her head. “None at all, so I’m glad you didn’t bother to say it. Now, do you have any of those gallon plastic bags? The ones that seal.”

Michaela pointed. “That drawer, to the right of the dishwasher.”

Izzy pulled a bag out and surveyed the ice maker on the fridge. “Oh wow, multiple kinds of ice. Perfect.” She pushed a button and crushed ice flew out of the ice maker and straight into the plastic bag. “Now, put one underneath, and one on top. Wrap your ankle in the towel first, though, otherwise it might be a little too cold. And remember that these frozen peas have been used as an ice pack.”

Michaela laughed. “I should label them somehow, just so I know.”

Okay, Izzy had to ask.

“Do you live here? Are you and Beau…?”

Michaela stared at her for a moment, then laughed very hard. “Oh, no, no. I’m his assistant.” She gestured to the kitchen. “And also his cook. I do a little bit of everything around here. But no, I don’t live here. And no. We aren’t.”

Ahh, okay. Though what Beau Towers needed an assistant for, in his long days of not responding to emails and not turning in his book, Izzy had no idea. But then, rich people lived very different lives than people like her.