Page 10 of Hooked on Love

“Tomorrow,” I say firmly, not breaking stride. “Whatever it is, it can wait.”

“But the Fourth of July event—”

“Tomorrow, Chris.”

I push through the glass doors into the parking lot, the cool evening air hitting my face. The resort sits right on the water, all modern glass and natural wood, designed to blend with the landscape while still screaming luxury.

It’s beautiful. Prestigious. Everything I wanted when I applied for this position.

It’s also exhausting.

I climb into my car and sit for a moment, hands on the wheel, not moving. Through the windshield, I can see the marina next door. Boats bobbing gently in their slips. The water beyond, stretching toward the horizon.

Jake’s boat is down there somewhere.

I not so absently wonder if he’s still there…or if he’s already back at the apartment.

Or is it…our apartment? The thought sends a weird flutter through my stomach.

I start the car and pull onto the main road, my brain running through everything I need to do tomorrow. Check on the Henderson situation. Finalize the July 4th fireworks permit. Meet with the catering team…

My stomach growls, interrupting my mental checklist.

Right. Food. I sigh, realizing I forgot to eat lunch again.

As if on cue, I see the Thai place on Harbor Street up ahead and make a split-second decision to pull into the parking lot. Antonio’s Italian is next door, and the Mexican spot is across the street, but something about pad thai sounds perfect right now.

Within minutes, I’m standing at the counter, looking at the menu, when the woman taking my order asks, “For here or to go?”

“To go,” I say automatically, then pause. “Actually…make it enough for two.”

She raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment. I order the pad thai, some spring rolls, chicken satay, and extra sauce. Way more food than one person needs.

What are you doing, Peyton?

I don’t have an answer. Just this weird impulse that made me think of Jake sitting on the couch last night, looking rough and tired, and the fact he’s probably had a long day at the marina dealing with his boat.

“You’re an empath,” my mother would say, “of course you let a stranger sleep on your sofa. It’s only right that you feed him, too.”

Stranger-danger never really was a thing to Mom. She always saw the good in people. I suppose that’s another thing she left me.

I shake the thought away and pay. I wait for the food, checking my phone. No messages. No missed calls. Just a reminder from my meditation app that I’ve skipped the last four days in a row.

The bag of food is warm in my hands as I walk back to my car. The smell fills the interior—ginger and garlic and peanut sauce—and my stomach growls again.

The drive home takes two minutes. The whole time, I argue with myself over why I decided to order enough for two…

You said roommates, not friends.

He said he’d stay out of your way.

He’s basically a stranger who walked in on you naked.

Between the way he said ‘have a good day at work’ this morning and the steady realization that’s been creeping up on me all day, getting louder with each hour of: I’m going home to someone.

For the first time since Mom died, I’m going home to an apartment that isn’t empty.

The thought hits me so hard my eyes burn.