Page 83 of Craving Francesca

“Good idea,” I said, grabbing it out of my purse so I could switch it over.

“You have your insurance card?”

“It’s in my wallet.”

“Passport?”

“We’re not leaving the country.”

“Still.”

“I have other ID.”

“Okay, then I think you’re set.”

“My charger!”

“That would’ve been a disaster.”

“No shit.” I rounded my bed and unplugged it from the wall.

“Stuff it in the small pocket.”

“Good idea.” I rolled it up and put it away. “Thank you so much for helping me.”

“Of course,” Lou replied easily, grabbing the pile of pants I hadn’t packed so she could stuff them back in my drawer.

I reached for the rest of the leftovers. “You going to be cool here alone for the week?”

“I’m sure Myla will be down for a sleepover at some point. Bas, too.”

“Sorry I didn’t give you more notice.”

“You didn’t have more notice.” She shrugged. “I’m a big girl. I can stay home alone.”

“I’m nervous,” I confessed, looking at my bag of clothes for the week. “Is that weird?”

“For you?” she chuckled. “A little. But being nervous isn’t a bad thing. Normal people are nervous all the time.”

“Ugh. How do you deal with this all the time?”

“You get used to it,” she replied dryly. “You’ve got less than an hour. Go shower. Shave your legs really well because we didn’t pack a razor.”

“Shit.”

“Go,” she ordered. “I’ll put your stuff in the living room.”

Before I could shower, there was something else I needed to do. Pulling out my laptop, I sat on the edge of the bed and emailed my boss. I debated telling him that my partner’s mother had died, a little smile pulling at my lips, but eventually just told him I’d had a family emergency, and I wouldn’t be in that week, and I wouldn’t be available by phone. I detailed where everything was in my office so someone else could pick up the slack. I didn’t want to be there, but I also didn’t want to make my coworkers jobs any harder either. By the time I’d sent the email, I felt lighter.

I hurried into the bathroom and turned on the shower. While it was heating up, I washed my face really well with the cleanser that Myla’s Aunt Farrah had given me for Christmas. Usually, I just used a washcloth and water because the cleanser was expensive, and I didn’t want to waste it. I knew that pretty much defeated the purpose of having it, but I’d so rarely had any fancy toiletry products growing up that it felt weird to use them willy-nilly. That’s what happened when you grew up with a man that used bar soap on everything, including his mostly bald head.

I had the time, so I took an everything shower. I wasn’t sure where we were staying—I hadn’t even thought to ask—and I wasn’t sure when I’d get another one. It took a full hour before I was dressed and ready to leave. Between diffusing my hair, searching for my spare deodorant because I’d already packed the one I usually used, stealing some of Lou’s moisturizer and mouthwash, and trying to find the right pair of socks, I managed to stumble out of the bedroom pulling my boots on just as Lou let Gray in the house.

I froze at the end of the hallway. “I forgot socks.”

“Crap!” Lou paused, my bag in her hand.

We both looked at it. There was no way we’d fit anything else in there.

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