Page 124 of Tangled with the Tight End

Cass: Are you still there? It stopped raining. I thought you’d come home.

And a few hours later …

Cass: I’m going to sleep. Your phone location tells me you’re still with the football player. Call me in the morning.

And then, this morning:

Cass: Earth to my twin. Are you alive? Did you forget to plug your phone in again? Call me when you get this.

There are also messages from clients.

Unknown Number: I saw your sign at the deli. I’d like to talk with you about walking my dogs.

Unknown Number: Purging the garage next weekend. Sure could use a helping hand.

Jennifer: The Fall Fun Run registrations are flowing in. Do you have an afternoon free to sort them into the database?

I quickly answer the dog walking one. She answers back, asking me to come by today to meet her dogs and “learn their idiosyncrasies.”

A clinking sound comes from the kitchen followed by the whir of the blender.

Is Declan awake? Getting himself one of those abhorrent green smoothies he drinks?

I stretch, pushing back the covers and climbing out of bed.

A moment later the loud rumbly hum of the vacuum cleaner fills the house.

Declan shouldn’t be vacuuming. He’s feeling better, but he needs to rest or he could have a setback.

I pocket my cell in the butter-soft, designer yoga pants I borrowed from Declan’s mom and rush out of the bedroom to stop Declan from overdoing it.

I run headlong into a middle-aged woman, skidding to a stop just before we collide.

“Oh! … Hi! … Sorry!” I exclaim.

The woman steps backward, smiling at me and turning off the vacuum.

“I’m Winona,” I explain, pointing back toward the guest room as if that sheds a light on anything. “I’m um … Declan’s … home health aide.”

The woman’s eyes rove down Declan’s jersey, lingering on the number eighty-eight, and then continuing down to the hemline and back up to my wide-eyed expression.

“Yeah. I’m not wearing your usual home health aide attire,” I admit without further explanation.

Home health aide. That's what I said—because that's what I am.

Except last night I definitely wasn't, and this morning … Well, this morning, I'm not quite sure what I am.

I pat my naturally wavy hair, which must be sticking out in a minimum of one thousand directions. Then I tuck a chunk behind my ear in an unsuccessful attempt to tame the unruliness.

“I uh … I was here yesterday … but then … the storm … Well, it was bad, wasn’t it? … So … I stayed in the guest room … just last night. I don’t make a habit of staying here. Obviously.”

My words come out in a hasty jumble. Nothing I said justifies my presence and the fact that I’m wearing Declan’s jersey. Instead, every word draws up images of me and Declan, cozying up on the floor of the front room while the fire bathed us in golden light and he kissed me.

My cheeks choose this moment to heat.

As soon as Declan’s kisses invade my thoughts, my fingers lift from my side as if they have a mind of their own. They head straight toward my lips. I cut them off at the pass halfway mid-air and reverse course, dropping them to my side where I channel my restlessness into fiddling with the edge of Declan’s jersey. The overall effect gives the impression that I’m prone to spastic involuntary movements. Just great.

“Nice to meet you, Winona,” the woman with the vacuum cleaner says, obviously overlooking my bizarre introduction.