Page 19 of The Suitcase Swap

Well, that didn’t helpat all. He might have actually made it worse. His body, unhelpfully, erupted into a panic sweat.A casual observer might think he was doing something dangerous, like disarming a bomb, not trying to have a normal, human conversation with a woman he fancied.

He wiped his forehead with a free hand, drying it on his jeans, then sent another text.For your blog.

There. Perfect. He’d fixed it. Assuming she’d saved his number into her phone and not thought some rando was texting her. Mike groaned. This. This was why he didn’t date. This was why he didn’t evenfriend.

He was just going to have to send another text.This is Mike Tremblay, by the way.

He tapped his phone against his forehead as he blew out a long breath.Mike Tremblay, you absolute muppet. At this rate, it’s just going to be you and Barney the houseplant for the rest of your life, and you’re probably going to kill the houseplant.

He sighed and went to get himself a glass of water.

Chapter Six

Sophie had spent her first full day in New York on her son’s couch fighting jet lag and watchingDatelinewith Marisa. The jet lag was gone, but now she was a little worried about going outside because that seemed like a good way to get murdered. Or be forced to join a cult. Or be forced to join a murder cult. The second day was spent cleaning her son’s flat and convincing Marisa to watch anythingbut Dateline.

Now she was on her third day and typing up a post about jet lag, which she was considering subtitling, ‘Nature’s way of confirming that planes are unnatural and no one should fly to a different time zone’. She wasn’t getting very far on the post. Her mind was unhelpfully pinging between worry about her son and Marisa, and the very real probability that she might try and order some of the cologne Mike had worn just so she could smell it. If she’d known what it was called, she would have already done it.

She felt like she’d just finished thinking about Andrew, and she didn’t want to think about another man – any man. She’d been happy and focused on her new, unfettered life stretching out before her. Why would the universe decide to set this distraction before hernow? She supposed it could be worse. She could be on Andrew’s social media, obsessing over posts about him and Lori.

Thankfully, that was no longer a temptation. To her, Andrew was now about as attractive as holy water was tovampires. The very sight of him made her recoil and hiss. Lori was welcome to him.

Mike, however . . . zero recoiling. No hissing. Pure temptation.

She bet he had really nice forearms. She was a sucker for a man’s forearms.

Sophie’s head thunked against the table. She didn’tneeda man, she really didn’t. She made her own money, had her own friends, and owned several different vibrators. Her sex life, sadly, had more joy and variety now than it ever had when she was married.

If she had to think about a man, she’d prefer to think of one so unattainable that he was basically fictional. Keanu Reeves. Idris Elba. Those clips of rugby players in the rain, roaming the pitch like errant gods, thighs straining against the wet material of their shorts. Men she could dream about who would never betray her or let her down.

Only now, inevitably, those players ended up with blue-green eyes and a crooked smile. It wasirritating.He was ruining her ability to fantasize properly.

She straightened in her chair. ‘Right, Sophie Swann. Get a hold of yourself. Focus. Get to work. Stop thinking of Mike Tremblay.’

Her phone buzzed. She looked at it and groaned asMike Tremblayshowed up on the screen. The universe had a sense of humour and it wasmean.She could ignore it. It felt rude, but there was no law against not responding to a text.

It buzzed again. And again.

She gave up, snatching the phone off the counter. She read his messages with a smile on her face. Then she read them again. Was he inviting her to go? She didn’tthinkso. Still, he had at least been thinking about her enough to text.

She clicked on her browser, pulling up Jane’s Carousel. It did look like the kind of thing she liked to do. She jotted itdown on her list of possibly posts so she wouldn’t forget to look into it further after she’d finished today’s post.

There was a knock on the door, making her frown. She hadn’t ordered anything and as far as she knew, Tom and Marisa were out at an appointment.

Another knock sounded, followed by a scratchy voice. ‘Come on, Gabi. You’re not answering your phone, and I know you’re in there.’

The voice didn’t sound angry, or even irritated, buttired.Sophie stood, making her way to the door so she could see who it might be. Through the curving lens of the peephole, she could make out a small, brown-haired man, holding a dog. She didn’t recognize him, but pulled open the door, leaving the chain on. ‘May I help you?’

He blinked at her rapidly, like a goldfish. ‘You’re not Gabi.’

‘I’m not, no,’ Sophie answered, even though he hadn’t really asked a question. She was somewhat transfixed by the blue flecks of glitter in his eyebrows.

He groaned, putting a hand over his face. ‘Gabi’s on sabbatical. You’re her renter. I forgot.’ He dropped his hand, and she could see a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead. In fact, she wondered if he might be unwell. His tanned skin had a sickly greenish undertone to it.

‘Are you feeling well?’

He sighed, setting the small dog down on the hallway floor. ‘I feel like hot garbage, to be honest, but I live alone and dogs don’t care if you’re sick. Gabi sometimes walks Stanley Poochie for me when I’m in a pinch.’

Sophie peered down at Stanley Poochie. She wasn’t sure what kind of dog he was. He looked like the kind of creature that might result if a French bulldog and a Pomeranian somehow managed to have sex with a gargoyle. He peered up at Sophie, his small pink tongue lolling out. He was hideous and she adored him. ‘I can walk him for you.’

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