Page 88 of Back in the Saddle

“You read an actual newspaper?” I asked, looking to him at his Nespresso machine.

“Only the Sunday edition. It’s a tradition.”

My gaze wandered back to the paper.

I knew there was more to it, but I’d just survived confessing my Disney side. I wasn’t sure I could take him sharing the only time he spent with his ex was when they shared the Sunday paper (or something).

“Being in the FBI is no joke.”

I focused on him. He’d moved to the island and was leaning into his forearms across from me.

“Working for Mace was no joke either,” he continued. “The same with my current position. And Idoworkout. I hike. I like to be outside. I have a housecleaner, but I take care of my own yard. I’m a busy guy. I learned early in my FBI days that whatever shit I’d face on the job that I couldn’t work out when I trained my body, I could let go if I made Sunday mornings with coffee, a bagel and the paper sacrosanct. I could catch up on the news. Read the comics. Check out the sports section. Do my best with the crossword. And just be.”

“That’s pretty cool,” I said.

He pushed up and gestured to the paper. “Help yourself. I got my fix.”

“Thanks,” I replied.

He did my coffee, spread the perfect amount of shmear on my bagel, and kissed the side of my head before he muttered, “I won’t be long.”

I lifted my cup at him as I turned the page on theNew York Times.

Yeah, he gotThe Times.

Even his Sunday paper was classy.

I heard the shower go on from afar, right before I heard a vibrating noise coming from my cross body that was sitting on the island not far from me.

Getting a text was good. It took my mind off Eric in the shower.

Eric, naked and wet in the shower.

Eric, naked, wet, and in the shower just down a long-ass hall from me.

I might not exercise, but I bet I could sprint down that hall. I might be winded at the end of it, but I had a feeling once I got there Eric would be up for doing all the work.

Pushing these lovely thoughts aside (with no small amount of difficulty), I set my mug down, reached for my bag, pulled my phone out, engaged the screen, and stared in shock at the number of texts I had.

Three from Luna. Two from Raye. Two from Harlow.

And five from Katelyn as well as a voicemail from her.

I didn’t know where to begin, since I was freaking out about what all this could be because it had to be about Jeff.

I started with the voicemail.

Katelyn said, “Hey, Jess. Joshua said you came by yesterday asking about Jeff and Icannot believehe didn’t tell you what’s going on. First, Jeff’s okay. Second, we got him back on his meds. The rest, it’s too much for a voicemail.Call me.”

I then went to her text string and saw the following:

First:Joshua is in sooooo muuuuuch trouble!

Second:Jeff’s fine. He’s been in touch. We’ve seen him. We got him back on track.

Third:I still cannot believe my husband didn’t tell you your brother is okay.

Fourth:There’s more you need to know.

---