Page 33 of The Suitcase Swap

Marisa nodded solemnly. ‘And then Mike had to shit all over it.’

‘There has to be a nicer way to say that,’ Sophie said. ‘But yes.’

‘Nicer, perhaps, but you can’t argue with the accuracy. So what are you going to do now?’ Marisa asked. ‘Are you going to see him again?’

Sophie shook her head. ‘I don’t know. He said the offer was open if I needed any help with my blog, but I’m not sure I want to court that kind of trouble.’

Marisa nibbled a fresh slice of pizza. ‘I completely understand why you’d be hesitant.’

‘I think for now I’m just going to concentrate on why I’m here – to be with you and Tom. To help. And my job. Thethings that make me happy. I really don’t need a romantic relationship adding a layer of complexity right now.’

Marisa sighed. ‘I was really hoping you’d at least get some good, sweaty sex out of it. I can’t imagine the Wicker Man being anything but a selfish ass in bed.’

‘Thank you,’ Sophie said. ‘I think. I’m choosing to take that statement as one of being hopeful about my future happiness.’

‘That’s how it was meant,’ Marisa said, picking up the remote. ‘Now, how do you feel about mechanical owls?’

They were just at the scene where the temple was falling apart when there was a knock at the door. Sophie had given up working, cuddling down into some blankets on the couch with Marisa. Neither of them were expecting anyone.

Marisa paused the film, getting up to check the peephole. ‘Well, that’s interesting.’

‘Who is it?’ Sophie asked.

Marisa looked back at her. ‘Mike is at the door. He does seem to be bearing gifts. What would you like me to do?’

She was very tempted to tell him to go away. Shereallydid not need more drama in her life from a man. ‘I’m not sure. Andrew—’

‘In this apartment he is now and forever the Wicker Man,’ Marisa said firmly.

‘Fine, the Wicker Man has given me plenty of drama this past year or so. I’m not sure if I want any more. Still, Mike isn’t Andrew and it doesn’t seem entirely fair to be equating them.’

One of Marisa’s brows went up. ‘Who said we need to be fair? We get to decide who we keep in our lives. There’s no guaranteed second chances. It’s not like you signed a contract. If he’s adding too much, he’s adding too much, full stop.’

Sophie got up from the couch and hugged Marisa fiercely. ‘Have I told you recently how much I adore you?’

‘Four times yesterday and twice this morning,’ Marisa said. ‘But I’m always accepting accolades.’

Sophie sighed. ‘How does he look? Sad? Uncomfortable?’

‘He looks like he’s about to tell someone he accidentally killed their goldfish.’

‘Oddly specific, but you do paint a picture.’ Sophie straightened. ‘Okay, you can answer it.’

Marisa waved her back before she cracked open the door. ‘Mr Tremblay. What are you doing here?’ She paused. ‘Also, I find it suspicious that you knew which apartment was ours.’

‘I stopped by Sophie’s apartment to give her something – she wasn’t there, so I texted Tom. I hope that’s okay. Is she here?’

‘She might be,’ Marisa said. ‘But then again, she might not be. I find that it entirely depends on your intentions.’

Sophie could almost feel Michael’s wince through the door; even though she couldn’t actually see him, she still had a sense that he felt bad. Andrew had never liked getting his nose rubbed in it when he’d messed up, often getting nastier and lashing out in consequence. He’d eventually apologize by bringing her a bouquet of roses – which she didn’t actually care for – and never quite saying he was sorry.

Normally she didn’t like people feeling upset or uncomfortable and would often leap forward to close the gap and smooth over the problem. But today . . . today she felt like seeing how this played out. If Mike stomped and pouted, their conversation would be short and final. Same if he was rude to Marisa, because her almost-daughter was right. She was under no obligation to put up with any of it.

The other side of the door was quiet for a long moment. ‘My intentions are to check on Sophie and to issue an apology for some of my behaviour.’

‘Okay,’ Marisa said. ‘Hold on.’ She shut the door. ‘What do we think?’

Sophie considered for a moment. ‘How sincere do you think he was being?’

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