Page 9 of Unsuitable

“I love the purple.” I gesture to her hair.

“It was blue last week.” She grins.

Cece is always changing her hair color. It comes with the territory. She’s a hairdresser—or I should say, hairstylist. She works at this really cool upscale salon in London.

Releasing her hands from my arms, she grabs my hand. “Come, let’s get you out of here.”

I scoop my carrier bag up from the ground and let her lead me across the road, toward her car.

I’ve just buckled up in the passenger seat when she turns to me, biting her lip, with a nervous look in her eyes.

“I did something…that I hope you’ll be cool with.”

“Depends. The last surprise someone gave me landed me in prison.” I give her a deadpan look.

Her lips lift into a half-smile. “How long are you going to play that card?”

“Forever. I think I’ve earned it.”

“True.” She nods.

“So, this thing?”

“I got us a place.”

My eyes widen in surprise. “You moved out of your mum and dad’s?”

“It was time. And you need somewhere to live. My gran left me a good chunk of money when she died, so I put it to good use and invested it in an apartment.”

Shame covers me. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for the funeral.”

She waves me off. “I know you would have been there if you could. Anyway, I got us this apartment in Sutton. It’s nice. Three bedrooms. Not far from where Jesse is living, so you can be close to him.”

“Three bedrooms?” I stare at her.

“Yeah, a bedroom for you, one for me, and one for Jesse when he comes back home.”

A lump forms in my throat.

I can’t believe what she’s done for me.

She got this apartment to help me. She knows this is what I need to get Jesse back. It’s not like I can apply for custody of Jesse without a stable home. I was expecting to be in a hostel to start with until I got on my feet, and it would have taken me ages to sort out a place.

“Have you…” I bite my lip. “Have you seen Jesse recently?”

She exhales, and I know the answer. “I went to see him yesterday.”

Jesse has been living in a group home since I was put in prison.

I know what those places are like. I’ve been worried sick about him every moment I’ve been away from him, praying to God to keep him safe until I could get back to him.

Cece promised to check in on him regularly, and she’s kept me updated on his progress.

“How is he?”

“He’s doing okay.”

“Did you…” I swallow past the ache. I know full well the answer to my question, yet I have to ask it anyway. “He knew I was getting out today?”