Page 55 of Love Is Ale You Need

My heart plummets to the floor. Of course, the one time I initiate the plans, he’s busy.

Rylee

Okay. No worries. Maybe some other time.

Trey

Definitely. We’ll talk later.

I drop my phone to the laminate wood tabletop. I got my hopes up for nothing.

“Why such the long face?” Dessa sets her purse on the bench and scoots into the booth.

“It’s nothing.”

“You look like someone ate the last of the pancakes.” Both her palms splay out on the table. “Wait? Are they out of pancakes?”

“No. There are pancakes. I’ve already placed our orders.”

“Oh. Good.” She dramatically pretends to wipe her forehead. “If it’s not the pancakes, what is it?”

I exhale a sigh. “I invited Trey to come over for dinner, but he said he already has plans.”

“What is he doing?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

“Why don’t you ask?” She twirls a dark strand of hair around her finger.

“It’s kind of intrusive to pry into his life. If he wanted me to know, he would tell me.” I spin the spoon around in my coffee. “He’s probably hanging out with the guys or doing a business dinner or something.” I glance up at her. “But wouldn’t he tell me if that was the case?”

“You put yourself in everyone else’s business. Now it’s time to do it for your own.” She shrugs.

“Not true.” I point my spoon at her. “They always come to me for advice, and I tell them how it is.”

“Maybe you should take your own advice. You clearly labeled him as just a friend. If he was a boyfriend, then maybe, but as a friend, not really. Unless your feelings run deeper than only a friendship.” She quirks an eyebrow at me.

“This is exactly what Kyle would do. Tell me he was having late night meetings when he was actually having himself a late night snack with other women.”

“Well, then there’s only one thing you can do. See where he’s going.” She leans against the green vinyl and crosses her arms over her chest.

“Like follow him?”

“Yeah. Why not.” She shrugs. “Then you’ll know for sure what he’s up to. Let me ask you this.” She leans forward, resting her chin on her clasped hands. “What would Rylee advise herself to do?”

The server sets plates of buttery pancakes and sizzling bacon in the middle of our table. While Dessa dives in fork first, I toss around the following Trey idea round in my head. It would give me my answer. He’d be none the wiser, as long as I don’t get caught. This is dumb. I hate this. I hate that I question something I shouldn’t. This is all Kyle’s fault.

* * *

I slinked down in the seat of my vehicle that’s sandwiched between a truck with massive tires and a four-door sedan on the street outside the parking garage of The Blue Stone Group. This isn’t the type of advice I’d give to others, so what am I doing? Only going against everything I tell others to do. My excuse… Trey’s turning all my rational thinking to mush. I texted Marcie earlier asking if she could pick up Abby at the bus stop and watch her for a few hours. Since she can’t let it be what it is, I had to go into a long-winded spiel about my stakeout mission. She said since it’s for the good of my vagina, she’ll allow it.

When his black SUV comes into view, he turns left, driving away from me. A couple of cars pass before I pull out. I maintain a safe distance but keep him in my sights. Chalk this up as my first low speed pursuit. My sweaty palms slip on the steering wheel as I follow him through a residential area of town. He turns right and my brows knit together. There’s only one building down this road.

A large Whispering Pines Assisted Living sign sits on the corner of the road leading to the parking lot. Trey parks near the front entrance while I find a spot farther away. Squinting, I watch him through the glass doors as he enters and talks to the receptionist. Shit. I need to keep a pair of binoculars in my car. I shift to the left for a better angle, but he’s gone. Shit. I spin to peer over my other shoulder, and I catch sight of his black jacket headed toward a hallway. Is he visiting someone? What if it’s a nurse he’s screwing behind my back? Dammit. I jump out of my vehicle and beeline it to the front doors. Behind the desk sits an older woman with salt and pepper hair with a white tag that readsLoraine, pinned to her cardigan.

“Hi. How can I help you?” Her voice is soft and smooth like whipped butter.

“I’m here with Trey. Trey Wilson. He just came in here.” I point in the direction that I saw him disappear.

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