Page 98 of After Midnight

“More important things than having lunch with your mother? She misses you, you know. You never come around anymore.”

I almost say, I wonder why that is. But I bite the words back, draw myself up, and say, “See you around, Pops.”

Then I get the fuck out of there before he can try to bait me into a fight. That’s the last thing I want; it always makes Mom cry.

Out in my Raptor, I crank up the engine. When I glance back at the house, Mom is standing on the porch, lifting one hand to wave.

And I hate the feeling in my gut as I wave back, then drive away.

ON MY WAY HOME, I swing through LA to pick up lunch from my favorite taco truck, which is parked on a corner in the Arts District. After paying and dropping a ten-dollar bill into the tip jar, I start back in the direction of the Raptor, then find myself remembering when I was here with Remi, and without making the conscious decision to do so, I start following the same path I walked with her that day. It makes me feel closer to her, even though she’s a state away.

And the path leads me to the studio on the corner, with the For Rent sign still perched in the front window.

I stand on the sidewalk, staring up at the empty building. When Remi saw this place, her face totally changed. It was like she lit up from inside, and I could almost see her vision for this space taking shape in her blue eyes.

After we walked away, she didn’t bring it up again. But that’s one of those things I’ve learned about her: She’s independent as hell, and she doesn’t ask anyone else to help her achieve the things she’s chasing.

That independence is part of what I love about her.

My fingers tighten on the paper bag, crinkling it as I stand there on the corner staring up at the building.

Love.

That word feels a hell of a lot more accurate than like.

I narrow my eyes against the sun and the glint coming off the shiny windows, and I can picture her here, decorating this space, the door propped open and curtains billowing as she welcomes students to class. It’s a ridiculous idea; Remi doesn’t even live here. Her life is in Vegas, hundreds of miles from me. I’m not sure she’d even want to live in LA. There’s something about her that feels like the desert runs through her veins. Maybe she’ll never want to be parted from it.

But I reach into my pocket anyway, still not entirely sure what I’m doing, and I dial the number on the For Rent sign. Then I hesitate. I look down at my phone, wondering if I’m just being stupid. No harm in just asking some questions though.

I hit the Call button and lift the cell to my ear.

It rings twice, and then a friendly woman answers.

“Kaufman Property Group. How can I help you?” the voice on the other end of the line says.

For a brief moment, I doubt myself again and consider just hanging up. Remi hasn’t even mentioned this studio again. Maybe it was just some random idea she had as we were walking by.

But then I see Remi’s eyes, that look she got, the way she peered through the window into the vacant space.

So I draw a breath and say, “I have some questions about one of your rental properties.”

chapter 45

Remi

IT’S BEEN A COUPLE DAYS since I found the orchids on my porch, but discomfort still lingers in my stomach and under my skin. I danced on Saturday and Sunday, and James never showed up, even though my eyes kept scanning the floor and booths for him. He didn’t leave anything else on my porch either—it’s the first thing I look for now when I get home from a shift at the club.

Now it’s Monday, and I just finished up at the gym with Riley. I need to pick up groceries so I can meal prep for my work week coming up. Usually, I enjoy shopping and cooking and going through my normal routines, but ever since coming back from Cali, it feels almost like I’m dragging my feet through my daily tasks, and more often than I mean to, my eyes find the sky, and my thoughts are drawn to Seb.

I keep watching the planes that fly overhead, wondering if any of them are headed west, to where he is. I watch one plane cut through the pale blue sky from where I sit in the front seat of my Jeep, parked in the grocery store lot. And I imagine myself on it, headed for the coast. Remembering the glittery pink sign in Seb’s hands when he picked me up at the airport makes me smile.

The plane slowly disappears from view, and I let out a sigh, then shove open my car door, grab my bags from the back, and head into the grocery store. I’ve got a long list, and I pop my earbuds into my ears and turn on my playlist as I walk the aisles, grabbing fresh produce, canned goods, a box of pasta, and a few bags of chips. I even pick up some Skittles, just because they remind me of Seb. Maybe I’ll keep some around, so if he comes to visit me again, he can eat them.

The thought comforts me, and I smile to myself.

My cart is already halfway full when I look up from the list I have on my phone and glimpse a man walking away from me down the grocery aisle.

Tall. Lean. A flash of blond hair, trimmed neat around his neck and ears. A crisp jacket over nice slacks.